Like Gravity(76)

When I moved my hands to cover myself, Finn stopped me. Interlocking our fingers, he began the painstaking process of kissing every scrape and bruise on my body, as he’d done with the scar on my collarbone the first time we’d slept together – as if his mouth could take away some of the hurt that had been inflicted.

He might not have been able to remove my injuries, but he did eventually erase any insecurities I’d felt. After he’d attended to each cut, he stripped off his own clothes and guided us inside the shower. The warm water was soothing against my skin, the dirt and grime that had coated me rushing off in brown-black torrents.

Finn poured some of his body wash onto a wet washcloth and carefully scrubbed my skin clean. He took his time, insuring that no traces of the alley were left behind on my body. Afterward, he shampooed my hair and the sensation of his strong fingers massaging my scalp was so relaxing it nearly put me to sleep. With each passing second, I could feel fatigue creeping into my bones, the weariness from my physical injuries as well as the mental strain of the night threatening to overtake me.

I was utterly wrung out – exhausted and in need of at least a full day of rest. Finn, perceptive as usual, seemed to sense my impending collapse. Just as my knees began to buckle, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders to take most of my weight and used his other hand to shut off the water.

Grabbing two large fluffy black towels from a rack on the wall, he wrapped me in one and looped the other around his own waist. He held my hand and led me, stumbling and bleary-eyed, from the bathroom and into his bedroom – which, under normal circumstances, I would have been beyond curious to examine.

Right now, however, I didn’t even glance around as I followed Finn to the massive bed that dominated the room. Collapsing onto a plush grey down comforter, I vaguely registered Finn climbing in next to me and pulling the sheets up around our bodies.

I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.





Chapter Fifteen


Mission Accomplished



“See that star, Bee?” the boy asked, pointing at an especially bright one in the night sky above our heads. My gaze followed the direction of his finger. When I found it, I smiled; I was getting better at picking out constellations every night.

We were sitting on the stoop again, and the night was colder than usual. It was well into November, now. I’d been here at the foster home for nearly three months, and winter was coming fast. I had to bring the thin blanket from my bed with me when I came out onto the back porch each night.

I hoped I wouldn’t still be here at Christmas time.

“It’s pretty,” I whispered, my lips forming the words but barely any sound escaping. The boy heard me though, looking away from his star to stare over at me. Though nearly a month had passed since that first night I’d told him my name, he still always looked happily surprised whenever I spoke to him, like he’d just opened a really awesome Christmas present or gotten a triple fudge sundae with his favorite ice cream flavors.

Maybe it was because I still wasn’t talking to anyone else.

“That star is part of a constellation called Cassiopeia,” the boy said. “See those four stars, shaped like a sloppy W?” He pointed from one star to another, tracing a map of the constellation with his finger.

I squinted, at first unable to see it. To me, the stars looked like a glowing, jumbled mess – sort of like the tangled strands of Christmas lights Mommy pulled down from the boxes in the attic when it was time to decorate the tree each year. It was hard to imagine ever picking out a pattern from within the chaos.

But then, as if something clicked in my mind, I did see it.

Cassiopeia: a lopsided, w-shaped mess of stars, shining so brightly I wondered how I’d never noticed it before.

“Remember the legend of Princess Andromeda?” the boy asked.

I nodded. I’d loved that story – it was the first one he’d ever told me.

“Cassiopeia was the queen – Andromeda’s mother. All the characters from that story have their own constellation: Pegasus, Perseus, Andromeda, Cassiopeia… They’re all up there.”

I watched, fascinated, as the boy pointed out cluster after cluster of stars.

“Show me another one,” I demanded quietly, enthralled.

“Okay,” the boy said, a look of concentration crossing his face. “See that one? That’s Pisces. It’s supposed to look like two fish swimming but I think it looks more like the letter V.”

My eyes followed the direction he was pointing and, though this one was harder, I eventually found it. When it popped into focus I smiled a real grin for the first time in months.

“How do you know about these?” I asked, my voice filled with awe.

“My dad taught me about them.” The boy’s voice was sad.

I decided I wouldn’t ask him to show me any more tonight, not when he sounded so upset. But I knew tomorrow night, I’d ask again. And the next. And the one after that.

I’d ask until he ran out of stars.

My fascination wasn’t exactly new– I’d always loved to look at the sky, especially after Mommy had painted stars on my ceiling. But now, they seemed enchanting, mysterious, and nearly irresistible. It was like he’d opened up a whole new world to explore, and I wanted – needed – to learn everything about the constellations floating in the darkness far above me.