The Dark of You

by Shade, S. M.

  After scarfing the roll down, my mouth is drier than ever, so I head to the library. It should be open soon and while the librarian won’t let any homeless stay inside, she does at least allow us to use the bathroom and get a drink.

  There’s only one car parked outside the big brick building when I approach. At least I won’t have to deal with the disgusted stares of the people who actually come here to read. I used to go to libraries for that, too, when I was young. They were my home away from foster homes. I’d curl up in one of the kid’s reading nooks and lose myself in fantasy worlds.

  I dreamed of the day I’d escape the system and become someone, no matter how stupid others said it was. More than one adult has informed me I’ll be nothing. I guess they were right.

  The librarian looks up and nods at me when I enter and make my way to the restrooms. Since I’m the only one here, I lock the door and take the opportunity to wash in the sink. I don’t dare wash my hair though. I’d freeze to death for sure. Instead, I brush it out and pull it back into a loose bun to hide the oiliness. If I can get my clothes washed, I might be able to find a job somewhere. Maybe cleaning rooms at one of the other nearby hotels in exchange for a room.

  It sucks that my options are so limited, but I don’t have any identification. I’m listed as a runaway and if I’m found before I’m eighteen, I’ll be right back in a worse hell. There’s also the matter of me stabbing that guy. I have to find a job where the employer won’t ask for identification and can pay in cash. Easier said than done.

  At least when I leave the bathroom, I look somewhat presentable. It’s about time to hit the thrift store drop off again to look for a coat. This hoodie isn’t going to cut it much longer. If you go after hours, people leave bags of clothing outside of the back doors. It’s not stealing if it was donated. And I need it.

  After slaking my thirst, I fill up both of my water bottles at the fountain and tuck them into my bag. Now, I just need to get to the discount grocery across town. It’s a Saturday, which means there will be a lot of shoppers. I might be able to make a few bucks to wash my clothes and get something to eat.

  The sight I’m met with at the door makes me groan, and I rest my head against the glass. Big fat snowflakes fall steadily, and though I’ve only been inside for fifteen minutes, the ground is already covered. If I don’t find a warm place to stay tonight, I’m going to freeze to death under that bridge.

  There’s a small part of me that’s tempted by that outcome. I’ve been fighting for too long without any relief in sight. Maybe it’s time to accept that I’ll die on these streets, just another worthless street kid. And if it’s inevitable, why drag it out? Why keep suffering?

  Pulling my hood over my head, I make my way out into the snow. One thing at a time. First I need food, and then some dry clothes.

  A few cars pass me while I’m walking down the main road with my thumb jutting out. Finally, a pickup driven by an elderly man pulls over. He gestures for me to get in the truck bed. I’m grateful for the ride, but I’m freezing my ass off. Ten minutes later, when he lets me off at the discount grocery store, my hands and face are completely numb.

  The store’s busy, but I need a minute before I get to work. The glass doors open, and I make a sharp right, walking between the rows of carts in the vestibule. Sneaking behind the row, I sit against the wall and swallow a moan of relief as the heat from the blower above me warms my body.

  My hands shake, but it’s not from the cold. It’s hunger. All I’ve had for the past two days is a few crackers and a dinner roll. I’m already skin and bones. The weakness is starting to take over. Ten minutes of rest is the most I’ll risk. If the snow keeps up, it won’t be busy here for long.

  The view through the plate glass window is promising. Plenty of carts have been left in the lot by shoppers. This is why I come here. To get a shopping cart, you must put a quarter in the lock that attaches it to the line of carts. It’ll unlock and release it. When you’re finished with the cart, you return it, and the quarter pops back out. Fortunately, many people are too lazy or busy to bother with that quarter.

  The wind whips snow into my face while I gather carts, and push them back to the return. My legs feel like they may give out on me, but I keep going until I have all of them returned, then I spend another few minutes by the heater.

  Ignoring the stares, I head inside and find a discount jar of peanut butter for two dollars. The cashier doesn’t even look at me as she accepts my quarters. My next stop is the laundromat next door. There’s no money for detergent, but even running them with hot water is better than nothing. Plus, it’ll give me a place to stay warm for another hour or two.

  The man behind the counter glares at me when I enter, watching me until he sees I have money because god forbid I came in just to get warm. Two days ago, I asked him about a job, and he laughed at me. What a dick. An empty washer waits next to a young woman with over bleached hair who’s trying to console a crying baby while some of the other patrons shoot her dirty looks.

  She gives me a tired smile when I dump two pairs of jeans, three sweatshirts, four pairs of panties, and three pairs of socks into the washer. “Do you need some soap? I have plenty,” she offers, hitching the baby up on her hip. He’s a cute little thing, but his eyes are glassy and his cheeks are red.

  “That’d be great. Thank you. What’s his name?”

  “Lionel. I’m Mona. I’m sorry about the crying, but he’s sick.”

  “Doesn’t bother me.” I sit down across from her after starting the washer and count the money I have left. Just enough to dry them.

  We chat about the snow that’s still falling hard, and Lionel dozes off in her arms. She doesn’t seem fazed when I pull out a plastic spoon and eat some peanut butter, chasing it with water. She obviously has a hard way to go too. Being at a laundromat during a snowstorm with a sick baby is nobody’s idea of a good time.

  The television behind us drones on, but catches our attention when they break through programming with a weather update. Six inches of snow tonight. Then another storm coming through tomorrow that could bring an additional foot of accumulation. Shit. I’m in trouble.

  Before I can consider what to do next, baby Lionel sits up and pukes all over his mother.

  “Fucking great,” an old man grumbles to a woman next to him.

  “Bring a baby out when he’s sick.” The woman shakes her judgmental head. “Because that’s just what I need. To catch something.”

  You’d think by now I wouldn’t be surprised by how heartless people can be, but it still pisses me off. The woman is obviously alone and trying her best with a sick baby.

  “I’m sorry,” she babbles. “I had to do a wash. He’s been sick all over our bedding and—

  “You don’t have to explain yourself to those pricks,” I interrupt, holding out my arms. “Let me hold him while you clean up.”

  Gratitude flashes in her eyes, and she hands him to me. He lays his hot little head on my shoulder while she hastily grabs some clothes from her basket and rushes off to the restroom. His nose is runny and a little gets on the shoulder of my sweatshirt, but it’s far from the grossest thing to come in contact with my clothes.

  He’s still sleeping when she returns, and I hold him while she loads her laundry into her car. “Thank you so much,” she sighs, taking him from me.

  “Thank you for the detergent.”

  She backs out of the parking space, her windshield wipers struggling to keep up with the snow. This town sucks. I wonder if it’s like this everywhere. Do people always just sit back while others struggle? Stand back, judge, and ridicule. Don’t they realize how lucky they are? They could easily find themselves in our place.

  When my clothes come out of the dryer, I put another layer on, and venture outside. It’s dark and the snow has started to taper off, but it’s a long walk back to my bridge. I’m not sure I can make it. When I come across an empty used car lot, the risk of getting caught for trespassing is worth it. There
’s no one around. It’s like a horror movie out here. Silent and empty. It’s unlikely anyone will call the police on me.

  There’s a fenced-in area behind the lot where they keep the recent trade-ins. They aren’t as clean as the cars out front, but unlike them, they’re unlocked. A minivan door slides open easily, overwhelming me with the smell of Play-Doh and smoke. It’s freezing, but at least I’m out of the wind and snow. Dry, with water and peanut butter tucked into my bag, I’m better off than I was this morning. Small victories.

  Curling up on the middle seat, I fall asleep almost instantly.

  The minivan keeps me from freezing to death, but I feel like hell when I wake. Nevertheless, I return to the grocery store to round up carts again. Unlike yesterday, there are very few. My head pounds, and my throat begins to feel raw. I’m so weak, but I can’t force down even a bite of peanut butter. You always hear about people dying of exposure. Is that what this is?

  Tears fill my eyes at the thought of going back to the van tonight, but I don’t have any choice. It’s snowing again, and with another foot on the way, I have to get somewhere. The car dealer may find my body on Monday morning.

  With the few quarters jangling in my pocket, I walk back toward the dealership which takes me through Hooker Row. The cold and snow doesn’t keep these women from working, and the sight of their bare skin makes me cringe. If I’m cold, they must be freezing. A group of young guys are gathered around a few of the women, but it doesn’t look like they’re after a date. Apparently, they’re handing out sandwiches and something hot to drink. Steam rolls off the cups.

  I’m too busy wondering whether I can get in on the food to realize a car has stopped beside me. The window slides down, and a man says, “Aren’t you cold?”

  Seriously? I’m surrounded by half naked prostitutes, and he chooses to proposition me? True, it doesn’t sound like a proposition, but the guy didn’t pull over just to say hi. “I’m fine,” I reply, turning my back to him.

  “Come home with me. I’ll get you some dinner.”

  “I’m not working. I’m sure one of the other girls will be happy to go with you.”

  He leans over until I can see two familiar eyes staring at me. “Get in the damn car, Darcy.”

  My heart falls to my feet. It’s Mr. Miller. What’s he doing here? For two years, I’ve managed to evade him—not to mention police—though whether or not there’s a warrant for me stabbing that guy isn’t clear.

  Being arrested isn’t nearly as scary as the threat of being taken back to his pervert palace to be rented out to his “friends.”

  Panic grips me, and without a thought, I summon the last of my energy to run, dodging through people on the sidewalk. A glance back shows he’s following me. Shit. There aren’t any places to hide around here. It’s mostly stores with their gates closed for the night. He catches up with me when I approach an intersection, and the sound of his engine right behind me drives me forward. I can’t let him pull me into his car. My feet pound the road. Horns blare, and something strikes my hip, knocking me down. The world takes a sharp spin, and darkness wins, dragging me into unconsciousness.

  * * *

  “Calm down. You’re safe here.” The voice that breaks through my grogginess is kind. “You have a high fever and took a bump on the hip but nothing is broken.”

  My eyes feel like they’re lined with cotton when I drag them open to see a young man in scrubs smiling down at me. “There you are. How are you feeling?”

  My lips and throat are so dry. “Thirsty.”

  He moves my bed to a sitting position and hands me a glass of water. “Can you tell me your name?”

  Oh no. This is the moment. They’ll find out who I am and I’ll be arrested. The alarm on my face brings sympathy to his. It’s then that a woman I hadn’t noticed steps forward. “It’s okay, Darcy. I’m Mara. I’ve been assigned as your caseworker. You’ve been here for over twenty-four hours. You were in pretty bad shape when they brought you in. Pneumonia and strep throat. We had an officer take your prints to identify you so we could contact your family.”

  “I don’t have family.”

  “Yes, I know, you’re a ward of the state, but missing as a runaway.” She looks at me with pity. “Two years on the street?”

  “Better than the alternative,” I sigh. I’m so tired. So exhausted of everything. “Am I going to be arrested?”

  “No, honey. We don’t arrest foster children for running away. When you’re healed, I’ll have a placement for you. With less than a year until you age out, a group transitional home would be best. We can help you get a job and learn to live independently.”

  It’s a relief to find out I’m not wanted for the stabbing, but my tired mind can’t think much past that. Placement is always a risk, but a glance to the right shows me a snowstorm in full force beyond the windows. Maybe it’ll work for a while.

  “Okay.”

  Two days later, I’m driven to a town about three hours away. The group home isn’t much different than most I’ve seen before, except that it’s all kids who are within a year of aging out of the system. At least it’s quiet at night, which is more than I can say for the other ones. My first morning there, I wake early, wrap a blanket around my shoulders, and make my way to the TV room. My throat and chest feel better but I’m still under orders to take it easy.

  About halfway through the morning show I’m watching, someone sits next to me on the couch. “Hey new girl.”

  “Darcy,” I reply, not interested in the least at whatever she has to say.

  “I’m Thea.”

  When I don’t reply, she doesn’t try again, just watches TV with me. The morning show cuts to the news, and there he is. Mr. Miller. All smiles, he nods at the camera.

  The words printed on the screen beneath him make me slam a hand over my mouth. Walton Miller upsets incumbent to win senate seat. The man who tried to rent me out for sex, who just a few days ago chased me into traffic, is now a senator.

  It’s all I can take. My body begins to shake.

  “Darcy, are you okay?” Thea asks, but I can’t answer.

  All I can do is laugh and laugh and laugh.

  The world is a fucked up place.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It feels strange having Reeve in the car with me on the drive back from my childhood home. I’m used to him walking with me or showing up at my house, not hanging out on a road trip, but I love it.

  After my experience today, I feel wrung out, but in a good way. Exhausted, but lighter. I’ll never go back to that house—or probably that town— ever again. It’s time to leave it behind.

  It’s late when we get back to my place. “You need some sleep,” Reeve says.

  “Are you leaving?”

  “No.” The grin that pops onto my face couldn’t be prevented if I wanted to.

  After the dust and grime of the abandoned house, there’s no way I’m climbing into bed without a shower, but I make it a quick one. When I emerge, Reeve waits for me. Stretched out on one side of the bed, with an arm tucked behind his head, and the covers draped across his hips, he’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Stop, you need to get some sleep.” His expression tries for stern but falls short when the twitch of his lips give away his amusement.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  His arm cradles me, and he rubs my back when I climb in bed to cuddle up with him. “Thanks for coming today.”

  “You needed me.”

  No matter how crazy all this is, in his head, it’s that simple. He’s not wrong. “Yes, I need you.” Safe and warm, I drift off. With him by my side, no nightmares dare to touch me.

  Waking in the morning with him curled around me is the best feeling. There’s nothing I plan to do today. No hurry to get up. There are plenty of things I should be doing, like setting up my new laptop and trying to write, but I shove that disturbing thought away.

  My pho
ne buzzes with a call from Thea. Without waking Reeve, I extricate myself from his embrace, grab the phone, and take it into the kitchen.

  “Hey girl.”

  “Are you still in bed, you lazy ass?” she asks.

  “Just got up. You’ll have to talk to me while I make coffee.” And some breakfast. Dinner never even occurred to me last night, and I’m starving. Waffles and bacon sound good. Reeve will probably be awake by the time it’s done. He rarely sleeps later than me.

  “Okay,” Thea says, her voice full of excitement. “I called because I have big news.” Before I can ask what it is, she blurts, “Paul asked me to marry him! I’m engaged!”

  The eggs in my hand nearly get dropped on the floor. Thea has had her share of relationships and heartbreaks, but she’s never been married or engaged. My gut response is that they barely know each other, but I shove that judgmental thought away. Look at my current “relationship.”

  “Thea!” I exclaim. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, bitch!”

  “Congratulations! How did he propose?”

  While I mix up some waffle batter and put bacon on the griddle, she goes on to explain the whole thing, how he surprised her at home by getting on one knee. “He didn’t want to do it in public where I’d feel pressured.”

  Maybe this will work out for her. He certainly thinks of her feelings more than any other man she’s been with. “That’s really sweet. I’m so happy for you.”

  “We want to stay engaged for a while, since we haven’t been together all that long. You know, live together for a year or so before we start planning a wedding. That being said, I’m already shopping for a dress.”

  “That’s smart, giving yourself plenty of time.” I move a waffle to a plate, then fill the waffle iron with batter again.

  Her laughter sounds almost musical. She’s so happy. “Believe me, I thought of you and your cautious ways with men when I made that decision. I knew you’d approve.”

  Yeah, cautious. That’s me. Reeve lounges in the doorway when I turn around. “I absolutely approve,” I tell her. “Paul seems like a great guy, Thea, really. I couldn’t be happier for you.”