by Anne Marck
“I’m fine, and I’m leaving,” I tell them, sitting up on the small sofa without breaking eye contact.
Clear eyes directed at me narrow with evident displeasure that’s only reinforced by his posture—his arms crossed across his chest in challenge.
“If you wanna leave, okay. In your state, you won’t get far before the ambulance that I call reaches you and takes you straight to the hospital.” He doesn’t seem to be bluffing.
I feel my heart beat faster. What does this man know, anyway?
I swallow a little saliva with difficulty. “That isn’t necessary.” I cowardly look away and at the lady watching us, entreating her to understand. “Anyway, thank you. I’m better now, and I gotta go.”
Balancing on my weak legs, I stand up to leave. From the corner of my eye, though, I notice him pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
Oh God! He’s really going to call!
“I need an ambulance. Fast,” he says over the phone, watching my every movement.
Oh God, he’s really doing it, and then he’ll find me. The thought paralyzes me.
Standing next to me, the old lady holds my hand. “Disconnect, Dominic,” she says softly. I open my mouth to say something, but she stops me. “Let’s settle it like this: you stay here for tonight, take some medicine and eat some hot food, and then you can go wherever you want tomorrow.”
The proposal is so tempting. I haven’t eaten anything decent in—beats me, a long time. But I can’t stay. I’m in danger.
“Trust me,” she insists.
I look at her more closely. She reminds me a lot Baba. Nobody who looks like her could be dangerous, right?
I force my eyes closed for just a second, wanting to cry at how my life has turned upside down in such a short time.
“All right,” I whisper with a sense of relief at having a roof over my head tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll go.
She smiles. “Dominic, what do you say about preparing some food for the girl while I run her a shower?”
Wait. Is this some kind of trap? Are they trying to distract me while calling someone?
Narrowing my eyes, I don’t hide my mistrust.
“Don’t look at me like that, child,” the woman reprimands. “Believe me when I say that you need a good shower.”
In spite of her smile and the funny way she turns up her nose, I blush, knowing she’s right. I haven’t taken a shower in a long time. The smell is repulsive even to me.
I look around quickly for Dominic, who’s studying me closely.
“There are towels in the hall closet,” is all he says before heading toward a small kitchen separated by a counter from the room that we’re in.
“Come on.” The old lady helps me walk, and I thank her for the help.
In the bathroom, I watch her turn on the shower and regulate the water temperature.
“Take off those clothes,” she says nonchalantly.
I freeze, mute.
The lady rolls her eyes with humor. “Child, I’m a nurse; there’s nothing you have there that I haven’t ever seen. Besides, your clothes are going straight into a garbage bag.”
The problem isn’t so much me being naked; it’s what’s on my body, and I shouldn’t let her see. I don’t want questions.
Staying here was a mistake.
She doesn’t seem affected. Patiently, she waits for me to obey. What a tough cookie!
I breathe deeply, feeling defeated. Then I painfully start taking off the giant sweatshirt and the three other necessary layers underneath. The smell of my dirty body permeates the air.
The woman discreetly turns her nose to the side.
Ashamed, I pretend not to notice as I take off my too-big pants that are secured at the side by a rubber band so they don’t fall off my hips. The smell gets worse. The oversized old sneakers come off easier. Next, I get rid of the giant T-shirt that was once white. Then I look at my body, now a pale skeleton, trembling, full of abrasions.
A noise of shock passes the lady’s lips. “My child, what’s all this? What happened to you?”
Dominic
As Simone exits the bathroom and heads toward the pantry, I look away from the disgusting soup that I found in the cupboard and watch her. She’s wide-eyed, covering her mouth with her right hand while carrying a black trash bag that probably contains the girl’s dirty clothes.
“We need to get something for her to wear,” Simone whispers.
I look at her closely. She looks fearful, pensive.
“What is it?” I ask, wondering about the girl’s condition.
She looks at me sadly. “Boy, something very serious happened to her.” She looks back to make sure the girl is still in the bathroom. “That child has been very, very abused.”
My muscles tighten at her words. The idea itself is disturbing.
“How bad?”
She exhales loudly. “I can’t say. What I can say is that it was recent. Many wounds are still fresh, inflamed, and her whole body is covered in bruises.”
What the hell!
I grip the wooden spoon in my hand. “What do you think we should do?”
Simone leans against the counter, thinking. “I don’t know, Dominic. I really don’t know. Going to a hospital is out of the question for her—she seems frightened by the idea. Did you see her face when you talked about calling an ambulance?”
Terrified—that’s how she looked.
“I’ll find some clothes for her to wear. When she gets out of the shower, we need to decide what to do,” I mutter.
I walk past the bathroom door, listening to the sound of the water, and enter my bedroom. It’s hard not to punch a wall. What the hell would make someone hurt a little girl?
I have a hard time finding anything for the girl to wear—I’m much bigger than her. How old is she, anyway? Seventeen? Eighteen? For God’s sake, she’s got to be underage. I don’t doubt it. Why else would she be so afraid of getting help? Who is she hiding from?
I grab one of my T-shirts, a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring, and boxer briefs. They’ll have to do. Then I go back to the living room and give them to Simone, who quickly takes them to the bathroom.
• • •
I walk to and fro with my fists clenched, waiting for them to come out of the bathroom. What should I do with this situation? What if she’s underage? One thing is certain: I won’t allow her back on the streets, at least for as long as I can avoid it, until I decide what to do.
A grating sound from the door announces their exit. Simone comes out first with a strange look on her face. I have take a step back when Simone moves to the side to show the girl behind her.
Dammit. The image forces me to hold my breath.
Her red hair is more intense, like a flame, appearing healthy, wavy, and very long, down to her waist. Her eyes are a deep blue, with thick eyebrows that are red like her hair. Her face is freckled, and her cheeks are thin with a delicate nose. Her lips are plump and projected. How was all that hidden behind the dirt?
For a moment, an uncomfortable feeling of possessiveness roots in my gut, wanting to keep her beauty hidden from the world.
What’s happening to me? She’s just a fucking kid!
I force myself to remain impassive in front of her. “I made soup.”
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Great!” Simone breaks the uncomfortable moment, walking toward me and pulling the girl along with her. “While you eat, I’ll call home and tell them I’ll be late tonight.”
The girl agrees with a weak nod, avoiding my eyes.
I go into the kitchen and fill up a bowl. Back in the room, I hand it to her. “Eat,” I command her. Then I have to bite my tongue for acting like this.
“Thanks,” she whispers, taking the bowl.
I watch her sitting hunched up on the sofa, searching for any indication that will explain to me who she is and what she could be hiding.
She’s too skinny to be healthy. Tall, but so much smaller th
an my six-foot-four frame. Her features are subtle, delicate. I know this entire neighborhood, so I know she isn’t from here, or I would have remembered her. In fact, she doesn’t look homeless. Her long red hair has a good cut, and she eats in civilly, in spite of her obvious hunger.
Simone returns to the room. “Kids, I gotta go. Jennifer has gone out for a change and left my grandson alone.” She looks between the two of us.
The girl stops eating immediately and looks at her with wide eyes.
Simone makes a reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be back with some medicine.” She raises an eyebrow at the girl. “Sorry, what’s your name?”
The girl chokes, coughs, and then remains mute, not answering. Another indication of something troubling going on with her.
“It doesn’t matter,” Simone says softly then shrugs. “Anyway, I’ll stop by before I go to work. Be at ease, child. You’re safe in this house. This boy”—she casts a glance my way—“is the best person I’ve ever met. If there’s anyone who can take care of you, it’s him.” She winks at me.
I tuck my hands into my jeans pockets and, like the girl, choose to remain silent.
The girl shakes her head slightly, looking at her bowl.
I follow Simone to the door.
“Don’t worry, son,” she whispers before leaving. “You’ll be fine.” I get her usual smile before she walks down the stairs, her hips swaying.
I lock the door then go back to the living room, stopping in front of the window to give the girl some privacy to eat, and to watch Simone as she crosses the street toward her car. When she pulls away and is out of sight, I continue to stare at the empty parking space for a little while longer.
I really don’t know what to do in this situation. We’re both uncomfortable.
When the sounds of her eating cease, I turn to confirm she’s finished.
“More?” I offer.
She shakes her head.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, hiding the worry in my voice.
Simone gave her pills for the fever and, before leaving, she left an anti-inflammatory, saying it would help her until early morning. I hope so.
She nods in confirmation.
I force myself not to frown, dissatisfied with her withdrawn behavior. “Okay …” I look at my boots. “I’ll get some things to sleep in. You can stay in my room tonight.”
“That’s not necessary. I can sleep here.” She smooths her hand over the sofa, speaking quietly, shyly.
“No way. Simone said you still have a fever, and an uncomfortable sofa will only make your situation worse,” I say firmly, knowing the sleeping arrangement will be better for her.
“It really isn’t necessary, thank you.” She’s a stubborn one. “I’ll stay on the couch.”
Maybe she’s got a bad temper, after all. I won’t lie—the fact that she argues with me pisses me off.
Wait. What am I saying? I barely recognize myself.
“Whatever you want,” I grumble, hiding my anger. Then, without saying another word, I turn and go to my room where I grab a pillow, clean sheets, and a thick blanket before heading back to the living room. “Here.” I set them down by her side. “Anything you need, anything else, please yell for me. My room is at the end of the hall.”
She bites her lip then nods, looking down.
If she doesn’t want to talk, okay. I can accept that … today. Tomorrow, she most certainly will tell me the truth, like it or not.
Leaving her alone, I go to the bathroom to wash away all the sweat from the day. Resting my hands against the cold wall, I lower my head and let the hot water fall over me. I can’t stop thinking about what Simone said about her wounds. What would have caused something like that? And why doesn’t she want help?
I have always respected people’s privacy. From my own experience, I know that everyone has their own personal burdens and there are things we don’t want to share. But fuck, for some irrational reason, I wish she would open up to me, trust me. She’s too young to be involved in some shit big enough to bust her body and make her run.
• • •
In the middle of the night, after tossing and turning in bed for what feels like hours, I hear a whimper from the living room. I get out of bed to check on the girl, and in the weak light, I see her thin body thrashing under the heavy blanket. She mumbles incoherently, something related to her mother, but nothing that makes a complete sentence.
I switch on the lamp beside the sofa to check her more thoroughly and see she’s sweating. I touch her forehead to check her temperature and find it has risen again to an alarming degree. It would be so much easier to get her to a hospital right now, while her guard is down.
Frustrated, I run both hands down my face then head into the bathroom where I moisten a towel with cold water before bringing it back to rest on her forehead. She just moans more nonsense.
“Shh, baby …” I find myself murmuring, aware she can’t hear anything in the middle of her delirium.
I wet the towel a few more times until I feel her fever partially drop. Then I leave the blanket on only half of her body, while pulling the sheet up her fully. If she gets cold, she can easily pull the blanket up.
Sitting on the armchair in front of the sofa, I watch her sleep for hours, only going back to my room when it feels safe to leave her alone.
I eventually fall asleep, but even then, against my will, the girl invades my dreams. Hair of fire and plump lips on a young woman who has more pain in her eyes than she can hide. Damn, this isn’t good.
• • •
The sound of the doorbell wakes me up. I check the clock; it’s twenty minutes past seven in the morning. Stupidly, I overslept.
I throw on a shirt and hurry into the living room to find the damn couch empty. Then I look inside the open bathroom—empty, just like the kitchen. No sign of her.
When the doorbell rings again, I run to open the door for Simone.
“Good morning, boy!” she says, smiling. “How is the girl?”
I stare at the floor, running my fingers through my hair in frustration. Or in fucking anger, to be honest. “She’s gone,” I say quietly, hating the words and ignoring the sensation that tightens my gut.
Dominic
“Damn, man! Where is your fucking head?” Damien complains after throwing the ball directly at my stomach.
I try to concentrate on the basketball game with my brothers, but my thoughts have been chaotic since the moment that I realized the girl left. Why the hell did she leave when she was still sick?
I drove my motorcycle through the neighborhood to find her, but it was a waste of time. She’s a runaway, and I’ll probably never see her again. I just don’t understand why this bothers me so much.
“Take advantage of it,” I tell him, throwing the ball back.
From the corner of my eye, I see Christian approaching, smiling like a brat.
“If I didn’t know you, Dom, I’d say this distraction has a name.”
I elbow him lightly in the ribs. “Not all of us have your dirty mind, brother.” I throw my arm over his shoulders, bringing him to me. “And I don’t wanna spend my lunch listening to your loser laments.”
He chuckles, saying something about me being old.
These guys are my family. We’ve overcome a lot, our difficult childhoods on the streets forcing us to be stronger, more together.
Our biological mother was drug dependent and didn’t know how to take care of herself, let alone her five children. Her negligence caused the deaths of my two youngest brothers, Vivian and Richard—two small, practically abandoned children, who were sick, malnourished, with only me to protect them. I failed.
It hurt a lot then and still does. That was when I made a promise never to lose another brother to hunger again. I assumed responsibility of Damien and Christian and gave my all to provide them with food and shelter, and keep them away from danger. When our mother finally used more than she could bear, then we lite
rally just had each other. We lived on the streets for years until, one day, our fates changed. Pierre and Aimee, a French couple who were starting a new job in the country, met us on the streets and adopted all three of us.
At first, I didn’t trust the strangers’ kindness. In the world that I lived in, people didn’t like us. However, they cared for us like parents in the true sense of the word and gave us everything we needed.
Influenced by the profession of our adoptive parents, Damien, Chris, and I also became engineers. Their deaths, more than eight years ago, were devastating. We mourned a lot—especially Christian, who was the youngest and the most attached to them.
• • •
I sit down with the guys in the snack bar where we often have lunch after playing basketball. From Damien’s expression, and knowing him as well as I do, I know that he has something serious to discuss. My brother can barely avoid it; obstinance is in his blood. This isn’t our first conversation about the subject, and it certainly won’t be the last. He wants me to return to the construction company.
After our parents’ deaths, I took over the company until just over three years ago when I handed the responsibility over to Damien, feeling he was ready for it. Managing the business was never my goal; circumstances had put me in that position.
Because of my past, I felt that I needed to do more with my degree than wear a tie, shake hands, and fill pockets. I needed to return something to the world. It’s my duty to give back what I received and to work hard so other people don’t go through what we did living on the streets.
Damien doesn’t agree. The guy is a money-making machine, determined to grow the business and dominate the world.
“Do you understand why we need you, Dom? Chris and I are at our wit’s end.”
Though I’m not really hungry, I put a piece of fillet in my mouth and chew. I’ve lost count how many times we’ve had this conversation. The problem is that I’m not in the state of mind to discuss this again today, still worried about the girl.
