Page 60 of Levee

All I managed then was a nod.

“Come on. I’ll walk you back to your car. No one’s gonna mess with you,” he assured me, and I heard a flicking sound that made my gaze move toward his hand, finding a serrated pocketknife in his grip.

“Okay,” I agreed, not knowing much except that there was no way I could make myself walk into that building, make myself a sitting duck in my apartment.

I fell into step beside the kid who, sadly, did seem capable of defending me if he should need to. But that was what this neighborhood did to kids who probably should have been doing kid stuff like playing basketball or video games. Not carrying knives and defending women.

“Why’d you take it down?” he asked as we walked.

“What?” I asked, trying to resist the urge to sniffle, not wanting the blood to trickle down my throat.

“The whiteboard. Why’d you take it down?”

That was him?

My savior was the kid I’d been bonding with via little sketches on my whiteboard?

“I got a message,” I admitted.

“Same kinda message you got tonight?” he asked, wise beyond his years.

“Kind of.”

“You need a boyfriend,” he told me, confident that a man would solve all my problems. “Or a dog,” he added. “Big, mean one.”

That was something I hadn’t considered. That I might have to give some thought to.

“This is you, right?” he asked as we got to the side of my car.

At my nod, he moved around the car, checking in the windows, even taking my key to pop my trunk and check that too.

“What’s your apartment?” I asked him when he handed me my key back.

“Why?”

“So I can drop by and work on some sketches with—“

“No,” he cut me off. “No, you don’t wanna come to my apartment. I can come to you maybe.”

“Sure. I’d like that. Maybe in a few days, though.”

“Yeah,” he said, wincing at my face.

“Thank you for saving me,” I told him, watching him puff up at the praise.

“Don’t like guys putting hands on girls,” he admitted, a pained look in his eye that I wished I knew him well enough to help wipe away. “Go get cleaned up,” he said, pulling open the door for me.

“Thanks again,” I said, sliding into the car. Then nearly jumping out of my skin when the kid knocked on the window.

“Lock the doors,” he called.

I didn’t need to be told twice.

He took a step away as I turned over the car, then stood and watched me as I pulled away.

It wasn’t until I was on the main drag that the adrenaline seemed to slip away, leaving my whole body shaking and tears pouring down my cheeks as I headed in the direction of the clinic.

I thought I was okay.

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