Page 8 of Breaking You Open

My mouth tastes of bile and disgusting remnants of alcohol, so maybe he’s right. I kneel over the lip of the bath and allow him to turn the spray toward my face. I garble lukewarm water as Louis brushes my hair out of my face again, fills a cupped hand with water, and rinses my mouth out.

“I’ll never drink again,” I choke out.

Louis snorts. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“Have you ever felt like this before?”

“Many times.”

“H—” I want to ask him a question again, but another wave of nausea catches me unaware. “I-I have to…”

“Go ahead. It’ll wash down the drain.”

I let the last contents of my poor stomach out with the water, and Louis rinses my mouth out again. I drink some of the water as he does it, and tears pour from my eyes as a sob rips from my chest.

“Are you sad, kid?”

“He tried to trick me,” I whine.

“Who did?”

“Eric. I was supposed to have fun tonight, but he ruined it.”

Louis sighs. “Yeah. If it’s any consolation, I’ll try to get him banned.”

“You can do that?” I look up at him with big eyes.

“I can try,” he says with a lopsided smile that shows off his teeth. Like this, he looks almost wolflike, and something that isn’t nausea rushes up my throat. He’s handsome. I didn’t notice it before, but up close like this, I do. He’s really, really handsome.

I realize I’m staring at him, and when he meets my gaze, I flinch and look away.

“How are you feeling now, kid?” He keeps calling me kid. I’m not that young, damn it! “Think you can get to the bed without puking your guts out all over my apartment?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine.”

He leads me into the living room. It’s a strange apartment, with motorcycle parts littering every surface, and a large, broken-apart motorcycle standing next to the TV. I’m used to messy places, but this isn’t messy per se; everything is clean as far as I can see, but there’s just…a lot to it.

Louis rummages around in his wardrobe and comes up with a huge T-shirt that’s bound to reach all the way to my knees.

“Think this will do?” He bunches up the shirt in his hands, gesturing for me to lift my arms. I do, and he slips the shirt over my head and pulls it down as if he’s my parent or something. Not that I’d know; I never knew my real parents. My first foster mom did this sometimes when I was really young though.

This simple gesture makes me feel like I’m young again, or more like I’m…taken care of. I feel the same way I sometimes felt with Aaron when he was being good to me, like when he allowed me to sleep next to him in the hammock in summertime. He’d let me rest my head on his chest as he read his comic books in the sun. I liked Aaron when he was kind, but that just made it all the more complicated when hewasn’tkind.

What if Louis is kind without having any bad, unkind sides? What ifhecan be the one to…

“I’ll set a bucket on the floor in case you need to throw up again.” He nods toward the other room, which I assume to be the bedroom. “Make sure to drink some water once you’re feeling up for it; it’ll make tomorrow morning easier.”

“Wait…Where are you going to sleep?”

“Here.” He turns around and lifts a blanket from the couch.

“No,” I blurt out. “Please…please sleep with me.”

Louis pauses and sends me a questioning glance over his shoulder.

“I don’t mean…sleepwith me. I just mean sleep next to me. Please, I’m…I’m scared.” The alcohol must still be loosening my tongue. Otherwise, I don’t think I would’ve dared to say this. Also, Louis makes me strangely calm; despite his intimidating size and gruff demeanor, I know he won’t hurt me. I don’t knowhowI know that, but I do. On the other hand, I didn’t think Aaron would hurt me, yet he did. He hurt me so badly.

Louis turns back around, his dark, bushy eyebrows raised. “You’re scared? There’s nothing to be scared of here, little Sparrow.”

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