Page 17 of Out of the Dark

"I’ll help you if you want. With applying and paying." He says it so casually, as if it’s an offer to grab me a glass of water and not a boatload of application paperwork and money.

"Why?"

"Why would I help you?" he asks for clarification.

I nod.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Correct meif I’m wrong, but I feel like you’ve been dealt a tough hand in life. I know what that’s like, and I also know what it’s like to have someone help me make a better life for myself. I wouldn’t be where I am today without my friend Shane and his parents."

A lump forms in my throat. "I couldn’t possibly let you do that for me. It’s too much."

"How about a couple classes at the community college? The money isn’t a big deal for me, it’ll get you started with your education, and I’ll feel like I’m doing a good deed."

I hesitate. The offer is simultaneously tempting and terrifying. "I’ll think about it." It’s an incredibly generous offer, but I can’t help but wonder what the catch is.

He flashes me a smile. "Good. Tell me when you make up your mind."

I finish cleaning up the kitchen, but hope has sparked within me and is growing by the second. The thought of going to college, making friends, and building a life for myself beyond simply surviving is a dream I thought I might never achieve. But with Mark’s help, maybe it’s possible.

Mark watches me as I put away the cleaning supplies. "You know, you’re welcome to any of the books on my shelf. There’s a lot of good stuff in there."

I smile. "Thank you." I don’t know what else to say. Everything just keeps getting better.

But as the day wears on, doubts begin to creep back in. What if this is all too good to be true? What if Mark has ulterior motives, hidden intentions that I can’t see? Can I really afford to put my faith in a stranger, no matter how kind he seems?

Regardless, I spend the afternoon exploring the bookshelves in Mark’s office before grabbing a new book andlosing myself in the worlds contained within the pages. It’s a welcome distraction from the doubts and fears that have sprung up.

But even as I lose myself in the story, a part of me remains in the present, cautious of letting down my guard completely. I’ve learned the hard way that trust is a fragile thing, easily shattered by the unexpected cruelty of others. And yet, there’s something about Mark that makes me want to believe in the goodness of people, in the possibility of a better life.

Eventually, I’ll have to leave and go out on my own in the real world, but right now, I’ll let myself believe that things are perfect for a little while longer.

CHAPTER TWELVE

CLAIRE

I’ve started making a list of tasks to do around the apartment—little things to keep myself busy and, hopefully, make myself useful. Mark didn’t ask me to do this, but with the amount he’s offered to pay me, I’ll feel guilty sitting around doing the bare minimum, and I’ve already managed to get a lot done in the past few days. Plus, tasks like this are comforting for me in an odd sort of way; I may not know what I’m doing when it comes to most things in the "real world," but cooking, cleaning, and housework are what I was raised to do. Back at home, there was no higher position for a woman than a docile, committed housewife.

As silly as it seems, it’s one of the few things I don’t resent from my past. I’ve always enjoyed these sorts of things—the mindless, repetitive nature of doing laundry, the satisfaction of seeing people enjoy a meal I worked hard to make well, the feeling of doing a hard day’s work and seeing the efforts reflected inthe clean orderliness of the house. It’s something that, no matter where I am, has the same effect.

I jot down, "Clean the windows" in the small notebook I’ve been carrying around. In reality, there’s not a ton of cleaning to do. He keeps this place surprisingly tidy, so my list of things to do is becoming more and more specific. I make my way down the hallway and open the door to the hall closet, noting the partially folded blankets and the random items scattered about—board games, empty picture frames, various knick-knacks. I add, "Organize the hall closet" to my list.

Mark’s muffled voice drifts into the hallway despite his closed office door. I shut the closet door quietly, knowing I shouldn’t be eavesdropping but unable to resist, especially when I hear the frustrated tone of his voice.

"I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing," he says. My heart hammers in my chest as I take a small step closer to the door.

There’s a pause, then a scoff. "Of course I’m not going to fuck her. Don’t be ridiculous."

I hold my breath and will my pulse to slow. He can’t be talking about me, right? He’s probably just referencing an ex-girlfriend.

I should leave. I should stop listening. But my feet are rooted to the floor, and my thoughts spiral in a direction I can’t control.

"No. She’s also fifteen years younger than me. She’s a lost kid trying to figure life out. I’m seriously just giving her a place to stay. That’s it."

A pause.

"Yes, that matters! There’s more to it than that, anyway—"

He keeps talking, but I don’t stick around to listen. My stomach churns as I quickly and quietly make my way to my room, shame and embarrassment weighing down on my chest.I shouldn’t feel bad about that—shouldn’t care at all—but somehow, the disgust in his voice feels like a slap in the face. It’s not like I want to… well, dothatwith him, but there’s something in the way he said it, like the idea of being with me is so repulsive it’s laughable. Because I’m such alostkid, apparently.

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