Page 35 of Safe
Except, it did happen. My God, did it happen.
In those few moments, I felt like I’d never be the same. I wanted her. I needed her. It scared the shit out of me. And at the same time, I knew how fragile the situation was, and it wasn’tall about me. I couldn’t justhaveher when I was ready; I had toearnher—her trust, her desire, her love, all of it.
Oh my God, there’s that L word again.
She deserved someone who worked hard for her and knew what they wanted, not someone who couldn’t move on from the past. I needed to control myself and this God forsaken carnal need for her, until I could quiet the protest in my head.
16. THOMAS
When Landon torched that car, everything changed for me. This was the most reckless I had ever seen him, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore the possibility that his carelessness would take us both down. The whole Danielle chase was becoming hard to justify, and worse, it was becoming very difficult to clean up after.
I wasn’t even sure what the endgame was for Landon anymore. Danielle had already gotten away. He was already on Alex’s radar. There was only so much he could do, and at this point, it was just safer to leave and never come back. But he didn’t see it this way; he never saw anything this way.
I’d been involuntarily cleaning up his messes for fifteen years now without so much as an acknowledgement of the personal risk I endured. It all started innocently enough, all things considered, in middle school, doing stupid shit; a prank here and there, maybe trying to keep two girlfriends from finding out about each other. By the time we got to high school, shit became more serious. He’d steal cars, money, set off M80s, and rob stores. I knew it was going to keep getting worse, but for some reason, I just stayed by his side.
I was in a real shit place when I met Landon in middle school. I had just moved to town. My family was poor. We lived in a trailer park in the bad part of town. I ate free meals at school, never had any name-brand or new clothes, and had no friends. Landon was the only person who saw who I was beyond the ratty clothes and shyness, but looking back now, I don’t know if it was because he genuinely felt sorry for me or because he knew he could use me.
“Cool, um, drawing.” Those were the first words Landon ever spoke to me, commenting on the cartoonish, barely discernible dragon I was drawing in a sketchpad while sitting alone in the cafeteria in the middle of 6th grade.
I looked up to acknowledge him but didn’t say anything because I couldn’t decipher if he was being nice or if this was some cruel joke, as it usually was. I was content being alone and wasn’t looking for any pity friends. When I didn’t respond, he sat down next to me, insistent on getting me to talk.
“I’m Landon.” He lowered his head to peer under the brim of my hat and catch my eyes.
“Thomas.” I still didn’t look up, but he spent the rest of lunch trying to converse with me. Occasionally, I’d respond with a shrug or a head nod. He did this every day for the next few days, until I had decided that he wasn’t trying to make fun of me; he was trying to be my friend.
It was the biggest mistake I ever made.
A week later, I got my first taste of the real Landon. We were walking back to my house after school, something I never did with anyone, because I didn’t want anyone seeing the absolute dumpster I lived in. But Landon insisted that he didn’t care and never took no for an answer.
“This is it, I guess.” I shifted my weight, eyes dropping for a second before I lifted my arm, pointing my finger at the trailer diagonal from us, like I was second-guessing my choices. It wasn’t in particularly bad shape, but it was old, evident by the dirty, worn siding and rusted window screens.
“You guess? You don’t know where you live?” Landon joked, ignoring my desire to be anywhere but here.
We went inside to play some video games, which, in my house, meant we were playing an outdated Nintendo system, sitting on a shabby brown shag carpet because there were four of us in the house and only one two-seater couch. After an hourof playing Mario, Landon put his controller down, looked at the Nintendo, and then at me.
“You know, I could help you get a better gaming system.” His voice was hushed, not wanting my mom, who was just a few feet away in the kitchenette, to hear him.
I shook my head before he even finished. “No, I don’t want your pity or charity or whatever.”
“Fuck outta here.” The offense in his words was palpable. “I mean, you could help me, and I’d pay you. Like a job.”
“A job? You don’t even have a job.”
Landon looked past me at my mom, distracted by the food stamp dinner she was trying to put together, and looked back at me. “I mean, I don’t have like a hoity toity job. I sell… stuff.”
“Like drugs?” I had never known anyone who did anything illegal. If I were being honest, it fucking scared me. I was too scared to get in trouble; I just wanted to keep my head down, not bother anyone, and get through school.
“No, dumbass. I sell stolen shit.”
I went back to focusing on my game without responding, hoping he would drop it. No part of me wanted to be involved in whatever Landon was doing, regardless of what he was trying to do for me.
“You see, the problem is, I can’t keep up with selling, and there’s a bunch of stuff piling up in my closet that I can’t hide in there much longer. So, I need some help. And in return, I’ll give you half the money.”
I took a look at the crusty, old Nintendo in front of me—the one I had never complained about or had an issue with. I was about to say no, but before the words could escape my mouth, I heard my mom drop a plate in the kitchen, and watched as our dinner, the last food in the house, spilled out from behind the counter that separated the sitting area from the kitchen.
Is it really such a bad thing if I’m doing it to help my mom?
The question lingered in my head for another minute or two before I sighed in agreement.
