Page 9 of Sire
Smiling, I elbow him. “Jeez. Thanks, Mr. Muscle.”
In the past week, I’ve grown attached to him. His name is Jace.When our van arrived at the beach house, I heard the doctors, there to treat us, greet him with warmth.
Jace brought us meals, but never introduced himself, and I was a little busy recovering from shock.
I keep recalling what the therapist said to me after I was rescued. “Trusting another person may seem unimaginable right now, and that’s okay.”
She’s not wrong. Trust has been a gamble for me; a game I’ve lost until now.
But I’m right about The Pastor.
I more than trust him.
I belong with him.
Even though I don’t know his name.
The therapist’s name was Rachel, and I know the woman who saved us, who Jace works for, is Ms. Nadine Faye. She introduced herself in the van while she gave us blankets to wrap around our shivering flesh, and in a matter of hours, Ms. Faye felt like our mama bear.
I felt safe; a rare emotion for me.
And I don’t know why Luck has finally found me, too, but I’m not giving it back.
Iama mosquito.
Little, light brown, buzzing, and yeah, cute until I bite. I gotta survive, too.
“You can’t be here.” The Pastor cups the boy’s downy curls, his tenderness at odds with his menacing appearance and simmering rage. “You’re safe now. You need to go home.”
Be brave.
I don’t care he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen; he’s a beast right now, and I’m used to his kind.
“I don’thavea home.”
“Well, then, go back to wherever you came from.”
“That’s thelastplace that’s safe for me.”
“Then go to your family,” he seethes. “Parents. Grandparents. Aunts or uncles somewhere.”
I swallow. “I don’thavea family, either.”
And it’s all I’ve ever wanted.
There’s not a word for the hole in my heart. It just aches, empty and lonely, a void I smile through until I close my eyes every night and fill it with tears. It’s been there since I was days old and left on the steps of a chapel.
“The fuck, man?” The Pastor aims his ire at Mr. Muscle. “You got the intel from the girls. You took them back to their families. Why isshestill here?”
My fists land on my waist. “Look, Crayola King,shecan speak for herself. As I told Mister Muscle and Miss Faye, I have no home, no family, and where I came from is not safe,so I’m staying here…” It’s hard to breathe with the way he’s looking at me, but I insist, “I’m staying withyou.”
A bomb drops in his deep blue eyes, but I’m right. I feel it in my soul. You recognize a prayer when it’s been answered.
Though he thinks I’m as wrong as sour milk. He flares his pierced nose at me like…
No.
Fucking.
