Page 13 of Bad For A Weekend

“Yeah, well, I can’t face my problems because I don’t even know what or who they are,” she mumbles.

She has a point. Until we know who’s behind her abduction, she has no control. That’s where our experiences differ.

“So, where to?” I ask, taking a step back from this deep conversation I shouldn’t engage in.

“I don’t care. Can’t you just take me somewhere?”

“I’m not a taxi service.”

“I’m aware.” She looks absently out the window, ripping at her nails with her teeth while I turn forward, letting her work through her thoughts. I’ve already said too much. Any more sharing and I’ll start to open up to feeling something for this girl. Empathy is not my friend, and I curse my mother for giving me that trait. “Just, please. Take me anywhere.”

“You name it, I’ll take you there.”

“God, Owen. Haven’t you ever just wanted to be somewhere else but have no idea where that is?”

She has no idea how often I have. But this is how it begins. A kid is going through something big, and I try to help them through it. It starts small when I give them tools and champion them. But because I’m me, I end up putting everything I have into setting them up for success. And then what? That shit blows up in my face.

This feels like a small give, taking her somewhere she can process what’s going on, but it’s not. It’s the beginning of me not keeping my head on straight and missing red flags that were always right in front of me.

She sniffles, and my eyes dart to the rearview mirror, where I see her rest her head on the car window. She looks small and lost. Against my better judgment, I give in.

I blow out a breath and shift the car into drive. “I know a place.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into a parking garage, waiting for the princess in the backseat to say something because I’m sure this isn’t what she had in mind.

“The Grove? Seriously?”

There it is. The sass I knew she’d throw my way, despite her melancholy mood.

“Just wait,” I say.

I drive up each floor of the parking garage until we reach the top. There are only a few cars up here because not everyone knows what I know. Backing into a spot that has the best view, I park.

“I can’t walk around a shopping complex with these crutches. My armpits already feel bruised from school today,” she gripes.

“You’re not.” I get out and walk around the back of the SUV to grab her crutches and open her door.

“I’m serious, Owen. This isn’t where I want to be.”

“We don’t know each other very well but can you please just shut the fuck up for a minute?”

Her pouty lips flatten into a firm line. I ready myself for her vitriol, but it doesn’t come. Grinning, I leave her to figure her shit out and walk to the back of the SUV. I lift the hatch open so there’s plenty of room for me to sit and get comfortable.

It was probably a bad idea bringing her here. Not only because my job isn’t to hang out with her but because I’m exposing a part of me by showing her where I go when I need to get away.

A minute later, I hear the distinct sound of crutches clomping against the concrete, followed by the stomping of her good foot. She rounds the SUV and freezes, seeing why I brought her here.

Before us is a panoramic view of L.A. The sun’s setting, casting an orange glow through the hazy sky. Below us, the world goes on about their business, crammed together on the sidewalks. But if you lift your gaze, you can almost pretend you’re alone in a city of over three million people. I spent a lot of time up here when I needed time away from everything going on, and it helped me. Maybe it can help her.

“Wow. I didn’t know this was up here.” She sits next to me, resting her crutches between her legs and hugging them to her chest.

Even though she has a damn good view from her bedroom balcony, she still has a look of awe as she takes in the scene before us, and I appreciate that about her. This is my first experience with the rich and famous, and it’s not at all what I thought it would be. Sure, she has her spoiled brat moments, but she’s also grounded in a way I didn’t expect.

“Is this where you go when you can’t deal with life?” she asks.

“Sometimes.”

We sit in silence, but her thoughts are loud. She’s been through a lot the past couple of weeks, and she’s all up in her head. Through years of working with kids, it’s instinct to want to dive in and help, but it’s torture to let her work it out on her own. I have a feeling things with her stalker will get worse before they get better, and I need to keep my head clear and focused.

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