eleven
“I am just reaping the rewards through a mutually beneficial agreement.”- Leo
Thursday Night…
“Want some ice cream?” I ask, when we walk through the back door of my house.
I have no idea what possessed me to bring Callisto into the city with me or why I am currently asking him if he wants ice cream after running a few more errands.
Callisto has remained mostly quiet since our conversation about Critter, staying in the background as I checked on a few other employees of Peadar.
“Umm… is it organic? Nonfat or non-dairy?” When I level him with a dry look, he shuts his mouth quickly, only opening it again to answer “Sure,” as he takes off Fletcher's boots. I make quick work of grabbing a carton of ice cream, two spoons, and leading us into the living room.
“Let's watch something. Not really tired.” I go to sit down on the couch but notice Callisto doesn’t follow. I look and he’s staring at my hands. Just as I am about to ask ‘what’, Callisto’s soft voice speaks.
“What about bowls?”
“Does the princess need a bowl to eat ice cream out of? Does it need to be made of gold with ornate designs?”
I smirk, a teasing nature to my tone. Callisto smiles and shakes his head.
He then sits down. I follow suit, sitting close to him and offering him a spoon. He takes it with a quiet ‘thank you’.
“What do you wanna watch?” I grab the remote and turn the TV on.
I’m hyper aware of Callisto’s body beside me, the way his elbow and knee touch mine every time I make a subtle movement.
I try not to think about it. I try not to allow my own nervous energy to show in the form of jerky motions or frozen limbs.
“I don’t watch TV,” Callisto responds, and that causes my head to snap in his direction.
He doesn’t look like he is lying at all, his face is very matter-of-fact, and I don't know why I’m so surprised.
Thinking back on the night we broke into his house, I don’t recall even seeing a TV.
I shrug, finding reruns of Peaky Blinders.
I set the remote down to open the ice cream container.
“What’s this?” Callisto’s head tilts as he watches the show playing in front him. He scrapes his spoon over the surface of the ice cream, creating a perfectly smooth plane, a direct contrast to my method of pushing my spoon in as far as it can go and scooping out.
“Peaky Blinders,” I answer.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“You’ve never heard of Peaky Blinders?” I gesture toward the TV, my arm rubbing against his with the motion.
An electric spark travels the veins in my arm and straight to my heart, but I ignore it. As much as I hate who he is, I can’t deny my attraction to him. I want to break him. Watch him bleed. Then wrap the wounds and kiss the bandage. I want to hurt him and protect him in the same breath.
Callisto is quiet again after that, spooning out a bit of ice cream every so often then guiding it into his wide mouth. He watches the TV show with those curious green eyes of his. He scoffs or grimaces when something violent occurs.
Something eventually shifts, though; Callisto’s gaze goes far off, no longer focusing on the show. I can tell he’s thinking about something, so I take a bite of ice cream and wait. If there’s anything I have learned about him in my time with him is that he is not shy about voicing his thoughts.
“Why did you decide to take me with you today?”
Callisto finally asks, and I wasn’t expecting that at all.
I was expecting to continue the conversation about Critter.
He had been so quiet all afternoon, I wasn't exactly sure what was going through his head.
I wasn't even sure what was going through my own.
Everything felt muddled, but being out on the streets somehow helped clear my head.
“I don’t know. After our… erm… argument,” I start, clearing my throat. “I took a walk, and at first, it was because I wanted you to see, to really see, what the streets were like. To expose you to them. To make you eat your words.”
Callisto nods but doesn't open his mouth to interrupt.
I push past my nerves, continuing my thought process.
“But… Then you made that comment when I got back, so I just decided that you should get out of the house a little bit. I would hate being cooped up. I mean, I know you’re a prisoner or whatever, and you haven’t been here that long, but you didn’t really do anything wrong.
You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time because you’re nosy as fuck, and I am just reaping the rewards through a mutually beneficial agreement.”
“Mutually beneficial agreement? Leo, it’s called kidnapping, but you would have made a great lawyer.” Callisto giggles, and I allow my own lips to quirk into a smile.
At first, it was weird seeing Callisto dressed in Fletcher’s clothes because before that, I had only seen him in designer pajamas or something from my own closet.
It has slowly become normal to me over the past few hours, even though the bright, chipped nail polish serves as a harsh reminder that he doesn’t belong in my world, no matter how much he can look the part.
“A lawyer? Nah. That’s too uptight for me. Never really wanted to do that. Daron, though. I think he had big dreams once.” I thoughtfully chew a bite of ice cream, ignoring my brain freeze.
“He’s, like, your best friend, right? How did you meet him? Like did you meet him because of your job or like were you childhood friends?”
Callisto asks, and I wasn’t expecting such a personal question.
I debate on how I want to answer. He looks genuinely curious, and I hate myself for wanting to tell him the truth. I decide to go for something vague.
“Yeah, he’s more than my best friend; I trust him with my life. We met at a shelter.”
My voice is an octave higher with the truth that feels as though it is scraping over my skin, leaving it raw.
I glance at Callisto, finding his dark brows creased in the light of the TV.
He has removed his beanie, revealing matted down curls.
We both had already taken off our jackets, leaving us in our shirts and pants.
He still wears his socks, while I toed mine off a half an hour ago, my bare feet propped on the table in front of us.
“What do you mean by shelter?”
I take another bite of the ice cream, trying to decide if his question is genuine. I didn’t hear any derision in his tone. I guess it’s feasible for Callisto to not know what I meant by that since he seems to live his life in a bubble.
“A homeless shelter. One for youth specifically. We both ended up at the same one.” I try to keep my voice even. I usually don't discuss my time in the shelter with anyone, not even Daron. I go back and visit often, but I don't talk about my experience there.
“What were you doing in a homeless shelter?” Callisto’s voice is soft, almost disbelieving, and it angers me. I don't like pity. I don't need to be pitied. I’ve had a rough life, but it hasn’t always been bad. Peadar made it a lot better, and I’m very thankful for that.
“What do you think?”
He doesn't answer. I pinch my lion's head pendant between my thumb and index finger, rubbing the smooth surface of the back. He watches me, his green eyes tracking the motion of my fingers. Feeling exposed under his gaze, I drop it and clear my throat.
“We were homeless.” My tone is distant. It’s the only way I can talk about it.
Remove myself from it. I shiver, cold. I barely resist the urge to cuddle closer to Callisto, the warmth radiating from his body almost addicting.
Instead, I take the blanket and pull it closer to my chest, cuddling down into it.
“Oh.” The single syllable falls from his lips softly, but it feels like it punches me in the gut. I did not expect this conversation to turn so heavy. I should shut this down. Turn off the TV and go upstairs. But I’m frozen to my spot on the couch, wanting to see where Callisto takes this.
“Um… Can I… umm… can I ask why? Like I genuinely don’t know how people end up in homeless shelters. Aren’t there government programs designed to help?” Callisto’s voice fractures with nerves, and the words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Well, Daron has been in and out of the system his whole life. His dad left before he was born and his mom was on drugs. He was born addicted to some kind of drug. Never told me what.” Callisto’s mouth gapes open at the new information.
“Anyways, he lived with his grandma throughout his childhood, but she was old and frail. Let him do whatever he wanted, so he started getting into trouble pretty early, I think. His mom would visit, make empty promises and all that shit about cleaning up her life. She never did.
His grandma died of a stroke when he was eleven. He found her dead when he got home from school one day.”
I study Callisto’s face for any sort of understanding of what he’s thinking.
“At eleven? That had to be so traumatizing. Oh my God.” Callisto winces, the pity he feels for eleven-year-old Daron written all over his face. “Then what happened? Did he go to live with his mom? Did he have any more relatives?”
“No. His mom was still on drugs. She was declared unfit by the courts. No other relatives wanted him, so he went into foster care. He was in and out of different homes for a while. No one wanted a damaged teenager. One day, after yet another beating from another foster dad, he decided to run away.
He ended up in a shelter.”
“Oh. Wow. Will Daron be mad at you for telling his story?” Callisto’s mouth is still open in shock. I think about the question, letting the cool ice cream melt on my tongue, my body leaning even more into Callisto’s. If he minds it, or even notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“Nah. He’s laid back. He’s open about his past. Anyway, he’s younger than me, and he was getting bullied by an older boy at the shelter. The boy didn't want to give him a cot and was trying to take his portion of food.”
“What a little…” Callisto’s insult trails off, and my mouth quirks to the side, silently urging him to say the word that is clearly on the tip of his tongue.
“Asshole?” I supply.
“Yeah.” Callisto nods.