Veinticuatro
?Carajo, wey! The queue to get in is longer than usual, and I stick my head out to start counting how many people are in front of me. Veintidós. Damn, twenty-two.
I spot some new admits holding up the line.
I don’t like new people staying here. It’s been a steady flow of the same faces for years now.
Everyone who stays here has to be registered and goes through this admission process.
Then we’re all inventoried in some database to keep track of how often we stay here and how many of us are in shelters across the state.
This building holds thirty. And if there’s twenty-two in front of me, there's a good chance that I’m not staying here tonight.
Even if I don’t sleep here, I need my laptop from Amy’s desk. I can’t leave without it and want to have it with me in case I end up needing to take a bus to NOLA. That’s where I’d go if I had to run again. I’d find Senora úrsula down there.
It’s getting darker, and a motion light that’s mounted to the side of the building catches me in its spotlight.
I usually try to avoid being highlighted, sticking to the shadows and tiny-ass spaces that not even the sun can reach.
Right now, I’m grateful for it as I quickly walk around the corner just as I reach the heavy metal door.
Está cerrado. It's closed. Damn, okay, maybe she’ll pick up for me.
I pull out my phone, and the amount of notifications popping up on my screen makes me fucking jumpy as my mind goes straight to crazy with one long fucking paranoid thought.
Oh, Diosas. What if it’s them who found me, y they know who I am, y now they have my number, y can now track me?
Todo está bien, todo está bien, todo está bien. I remind myself over and over again while scrolling through the unread messages, and take a deep breath. These aren’t from the X. They haven’t found me. These are all from him, with a few from Evie and Sloane.
Oh, Diosas, Hunter. This man hasn’t stopped calling me, leaving voicemails, and sending texts since I dipped.
I can’t with these messages, he’s fucking insane.
Each one is more and more demanding, emotional, and unhinged, and now I have mariposas in my stomach because I like how they make me feel.
I like this fine-ass man’s type of crazy.
He’s got my heart freaking the fuck out as he fills up my head with girly ideas about romance and that he might actually care about me. It was in his kiss.
That kiss hit deep and had my toes curling in my Docs.
His big-ass body was caging me in, and I liked it.
I liked it so much that I wanted his fine-ass to drop his hands from the shelf above my head so that he could squeeze me just as hard.
I’ve never wanted a man’s touch, but he had me internally begging. This man is starting to make me weak.
But I gotta be strong. If he knew why I booked it outta there, he wouldn’t be trying to pull me back in.
Payton could destroy me, and the last thing I need is for him to become collateral damage. The ripple effect would be too strong. It’d take Evie down if something happened to her brother. And then it’d hit Sloane and the other brother who follows her around like a fucking lost dog.
I can’t let her get the upper hand. I need to stay ahead of it. Knowledge is power, and I can’t let her gain any more over me. I need to get my shit and get to work.
I pull up Amy’s number and hit the green button to connect the call. She’s always got her phone in her hand, and even if she’s in the middle of intake-hell, I’m hoping she picks up.
And she does because she’s literalmente the nicest person alive.
I let her know that I need to grab my computer from her office, and she breaks the news that the shelter is full. I had a feeling it would be. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. It’s why I always have to have another plan.
All she can do is hand it off to me, and I let her know where I’m at. We hang up, and within two minutes, she’s out at the back door.
“I found a laptop sleeve case for you, it’ll help protect it,” she says as she hands me my computer. She has a smile on her face, but it’s short-lived as she adds, “I hate when you aren’t able to stay here. Where will you go?”
“I’ll be alright, don’t worry about me,” I assure her. If Amy knows too much, she tries to fix more than she can.
“Text or call if you need anything, I’ll be here all night,” she offers, and I know that she means every word. She doesn’t go home a lot. She sleeps in her office, and it reminds me of where I slept earlier today.
“I might go hang out at the tattoo shop for a little bit,” I tell her, and watch her face change. Her eyes go from being tired to sad, and I know it’s because of Alvi. Oh fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.
“Let me know if you do, I know that you’ll be safe there.” I don’t say anything else, and neither does she. I lift my chin in thanks, and she nods to say goodbye before the door closes behind her.
I hold my computer to my chest and walk around the building, leading down the alleyway behind the shopping center.
The long stretch is dimly lit like it was last night, and instead of welcoming the brightness of the shelter’s motion light, I stick to the darkened path and stay close to the dumpsters while stepping over broken pieces of pallet.
I’m not sure where I should go. I have three options: I could go to the Athletic Center and hide out, go back to the library and hole up there, or I could go to the shop like I just told Amy and keep my promise to tattoo guy.
All of them have wifi, and I could potentially stay at any of them until morning. I have food from earlier stashed in my bag. I’d be alright.
It’s quiet back here until it’s not. I hear a sound from long ago that’s loud enough to be way too close.
The familiar click of a Zippo lighter is followed by a visible flame and the clunk of it being shut.
Whoever’s out here is only six or so feet away.
I smell the smoke from their freshly lit cigarette and step further back into the trash that’s piled up. I should blend right in.
I’m in the same area I was when that asshole tried to attack me. It’s an eerie feeling, and goosebumps erupt all over my skin. My fingers curl around the handle of my knife in my worn-out jacket pocket.
I may be on high alert, but I also know that my nerves are shot. I don’t know how much more I can fucking take today.
It’s already been the longest day ever. I should’ve pulled a card or checked my horoscope. I have my moonology oracle deck and coulda prepared for the storm that the universe sent me.
I’ve spent so much time out in the world at night that my eyes are easily adjusted. I don’t see anyone out here anymore, so I guess whoever was smoking left. Only the lingering stench of burning nicotine and rotting garbage remains; the orange glow from the cigarette’s cherry is nowhere in sight.
I hike my bag higher up on my back and step out of the trash, taking a calculated chance that it’s safe to keep going. I’m careful of where I walk and avoid stepping on anything that could give me away. Even if I can’t see anyone, I don’t want to alert anybody that I’m back here. Too late.
“You coming in or are you gonna walk past the back door?” A voice breaks through the silence.
I freeze just as a phone flashlight brightens the alleyway and reveals tattoo guy’s face.
“Was out here for a smoke and spotted you from over there. Just need to know if I’m keeping it open for you or locking it back up,” he adds, and I swear I just lost a life. He fucking scared the crap outta me!
It takes me a minute to decide what to do.
If I go in there, I know Hunter will show up, and I’ll have to tell him something about earlier.
He saw her and he heard her; he knows she called me a different name.
He’s probably got a million questions, and I don’t have a lot of answers that I can give him.
“He’s worried about you, you know. I’d like to be able to tell him that you’re here. I don’t know what happened, but he’s losing his shit thinking you’re gonna skip town. You're the first girl he’s ever cared about, and he’s convinced that he’ll never see you again.”
“I don’t know about all that.”
“Which part?” he asks.
“That I’m the first girl he’s ever cared about.” This seems as unlikely as the FBI putting me into witness protection.
“You seem to be the lucky one.” The way he says it goes straight through me.
“Luck’s never been on my side, man.” It’s true. She’s a bitch.
“Looks like he wants to change that, if you’ll let him.”
“He has no idea what he wants. This is the same man who wouldn’t sit through an hour of math last year, and today he’s out here acting like… like—” I don’t know what to say, and my argument dies off.
“Didn’t he tell you this shit? I thought he told me that he told you how he felt?”
“He’ll end up changing his mind. It came outta nowhere and it’ll disappear just as fast.”
“According to him, he’s had feelings for you this whole time, and today he decided to do something about it.” Where I come from, men don’t have those, and they would rather chop off a finger than ever acknowledge that emotions or feelings exist.
“And he what? He told you all that over mimosas at brunch? Come on. You expect me to believe that this man was spilling his guts to you about how he felt?” Pff, as if.
“Check for yourself, smartass.” He thumbs over his screen and then hands over his phone. “Go ahead, take a look.”
I scroll through his texts with Hunter, and my cheeks burn from seeing my name. I hear his voice in my head when I read over his words and feel like a stupid-ass girl when the hot guy likes her back. Ugh. Who am I right now?!
“So what’s it gonna be? You coming in or what?” I hand him his phone back and nod my head, yes. He reaches for the door handle, holds it open, and ushers me inside the shop.
“Make yourself comfortable at the front desk. We’ve got some appointments coming in,” he says, like I’m already on the job or something as he walks past me. “You can drop your stuff off in the office, your shit will be good there. You want a Rossi Ink sweatshirt?” Ugh, do I?
“I don’t know, man, I guess. You got a wifi password I can use?”
“Yeah,” he says with a smirk and writes something down on a blue Post-it that he swipes off the front desk. “There you go, what size do you want? I have large and up.” I take a look and shake my head. ?Es neta? Is this real?
“You know, most people have something a little stronger than an ex’s name and birthday as their password.”
“Technically, she’s not my ex, and that isn’t her birthday.”
“Ugh, I thought you said Amy was –,” he shakes his head no, and now I’m really confused.
“She’s my wife, and that’s the day that we got married.” ?Qué lo qué?