Chapter 17 #2
My heart was pounding heavily, anger making my blood run hot. How dare he throw something that didn’t belong to him out on the street? Those were mine, whether he liked them or not, and he’d just tossed them away as though they didn’t matter. But they did matter. To me.
How was I supposed to explain to him what he probably would never understand?
Being homeless, surviving on the streets, leaves a mark that never fades.
It’s a change that stays with you even after you make it out.
Once a man’s been homeless, there is always that possibility.
That fear that it could happen again. I constantly worried I was one disaster from losing it all.
I couldn’t trust myself enough to believe I’d never be in that place again.
So I existed in the shadow of what if, the lurking fear that everything I had wasn’t really mine and could be ripped away at a moment’s notice.
Sure, I hated those creamer cups. Hazelnut was not a good flavor. But in a way, Hiro was right. They were a coping mechanism. My contingency when shit went to hell. A reminder of survival. Were they basically useless? Yes. Did they make me feel like I had my life together just in case? Also yes.
So actually, no, they weren’t a coping mechanism. They were liquid hugs.
And he’d just taken them away.
The sharp sound of snapping brought my eyes up. “Are you even listening to me?” Hiro said, thumb and finger strumming against each other right in front of my face.
“Say something useful if you want me to pay attention,” I barked, turning away to show him my back.
We were almost to my place, thankfully. I knew because the buildings were getting older and closer together. The sidewalks were somehow grungier, and the people walking on them looked like they were just trying to get through the day.
“Don’t be like that, Pip,” Hiro said, dropping a hand on my shoulder.
I shrugged it off.
“All right, you’re mad. You made your point.” He spoke quietly, but there was a frustrated edge to his voice. Like my ignoring him somehow bothered him.
Good. But if it was really good, why was my stomach in knots and my chest so tight it hurt?
“Turn around,” he said, but I ignored that too.
The driver turned onto my street. I thought the sight of home would make the pressure inside me ease, but it only made it worse.
I put my hand on the door handle, ready to eject myself the moment the car stopped.
“Rett,” Hiro snapped, clearly at the end of his patience.
I flinched when he caught my shoulder and pulled me around. He jerked like I’d burned him, holding up his hand, palm out. The look in his eyes was one of betrayal, as if I’d somehow hurt his feelings because I’d flinched.
I burst into tears.
Not the cutesy kind either. The embarrassing kind that caused a scrunched face and snot.
Hiro froze, panic transforming his face. I buried mine in my hands, trying to stop the sudden burst of emotion.
“Oh. Ohhh no. You’re crying. I don’t like crying.”
I cried harder, and the cab lurched to a stop. Sucking in a breath, I swiped my palms over my wet cheeks and reached for the door handle once more.
“Hey.” His voice was gentle this time, as was the hand that stopped me from yeeting myself out of the car in humiliation.
I was going to have to change my name. Assume a new identity. Never use creamer again.
That last one was the most unbearable.
“Pip,” Hiro cajoled, trying to draw me back.
Just the suggestion of comfort made me mad. Jolting, I spun to glare through squinty, wet eyes. “You just threw them away,” I accused. “Like they didn’t even matter. I offered you the only thing I had, and you pitched it out the window without even a backward glance.”
Realization and horror dawned over his face all at once. “Okay now,” he whispered, reaching for me.
I wrenched away, bolting out of the cab and nearly faceplanting on the sidewalk.
“Would you be careful?” he bellowed.
“I gave you a hug, and you threw it away!” I yelled and rushed toward my building. Okay, I tried to rush, but my knee and ankles wanted to pretend they were turtles.
A bunch of muffled cursing erupted behind me, and I couldn’t help but glance back. Hiro was half out of the cab, phone in hand extended toward the driver.
“Pip, wait,” he ordered.
Wait for what? More humiliation? Pass.
I started up the stairs of the building. Did I mention living on the top floor with no elevator really sucked?
Behind me, a car door slammed, and the cab sped away.
I was almost to the stairwell when Hiro stormed inside. He spared a glance at the grimy, germ-infested floor and grimaced. I paused, glancing down at his bare feet, but remembered I was mad and disappeared into the tiny shaft filled with rickety boards.
Grabbing the railing, I used it to haul myself up while at the same time trying not to let it have all my weight because this thing was one nail away from detaching from the wall and taking me down.
Something grabbed me from behind and yanked. I gasped, grip tightening automatically on the rotten, splinter-infested excuse for support, but as predicted, it wrenched off the wall, and both of us went flailing.
Fortunately, something solid stopped me, but the railing kept going, scraping against the already beaten-up wall and slamming into the door leading into the lobby.
FYI: The “lobby” of my building was a narrow strip of tile that smelled like mold, urine, and something I really hoped wasn’t death.
It used to smell a lot nicer before Ms. Dorothy died. I was pretty sure she’d spritz some perfume out her door on a regular basis. It kinda smelled like bathroom spray, but anything was better than moldy pee.
But then she died, and the EMTs had to come carry out her body. Then our landlord, Larry, threw out all her stuff. That’s when I rescued Hercules, Spike, and Harold Jr. Anyway, after that, the death smell took over.
For a while, I worried they didn’t actually take her body, but Larry assured me they did.
“Would you hold still?” Hiro griped, adjusting the grip he had on me.
That’s when I realized he was carrying me bridal style up the stairs. Brain fog was coming in hot, making it harder to focus and my thoughts more random. I should have been more alert, especially in Hiro’s arms, but I was growing tired.
“Put me down.”
“If I put you down now, we might both plummet through a portal to hell.”
“The wood isn’t that rotten,” I argued, even though I’d had the same thought once or twice.
“Please, it’s so decayed not even starving termites would risk a bite.”
“The railing was just old.”
He snorted. “It was old in 1930. Now, toothpicks have more resilience.”
“I didn’t invite you up.”
The sound of splintering wood cut off my words, and the arms holding me tensed as Hiro stumbled.
Gasping, my arms locked around his neck, and I shoved my face into his throat.
“Easy, baby. I got you.” He spoke quietly, the note of reassurance in his tone instantly calming me.
I pulled away, but he made a noise and pushed my face back into the column of his throat. “One of the steps gave way, but we’re fine.”
“But your foot,” I said, trying to pull back again.
“Is fine,” he murmured, fingers threading into my hair.
“You aren’t even wearing shoes.” I worried, guilt saturating my insides.
“This is nothing.”
I rubbed my nose against his clavicle. I sort of felt like crying again.
“No more tears, Pip.” He shushed me as though he knew I was one sniffle away from a full meltdown. “I’d rather get shot again than see you cry.”
“Then don’t talk about getting shot.”
His laughter was so low and deep that it was more like a hum that vibrated every nerve inside my body.
When we reached the fifth floor, he stepped out into the hallway where Haz’s and my apartments were located. I wasn’t sure how much longer the place would be Haz’s, though, because he was obviously on a fast track to moving in with Kieran.
It made me worry about who my new neighbor would be.
That’s a problem for future me. Current me had enough to deal with.
“Which apartment is yours?” Hiro asked, stopping in the center of the hallway between the two doors almost directly across from each other.
I pointed to the right, and he stepped toward it. “Key.”
“Put me down.”
Once I was on my feet, I reached into the interior pocket of my coat and pulled out a single key.
“You just carry it around all willy-nilly like that?” Hiro asked, staring at the key like it was some sort of holy object and not a hunk of metal.
“How else am I supposed to carry it?”
“On a keychain so you don’t lose it,” he answered as if it were obvious. “That thing doesn’t even have a ring on it. Just floating around in your pocket on a hope and a prayer.”
“I don’t need a keychain to keep track of my house key,” I pointed out, jiggling it a little to get it into the lock.
“Is that even the right key?”