Hope lives with Love

1 /We Had Finally Collapsed/

I am riding in a beaten up car, it smells of musk and something darker, like rotting fast food. I look over to him, my eyes wide. His eyes are wider, he is panting, excited. Perhaps I am his first as well. He is my first; he is my salvation for the next few hours. If I had known it would ever come to this, my slender, almost prepubescent-looking form curled into a dirty seat next to a man quite possibly old enough to be my father, I don't think things would have turned out this way. If I had thought that I would ever be desperate enough to accept the offer, I don't think I would have let it get this bad.

But of course, I knew too late. He looks over at me, his eyes wide and green, I can see his eagerness. I press back in the seat a little more, giving him a weak smile. Our deal is that he buys me dinner first; I haven't eaten in a week. I am seventeen, but I don't look older then thirteen. I stand at roughly 5'2, I'm slender, and have very little in the way of what most would call a 'womanly' figure. I've lost more weight since my life fell apart, but I was always slender, small breasted, and slim hipped. I might have filled out, if things didn't go the way they did.

He is eyeing my lips, I was always pretty. Even when I was little, I have always been pretty. Even now, this sleepless look in my grey-blue eyes, even now when my hair hasn't been washed for a few days and hangs in limp curls around my shoulders. The dirty white undershirt clings to my slim frame, it's considerably worn, and there are holes were I dig my fingers into sleeves that are too long.

I stare listlessly out at other cars, wondering if they know what is going on, wondering if any who do know care. I wonder, to myself, if I could ever go back to something before this. I used to be the top of my class, things used to be a lot different. Thinking back, now, though, I can't remember where they really fell apart. I guess it just happens that way, though. He has a scraggly beard, a coat. Nice Dockers pants, loafers, and a sweater which is tight across what was probably once a washboard stomach, but what now looks like a beer-belly in the making.

He pulls off the freeway, into a drive through. He looks over at me, and for a moment his eyes have some sort of concern for me. My heart leaps, because it’s been a long time since I saw that expression on any ones face. When he speaks, it's rough. The sun is setting, and the sign with the menu on it is bright and almost sun-like in it's giving off of light. I stare at it, almost blankly, and he prods me on the knee, turning the poke into a caress.

"What do you want?"

For a moment it seems like he's asking me for something else, but I finally work up the courage and ask if I can get a hamburger. That's all I want, I haven't had one in so long, even if it has been awhile since my last meal. He nods, tells me that I can have whatever I want. And I can see he feels bad for me. I can see it in the way he averts his eyes, pulls his hand away from my knee.

Suddenly I'm ashamed, because of what I've let myself become. Suddenly flashes of memories of what I used to have just spring before my eyes, which are welling with tears. He doesn't see as I quickly wipe my eyes with my ragged sleeve.

I sink my teeth into the burger, I'm ravenous. I have to eat slowly, though, so I don't throw it up later. I've had that happen, I learned the hard way. It tastes amazing, more then amazing; heavenly. I swallow and take another bite, he watches me, almost nervously, and glances at his clock. He clears his throat. I look up, my eyes wide with fright, he looks ashamed, and his face softens.

"I don't want to rush you, but can we hurry this along a little bit? I have a room waiting...just as we agreed." I nod, and swallow my last bite. I feel bad, I'm making him wait and he probably has a family to get back too, a wife to greet and tell her he was working late at the office, maybe a daughter who needs help with math homework. I take another bite, and stare blankly at the dashboard.

2 /The ceiling isn't so bad/

The soft hush of the air conditioner fills my ears. I had to wait in the car while he checked in, but he handed me the key. I've finished my hamburger, and the crumpled wrapper is still in my hand, as if I'm afraid to let it go. Walking down the hallway in the motel is a weird thing. He's antsy, I can see it in the way he keeps looking back and clearing his throat. I'm trying not to stare at the floor too much.

I am so ashamed.

He waits at the door. Motels have this smell. It's not the smell of recycled air, or the smell of clean. It's somewhere in between, but on that same current you can almost smell the rooms that haven't been cleaned yet. The cigarette smoke. The lipstick. Everything. I push the key into the lock and turn it. It clicks loudly. The door is forced open with a push. Motel doors are always heavy.

I'm dying to take a shower, but can't. I drop my back-pack by the bathroom door. He's already closed and bolted the door. Suddenly I'm nervous. I want to cry, or run, or scream. I don't know what I've just agreed too.

"I'll be gentle," he says, seeming to have noted my sudden alarm. I just nod. I guess he does know it's my first time. I look at the bed. Floral patterned quilt, I know what the sheets will feel like under that. He clears his throat again, looks at his watch. I just sigh and pull off my shirt.

He's grunting, it's an uncomfortable experience, but I am oddly distanced from it. I'm glad he thought to use a condom, somehow, that thought never crossed my mind. Staring at the ceiling, I've noticed a peculiar yellow stain. This motel is only one story, so that means there's probably a leak when it rains. I'm glad the weather is hot and sunny; I don't want to think about hot many times the water has leaked onto this bed and soaked into the mattress. At least it doesn't feel damp.

He's fondling my breasts again; I guess he didn't have to be home too soon after all. He doesn't seem to notice the scar on my collar bone, never looked at it. He has a fixation on my breasts, he's muttering to himself about how fragile I am. I'm starting to get scared. He's rather hairy; the belly is a beer belly, unattractive and starting to sag along with his once no doubt hefty pecks. I let out a loud sigh, and he looks at my face, finally, the first time tonight.

"You can keep the room another night, want to go again?" I shrug, I need a place to stay, and this is a small price to pay for shelter and room service. I wonder if he knows I'll be loading up as much as possible before I leave?

The second time is not so bad. I barely notice as he groans and grunts and otherwise forces his sweating mass upon me. At 7:15 he leaves, muttering about being late. He is dressed again, but I am still in a state of undress, blinking in confusion. As the door clicks I hear his parting words.

"You were good, babe, you'll do fine." it suddenly hits me what's just happened. I stare down at my naked form, the small stain of blood on the floral comforter.

I feel so ashamed.

I feel so used.

How did things get to be like this?

But there is the question I don't want to answer. I stand up, taking the used condoms and their wrappers into the bathroom with me and flushing them. I turn on the shower as hot as I can stand it. What did I just do? Give it up for a couple nights rest and dinner?

I am confused.

I rub the motel soap over my body, it seems like years of dirt and grime and sin are washing off of me. But there aren't years worth of dirt. Just a few days. My last shower was in a shelter.

How far I have gone in just a few days. I wonder what they would think of me now, back at that shelter. Not much, probably. Suddenly I'm sitting down. I can't believe what I just did. I'm in shock, probably. I can't comprehend that I just gave it up to a middle aged man with a family so he would buy me dinner and a place to stay.

This is mind blowing news to me. Where was I?

3 /Losing the Game/

I left the hotel room as soon as it seemed logical to do so. I stayed, because I needed a place to stay, because I wanted to spend a few days feeling clean, or pretending that nothing had gotten as bad as it had.

When I finally left, I was just as bad off as I had been before. I was used, abused, and finally, above all things, sunken below even my lowest expectations. It was then, in that moment staring out at traffic lights waiting to cross the street that I thought about calling home. That I thought about erasing the years I had spent out here- wasted.

I wonder, vaguely, what exactly that means. Wasted. Is it like Resigned? Is it like Acceptance? But no- it is Wasted, lost, useless, now, to me. To everyone. I am Wasted, something that no longer holds meaning. I wonder what happened for me to let things slide so far.

Suddenly, I feel like remembering.

Years ago, how many? Three. How old am I now, I wonder, how old am I? Somewhere around seventeen, at this point, I might even be eighteen, somewhere between the years, they melted together and birthdays stopped mattering. But before that, before all that. Before this.

Before that I was the average suburban pre-teen. I had girly sleepovers where we talked about boys, gave each other facials, and painted each others nails. Sometimes, I really miss those sleep-overs. Some people would call them superficial, because they didn't really mean anything, but at the time, they were very important.

Before crossing this street with a backpack and fading shoes, I wore sweaters and slacks and plaid skirts and tights and shoes with silver buckles. I wore make-up. Before averting my eyes from any stranger I passed on the street, I went to the mall with my girl-pals. Before hotel rooms and middle-aged men, I was an innocent girl, trying her hardest to pass for an adult.

That was before him. That was when I was stupid. Not young, stupid. I'm still stupid now, I don't have the courage to go back, and I could. I've been clean for two years, that's two years after I left, when I wasn't clean. That means I was fourteen when he was seventeen. Maybe that was why he was so charming- because he was older. Because he was wonderful, dark, exciting. Because around him, I thought I could change him, or save the world. Maybe something in between. Having change passed to me by a woman who looks just as ashamed as I do wasn't his fault, though.

I don't feel like remembering anymore, so I stop, I look around- oddly enough, I'm in my old haunt. I did mean to be here, though. I'm looking for Teal, he should be somewhere around. I haven't seen him around, lately. If I'm lucky, he'll be able to get me a good deal on used clothing; my shirts are starting to wear out. Teal is a good guy, he's a year younger then me, I think, but I'm not sure. He has a nervous twitch.

Teal has one green eye and one blue, that's why we call him Teal. He doesn't talk about why he's down here, most of us don't. It's an unspoken code that unless you're drunk, you don't ask questions.

Like the rest of us, Teal could probably go back, but doesn't. It's a matter of pride that was beat out of us long ago, but we still parade around like we're doing something.

The minute I set foot in the alley, I see him, crumpled up in a blanket. He must have been on something- I wouldn't know. I try to stay away from this part of town when I can; my parents came looking for me once. Teal told me. That was a year ago. I know I could go back, but I'm afraid to admit to them what I've become. I'm afraid to admit it to myself.

He still remembers me.

This is a good sign; it means he hasn't been doing terribly without me.

"Hey...strawberry. I haven't seen you in awhile." his voice is quiet, raspy; he probably managed to get into some show or another.

I nod, smile. "Yeah, I've been around." Teal looks me up and down. Sometimes, I get the feeling he is the last person on this earth who still manages to care about everyone else, even when he's totally in the shits.

Teal nods, quietly, those different-hued eyes filled with understanding, and for once, I think, disappointment.

"Your hair is clean." is all he says. It is, too. It froths around my shoulders and face in warm, soft looking curls. It hasn't looked like this in a long time. I stare down at my shoes for a time before responding.

"I don't want to talk about that." is all I say. Teal nods, I was exercising the code, though perhaps more bluntly then usual, but I had known Teal since I'd come down here, in a way, he has been my savior. He shrugs his shoulders, and lets it pass, but I can see it in his eyes- He knows, and he wishes he didn't.

"So, what do you need this time, Shortcake?" he asks, shifting and shivering, his teeth chattering. I feel bad, he's always willing to help, even when he could use more help himself. I felt bad, asking him for so many things for so many years, and I never had anything to give. Maybe that was why he was disappointed, now, because I'd finally gone and abandoned the one thing that was still entirely mine.

"Let me buy you some breakfast." I said, trying to smile through the despair of losing.

4 /Teal/

Over blueberry pancakes and glasses of orange juice, Teal tells me his story. I don't know why, I don't know what I've done, but as he takes a slow, ponderous bit of pancakes drenched in syrup- Teal tells me of who he'd been before the streets.

"My name was- Is Skyler Whittigan. I'm almost twenty, I think, I might be nineteen." another bite, and I can't help but marvel that Teal has ever been anyone else- He seems so solid as Teal, he has always been there. In so many ways, I realized- Teal was my constancy. My lodestone. I would return here- to him, when I could return to nothing else.

I took a sip of my orange juice.

He looks at me, green and blue eyes intense.

"When I came down here, I was thirteen. I left because a year ago, or before that, my brother had died, my parents were splitting, and I was robbed of everything I had faith in." Teals voice is growing stronger, and he is starting to stop shaking the more he eats. But his eyes never left mine.

"I gave up, Shortcake. After all these years, I know I've given up." Teal takes his eyes from mine, finally, and I look away as well.

I don't think I have ever wished things were different for all of us more.

Teal is quiet for what seems a long time after that, I think maybe there isn't going to be anymore. But then he keeps talking.

"I told your parents, when they came, not to give up. I told them that I would do my best to make sure you didn't give up." he looks at me, and rubs his chin and mouth, gulping some warm coffee.

"I feel like this is coming too late, shortcake. I can see it in your eyes." Teal looks away.

I am full of regret. I turn my now watering eyes to the table, away from Teal.

"I can't go home. I want too. But I can't." I say softly, to the half-finished plate of blueberry pancakes. My voice is soft, choked with tears I wish I had cried years ago.

Teal nods, looks away. I can sense his understanding, but also his regret.

At this moment, there are mountains between us.

"Yes," Teal finally says, causing my gaze to catch his and lock there, "You can."

5 /Shortcake /

I left Teal as soon as I finished and paid for breakfast. I couldn't stand the shame I felt looking into his eyes. I couldn't stand how lost it made me feel, how wrong, how lost.

How hopeful that he was right.

Before I left, Teal told me he would get me some new clothes. I shut out of my mind what else he told me, because I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to hope anymore.

I closed my eyes as the next wave of hot vomit crept up my throat. Teals hands were in my hair, keeping it from my face. I gasped a breath and puked again, gagging on the bile because there was nothing else to heave up.

"What did you take?" Teal asks seriously, darkly.

"Nothing." I choke, gagging again and wiping my nose. Teal snorts.

"What did you take, Shortcake?" he asks again, and this time I know he means it.

"I don't know. It was cheap, and red. It tasted like hell, but I've been up for hours." Teal looks at me, and I can feel the weight of his sadness.

"I know." With that, Teal gets up and walks to the bathroom.

I am on the patio of a hotel room, leaning over one of those small fences in the bushes, which are now covered in my vomit. I don't know why I am here; I have even less of a sense of why Teal is with me.

When I go back in to the room, I see mine and Teals clothes in rumpled pile on the floor. Looking down, I realize I am wearing nothing but a bathrobe.

Confusion washes over me like my now spent nausea.

I can hear the shower, and so walk past the bed with its rumpled sheets to the bathroom. I peak anxiously around the corner of the door, and am relieved to see only Teals nude silhouette in the shower. I swallow, I can't figure why I was afraid someone else would be here. I don't want to figure it out, either.

Casting my gaze to the mirror, I realize I am pale; my eyes are wide- their grey color lost in black pupil.

Teal is pointedly ignoring me. I know this because the curtain is mostly see through, and he should have noticed me. I leave the bathroom to get my toothbrush.

When Teal gets out of the shower, he just looks at me sadly. I guess it's the look of confusion on my face. I found two rumpled fifties in my robe pocket, and I don't know where they came from.

As Teal brushes by me, he leans down and presses his lips against my ear, he smells like soap, and I'm suddenly aware that I smell like sex.

"I love you, shortcake, I'll tell you what happened later." he pulls away, looking at me,

"Don't lose that money, shortcake, and don’t blow it. It's your only way home, now."

Drug-induced traveling with Teal? I wish I had an idea of what was going on.

6 / Running /

I’m walking along the street. It’s a warm evening- and close to eleven o’clock at night. The city is oddly majestic at night, even though during the day it’s dingy, defeated, and most importantly, Forgotten. A lot like me, actually. I slide into a doorway and simultaneously slide away from the new insight into myself I’ve just gotten. I don’t know how I feel about the place I have just entered, but it’s safer then roaming the streets and taking the risk of being picked up. It’s better, in a lot of ways, then having to face my mistakes.

Sometimes, I wonder how long I am going to keep running. And that’s when I run some more.

As soon as I take the time to absorb the atmosphere, I regret coming in here. It’s obviously a heroine house, and I can hear the moans coming from the other rooms. I know what happens in these houses. I also know it isn’t always voluntary. I shift my bag on my shoulders, take a deep breath of the fetid air (it smells like vomit and old sex) and step over the nearest pile of garbage on my way to the main lobby, where I know there will be chairs (though they will be ratty and broken, it’s better then nothing). The sad thing is that I am more then prepared to wait out the night.

I take a seat in what looks to be a decently battered arm chair. It’s hard to tell, because the lighting in this place is dingy at best, and most of the bulbs have been taken for other uses if they aren’t burnt out. I huddle around my possessions in the chair. If I’m lucky, this place won’t get busted. If I’m lucky, nothing will happen to me.

I wake with a start, unaware that I had even fallen asleep. A grizzled man with a shaggy, disheveled beard is shaking me. He smiles kindly, but I can see a hazy sort of sickness in his eyes. He licks cracked and parched lips.

“You look like you belong somewhere else, darlin’” his rough, hoarse voice whispers loudly in my ear, brushing a curl of my hair with his dirty fingers. I hide my disgust with a tired smile. I just want a place to stay.

An oddly sick glaze lifts for a moment, replaced by a leering smile that alerts me to someone who is intending on setting me up in a room. I swallow, I wish, invariably, that there was some other way.

I suddenly want to be at home. I blink the tears from my eyes before they can form, but he seems to notice anyway.

"Awh, darlin’ don’t cry. I’ll fix you up real nice, don’t worry.” He grabs my arm, easily pulling me to my feet. I follow. I am numb, distant from this. He smiles, motions for me to follow, and leads the way from this dingy building. From the smell of piss and vomit. From the sounds of shrieks and moans.

Outside it’s cold. That early morning cold. Freezing and silent and the world feels as if, for a moment or two, everything has finally fallen into the place it should be. But I don’t feel as if I am in place. I feel awkward, ill-fit. He ushers me into a cab. This makes me worry that perhaps he has been planning this for the whole while I was asleep, which must have been several hours to judge by the quiet of the night.

He whispers directions to the cabbie, who nods. Then he turns to me, places a hand on my thigh. I try not to flinch. I’m getting nervous, I glance to the cabbie.

“We have one more stop to make, but first, take this. It’ll relax you.” He drops a couple of pills in my hand. I don’t know what they are. For the moment, I don’t care. I would give anything to be high the moment that his sweating, greasy, loose body is above mine. I down them without a second thought.

In moments, my vision is blurring, and I feel light, and soft, and heavy all at once. I feel tired and very much like warm liquid. The door opens, the man sits up front, someone vaguely familiar is sitting next to me. I feel my face spread in a smile.

“Hello.” I seem to say. His face creases in concern.

“Shortcake?” he asks, his voice heavy and warm. It sends pleasant waves of vibration though my chest, seems to fill me up. I gasp in delight. His voice is wonderfully rich, he seems nervous, though, I don’t know why.

“Why did it have to be Shortcake?” I think his comment is directed to the man who gave me this wonderful drug. I feel great. I slide my hands down my thighs. I wish my jeans were clean.

I wonder who this man with the voice is. I know I must know him, he’s terribly familiar, but for the moment, I can’t think about anything but him talking again. And then him touching me. Or running his voice along my skin like his tongue. Or his tongue.

The man doesn’t answer, he just smiles at me. I grin back. I am thankful to this man, he has given me my happiness back. I can’t remember why I was so apprehensive.

In these short moments, my backseat companion has been talking for what feels like forever. It seems we have been driving forever. I even begin to think I can see a tint of pink on the horizon. I wonder where we are going.

I hope it’s somewhere beautiful.

7 / Giving Up /

When he helps me out of the car, I'm no longer entirely lucid. I can't say where we are. I know by the soft push of air inside that it is a hotel, and I can smell the cleaner and I think I smell the complimentary breakfast. Those dry rolls and the stale coffee and over-sour orange juice. I can imagine it all.

Suddenly, I start thinking about the time we went to Coast, my family and I, and how we stayed in a nice hotel, and every morning we had blueberry pancakes, and in the afternoons we'd go to the beach and I'd play in the surf even though it was windy and cold. I remember my father and my mother, and how they smiled at each other then, and then me. I remember being a small child, and how exciting everything was, how perfect, how immortal.

And now I think about this hotel, and it isn't much differ ant. Only these are not my parents, we are not on the coast, and I will not be eating blueberry pancakes tom morrow morning. But I think about laughing, and how good that feels, and so I start laughing. The man who was in the backseat with me looks at me, very sadly. I'm really starting to think I know him, but I can't even keep track of his eyes, let alone look at him long enough to identify my nagging sense of familiarity.

A meaty hand squeezes my butt. I lean into the person behind me, completely unaware that he smells like he hasn't had a bath in at least a week. The hand slides around my hip, up my stomach and onto a breast. It rubs against the cloth of my shirt, and I suppress a moan, because the cloth feels wonderful. The other man just turns away, sliding a key into a door. The line of his body is slender, but oddly sure of itself, there is a slight defeated slump to his shoulders though, it takes some of the thrill out of having cloth rubbed against my skin. The hand withdraws from my breast, and I am motioned into the room.

The other man has turned on a light, I can see the sliding glass doors out onto a balcony, the low lamplight seems out of place, considering that the first rays of sunlight are poking through underneath the drapes, but those are tightly closed. I look around in wonder, the colors of the floral bedspread are just so vibrant, the flowers seem to be growing, as if the spread were woven from living plants. With a delighted gasp, I throw myself onto the bed to inspect it.

I hear a low laugh from behind me, and a gentle slap on my behind, I look back, and am motioned to stand. Reluctantly, I do so, because I know that I'm not just here on charity. The two are talking, again, but I don't really care much about what they are saying. The words are too slow for me to understand, anyway.

When the man who entered the room first pulls off his shirt, I am confused. The other man turns to a bag he must have brought with him, and unzips it. He pulls out his wallet, and I don't know what else is in the bag. He pulls out two bills, and hands them both to the slender man now missing his shirt.

I want to slide my tongue along his skin. He has more muscle then I would have guessed, and though his ribs are poking out more then is likely healthy, I am overcome with thoughts and images that I'm not sure belong entirely to my mind.

The man behind me barks with laughter, and pulls me around by my shirt. He looks at me, hungrily. I just want to look at the bedspread, or have the other man run his hands along my skin. I'm not sure. The man in front of me slides his hands up under my shirt. I gasp. I'm not sure if this is what I agreed too. I can't remember anymore.

I want to say no, but the drug has complete control of me. In a few moments the shirt is gone, and I think I was thinking too hard, because I no longer have a clue what's going on. All I can feel is flesh, and it's amazing and soft and smooth. Hands are cupping my breasts, and I can feel a line of heat down my back. I'm completely enveloped by people. I see a lewd grin. The man in front of me turns me around, and I look up into eyes that I know so well.

\No\, I think, as recognition finally dawns.\ No.\ I want to scream it, but I know from the look in the other mans eyes, the man that found me sleeping in that chair, that I have already been paid. That he expects me to deliver. I stare into one green eye and one blue, and I want to beg his forgiveness. I want to beg him not to do this, but there is no escape.

I wish I could cuddle into a warm beach towel, like I did that time when we went to the coast. I wish my mother would rub me dry and clean and give me a sand which for lunch. I wish that this were not happening.

I wish, truly, that this were not Teal. My savior, my rock. My lodestone.

Teal is watching me, his eyes are sliding down to my naked flesh. I'm crawling with the urge for him to touch me, but inside, I am screaming for this to stop. The man behind us pulls up a chair. I don't know what's happening. He sits down, watching us. He nods at Teal.

I pray desperately that the drug will kick in again. That when it wears off, I will be blissfully unaware of this whole situation. And that I will not remember. But staring into those eyes I love so much, I know that I will not be able to forget.

Teal leans down to kiss me, and I am lost to the swell of emotion and feeling.

~~~

I stare at the money in my hand. I stare at the rumpled sheets, at the now normal and somewhat tacky floral bedspread. I can feel the clean robe around my body. I can smell sex on the sheets, I can still feel it's moisture on the insides of my legs. I glance towards the bathroom. I am ashamed. I think about Teal telling me he loved me. I think about Teal in the shower. I remember Teal, on top of me. I remember him holding my hair back as I vomited.

I remember the lewd grin of that man who brought us here, I remember the sounds of his heavy breathing and grunting as he watched us, how he smelled when he pushed Teal away from me, and then how horrible I felt when he made Teal watch. I am glad he is gone. The bag he brought is gone, everything but the money still sitting in my hand.

I want, more then anything at this moment, to return home. I want this to have never happened. But it's hard to regret something that gave you more money then you've had all at once for a year. It's hard to regret it when you can still feel the drugs in your system, when you can still remember how wonderful he felt inside of you.

I look up at Teal, who is dressing now, pulling clothes over a body I suddenly know intimately.

"Skyler," I say, testing his true name, nervously, as if the words will not come. As if perhaps my voice will fail, "I didn't want this to happen." he pauses with his shirt still sticking to his chest, his belly exposed, to look at me, a bit of his dark hair falling forward from where it was slicked back. He looks like he is going to cry, or be sick, or both all at once.

"Neither did I, shortcake. At least, not like this." he looks away. I look away. I cannot stand myself. I cannot stand what has happened. I walk to the bathroom, but I have nowhere to go. I have to use this room as long as I can. I have too, because there is nowhere else to go. I turn on the shower water as hot as I can stand it, dropping the robe to the floor. I set the money on the counter and step into the shower.

Why did it have to be Teal?

8 /You can always try again/

I laid for days in bed with Teal. We would sleep and wake, and sometimes we ate. We talked about what we would do with our money- all the things we could suddenly do.

For the first time in three years, I felt awake.

I felt like maybe I didn't have to stay this way, hotel room to hotel room

Man to man.

Skyler stirred awake next to me, he opened his eyes, those beautiful eyes, and he said to me,

"Shortcake, how did you get here? Why did you stay?"

A great silence came between us then, I thought for a long time, and he just looked at me, all forgiveness and heat against my side. Finally, I decided to tell him.

"I started ging around with this boy, a few years back. Nothing serious," I paused, watching his face for dissapointment that I was that stupid.

"One day I just didn't go home. And that turned into a week, and then a month. And after that, I just figured I couldn't go back."

He did not look like he thought I was stupid, though I knew I was.

Four years of this when there was a home to go back too.

Teal laid with me ahwile longer, silent. Finally, he said, very quietly,

"You should call your family."

And for once, I agreed. I did not move for several moments, and I wanted to bring him with me. I said, "Skyler, I will not leave you this way."

Hours later, dressed, showered, cried out and exhausted, I sat nervous against a wall. We checked out, packed out meager belongings. The sun was just reaching noon, the sky this impossible blue I don't think came close to anything, except maybe the color of Teal's eyes. I heard the flick of a lighter, as he started smoking a cigarette. I rested the weight of my body on my hands, behind me on the wall, so I couldn't hold out my hand for a drag. That was alright, because I didn't want it anyway. I felt him tug on one of my curls, and turned to catch his smiling laughing face.

I said, "Today, things will be alright."

I've never seen a face light up like that, I've never felt such relief, such overwhelming joy.

We sat there waiting, laughing and gasping.

Today, things really will be alright.