When my fingers touched a small piece of crust, I closed my eyes and stuffed it into my mouth, trying not to think about the fact that I was eating trash. As I chewed, I felt for more, hoping there would be something else. There was half a piece, and from the feel of it, most of the toppings were missing. It was basically just bread and a little sauce, but it tasted so good, it brought tears to my eyes.
Dropping onto my bottom, I pulled the box into my lap, but it was empty now. Placing it on the ground beside me, I reached for the foil container. With the trees blocking out all light, I couldn’t see what, if anything, was inside, so I just stuck my hand into it. The spaghetti felt slimy, but when I lifted a handful to my mouth, it tasted good.
As with the pizza box, there wasn’t much inside, but it was enough to make the pain in my stomach ease a little. But as I swallowed the last bite, I felt sick.
I’d just eaten trash.
Disgusted with myself, I pulled my knees up to my chest and pressed my forehead to my thighs as I willed the contents in my stomach to remain there. After a few minutes, the sick feeling eased, but I stayed where I was.
The loneliness I’d felt since waking up to complete silence all those years ago pressed down on me, making my heart ache. I missed my mom and dad. I even missed Marta. She didn’t have a lot of contact with me, but she’d been the only one to care for me over the past eight years.
Now, I was homeless and starving. There was no one to care if I was hungry or warm or safe.
There was only me, and I was doing a craptastic job of taking care of myself.
I sat there and cried until there were no tears left, but that could have just as easily been because I was dehydrated.
Forcing myself to stand, I brushed the dirt off my clothes and walked farther into the woods to find somewhere to sleep for the night.
1
Delaney
The fog felt eerie, but I wasn’t scared of the dark any longer. Over the past two weeks, I’d gotten used to it, even welcomed it at times. Thankfully, it wasn’t cold and the rain had stopped, so I didn’t have to worry about finding somewhere to keep dry.
The first time it rained, I’d been able to find shelter in the Ink Shoppe after discovering one of the windows was left unlocked. I’d snapped my fingernail back getting the window open, but it had been worth it when I found the blanket in the storage room and was able to cover up after being so cold for so long.
After that, I’d gone back once the tattoo parlor closed each night. At least until they had discovered what I was doing. I suspected it was the girl who worked there, because she’d left me the blanket along with some bottles of water and snacks. I’d been thankful for all that she’d given me, including the few nights of restful sleep within the safe walls of the shop, without calling the cops on me.
But the blanket didn’t fare well under the rain that came over those next few nights, and I’d attempted to find other places to bunk down. But those places didn’t feel as safe as the Ink Shoppe had. Not to mention, the business owners had called the cops. When I would chance going back to those places, a cop car would be out front, watching the place.
I’d had no choice but to move deeper into the woods or risk being discovered. Now that I was eighteen, I didn’t know if the cops would arrest me or send me back to my aunt and uncle. Being arrested didn’t sound so bad, but I couldn’t chance that they would send me back to Uncle Tony.
My stomach growled angrily as I crept through the shadows toward Aggie’s, the restaurant I’d discovered after eating what was left in a takeout bag the girl from the Ink Shoppe had tossed in the trash one night. After reading the name on the bag, I’d walked around Creswell Springs one night in search of the establishment that had amazing hamburgers, even when they were ice-cold.
Their trash always had something salvageable for me to eat, but I only went every other night because I didn’t want to risk getting caught. The last time I’d gone, I’d even gotten a tiny slice of chocolate cake, and I was hoping for something sweet to go with my dinner again.
The fog was thicker in places, making it almost impossible to see unless I was directly under one of the streetlights, so I didn’t see the headlight of the motorcycle until it was almost too late. Jumping out of the way, I watched as the man driving the powerful bike veered sharply to avoid hitting me. It turned over, landing on his leg as he and the bike slid several yards before coming to a stop with the help of a tree.
Heart pounding, I just stood there, frozen with terror that I’d just caused someone’s death.
After what felt like an eternity, the guy slowly lifted up onto his elbows. Shaking his helmet-covered head as if to clear it, he stood. As he got to his feet, my eyes widened at how tall he was and how easy it was for him to lift the heavy piece of machinery off himself in the process. As he did, the fog began to clear, making it easier to see him with the streetlights shining only a few feet away.
He was wearing dark-washed jeans, a white T-shirt, and one of those Angel’s Halo MC leather vests the majority of motorcycle riders in this town always wore. As he took off his helmet, I noticed that his jet-black hair was cut short and his facial features were…masculine, yet so beautiful, I couldn’t look away from him. When he glared in my direction, there was no mistaking his eyes were my favorite color of metallic blue.
The color entranced me, hypnotizing me into taking a step in his direction.
Before my eyes, his glare changed into a frown, and then he lifted a hand to rub at his chest. When he took a step toward me, he stumbled. Realizing he was hurt, and that I was the cause, I felt my heart constrict while tears stung my eyes.
But then he righted himself. His lips moved, but I was too far away to read the words. His steps increased, and I could tell he was getting angry with me again. Scared that he was going to call the cops and have me arrested, I turned and fled.
Even in the dark, with the fog still lingering in spots, I ran easily through the woods. This had become my home, and I knew it well. There were probably places only I knew where to hide.
But his legs were longer and much faster than my own. I’d barely run a few yards before his strong arms grabbed me from behind. He jerked me around to face him, his lips moving too quickly for me to read what he was saying.
“…hurt…” was the only word I got, and my tears spilled over my lashes.
He was hurt, and it was all my fault.
I lifted my hands, signing that I was sorry, that I didn’t mean to make him wreck, that I would find him help.
His brows pulled together, and he gazed down at me for a long moment with an odd look on his face before he caught my hands. Lifting my left one, he examined my finger with the missing fingernail.
After I’d snapped it trying to get into the Ink Shoppe that first night, it had started to get infected. It had swollen and turned red until the rest of the nail had been pushed from the roots. It had hurt so badly, and I’d tried to keep it clean, but it was still painful and warm to the touch.
I balled my hand into a fist so he couldn’t see the wound. It was ugly and dirty, just like the rest of me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a shower, and I knew I probably smelled just as rancid as the garbage I picked through at night, but I’d grown nose-blind to my own stench weeks ago.