late. Or in this part of town. You know that. You were… I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“You’ve only met me a few times.”
“That’s my point. You only cry in front of people you trust. Or unless you’re really hurt.”
“Or maybe both,” she said.
The way she talked sometimes was like she was older than me.
“So, what happened?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Don’t do that. Don’t cry and then make me think all these things…”
“Think what things?” she asked.
“I want to fight someone.”
“Who?”
“Whoever hurt you, Amelia. I want to fight them. I want to beat the hell out of them for making you cry.”
“You’d do that for me?” she asked.
“Of course I would. Nobody should make you cry.”
A smile crept across her face, but it was short-lived.
“Tell me what I can do,” I said to her.
“Hug me again. Then walk me home so I can feel safe.”
The back of her house was completely white and flat. There was a concrete pad with a few steps that served as some kind of back porch. The grass was overgrown. The bushes and shrubs unkempt. An old, rotted shed stood crooked off to the side.
Something about the sight of it bothered me.
This wasn’t a good home for her.
Not that mine was any better.
Which was why I spent so much time on the streets.
I looked over at Amelia and then down at my hand holding hers. Again, not trying anything funny, but just trying to make her feel safe.
I hated that this was her home.
“Just tell me right now,” I said as I stopped and made her stop. “Did… did something happen here?”
I pointed to her house.
Her face was my answer.
So, it wasn’t a boy that hurt her.
It was her father.
“Did he… hit you?” I whispered.
Amelia shook her head.
But the fear on her face…
“He wanted to,” I said. “He came after you. So you ran.”
“I just want to go to sleep, Josh,” she said.
“In there?” I asked.
“It’ll be okay now. It doesn’t last long. Please… just understand.”
I swallowed down all the anger inside me. “Okay.”
I walked Amelia to the back door.
“Come inside,” she said.
“No. That’s not a good idea.”
“Please. I just want some sleep.”
I gritted my teeth. “Okay.”
We went inside. The kitchen counter was full of empty beer bottles.
The kitchen smelled like burned chicken.
The sink was overflowing with dishes.
The kitchen table was cluttered with papers, mail, magazines, and what looked like old, greasy car parts.
The house smelled like dust and mold.
Each breath I took made me more and more angry.
I kept my mouth shut as Amelia led the way through the house toward the stairs.
At the bottom of them, I pulled at her hand. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I meant what I said before. About fighting someone for you. I don’t care how old the person is…”
“I know,” she said.
We went up the stairs and snuck down the hallway. She opened a bedroom door and I was then inside her room. A bed. A nightstand. A dresser missing the second drawer down. The walls empty but with plenty of tiny holes from nails. The corner next to the closet had a small stack of stuffed animals.
“I really just want to sleep,” she said.
“You’re safe now,” I said to her.
“Can you just sit on the edge of the bed and wait?”
“Of course.”
Amelia shut the small light off next to her bed and we were in darkness. There was a tiny bit of light coming in from the moon outside. That was it.
“Thank you, Josh,” she whispered as she took her hand from mine.
I heard the sound of the bed squeaking as she climbed into it.
When she stopped moving, I sat down on the edge.
A few silent seconds went by and I felt her touch my back.
“I’m here,” I whispered.
“Okay.”
“Tell me about those stuffed animals,” I said.
“What?”
“In the corner. I saw them.”
“Oh, jeez. I feel stupid. I’m too old…”
“Nah. You’re not too old. They mean something to you.”
“All I have left are Mr. Monkey, Mary, and Jeffrey. There are a few others, but they’re not important.”
I smiled. “I get it. I used to have that stuff too.”
“Used to? You got rid of them?”
“No. I gave them away.”
“Because you got too old?”
“No,” I said. “Gave them to someone else who needed them more.”