“It’s okay, Imogen,” Yoss’s voice drifted towards me with a slight squeeze of fingers.
“What’s wrong? Why is that woman screaming?” I whispered, scared to raise my voice.
Yoss moved to sit beside me, still holding my hand. It was nice. Comforting.
Safe.
It was a luxury I’d hold onto.
“That’s Mable. She’s got…well…problems.She usually thinks she’s being chased by aliens who want to probe her or something. The little grey guys must be bugging her again.” Yoss leaned back against the wall and yawned.
“Why isn’t anyone helping her?” I demanded as the screaming grew louder and louder.
Yoss shrugged. “What can anyone do? She needs medication. She needs fucking therapy. She’s not getting that here.”
His words were so hopeless and depressing. “Why can’t—?” I began, but Yoss cut me off.
“Look, Imogen, everyone here needs something. Mable needs meds. Gary over there needs a fifth of whiskey before he’s had his breakfast. That girl with the blond hair is Lora and she needs to forget the horrible things her daddy did to her. Thomas, the guy with the nose ring, needs to fuck away his feelings. Some of us get what we need. Some of us don’t.” Yoss pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag.
He was so cut and dry. Unemotional about the despair all around us. Unaffected. Was he so desensitized to the world around him that a woman in obvious crisis didn’t bother him in the slightest? Would I become like that?
But hehadhelped me. When he didn’t have to. He had taken care of me when I was ready to curl into a ball and lose myself in the misery of my situation.
After Yoss had rescued me from the shady Tag he had brought me back to The Pit, which I learned was an appropriate name. Because that’s all it was. A pit. It was a place no one in their right mind would choose to sleep.
The Pit was a condemned warehouse on the edge of town. It was dark. It smelled like sewage. It was full of questionable people, doing questionable things.
If I had been scared underneath Seventh Street Bridge, it was nothing compared to what I felt when Yoss brought me here.
But he never left my side.
At first I was suspicious of his helpfulness, remembering Tag and what I knew had been his intentions.
Yoss was a guy after all. A nice-looking one, but a guy nonetheless. And I was completely vulnerable, as much as I hated to admit it.
Though I soon realized that I wasn’t in a position to second-guess a helping hand. I’d keep my wits about me, and my eyes open. But for now, I’d accept what he offered.
He had led us to an out of the way corner behind an old conveyer belt. It was shielded from the rest of the room by an old blanket and makeshift walls that were composed of cardboard boxes and a broken table.
“It’s not much, but you’re more than welcome to crash here for now,” Yoss had said, not quite looking at me.
“This is where you live?” I had asked, trying not to sound so horrified. It was obvious from the embarrassment on his face, that Yoss was ashamed of the place he laid his head at night.
The bed was a pile of smelly, moth eaten blankets. He had made himself a small bookcase out of off cuts of timber and old cinderblocks. Piles of CDs and books lined the uneven shelves. He had gotten a battery operated camping lamp from somewhere and it stood haphazardly on top of an overturned chair.
“Yeah. For now anyway. The police come in and do a sweep every now and then and we all have to leave. But they were just here two weeks ago, so we’re all good for a little while at least,” Yoss had explained gruffly. “Look, I know it’s not five star accommodations but at least you won’t get wet when it rains.” He wouldn’t look at me, and I felt like an ass for belittling where he lived.
“No, this is fine. Great actually,” I had said overly brightly. Yoss had cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Yeah, it’s the Ritz-fucking-Carlton,” he remarked dryly.
“I appreciate it, Yoss. I really do,” I said, touching his arm. He tensed at the physical contact and I quickly removed my hand.
We had settled down on the pile of blankets, my back to Yoss. He hadn’t touched me. He seemed careful about that. He had hummed a song under his breath as I drifted off to sleep.
The screaming had finally stopped and I pulled the sleeves of my sweatshirt down over my cold hands. It was chilly as I huddled against the wall.
Yoss finished his cigarette and dropped it in an old soda can. “So, Imogen, what’s the plan?”
