That sort of thing.
What a polite way to refer to Yoss being a hustler.
“We haven’t spoken about it. Not yet anyway. I’ll do some research to see what support and services are available that deal with homeless issues. I had planned to talk to Lee Cutler, he’s a therapist with the grieving center and has met with some of my clients in the past,” I suggested.
Dr. Howell clicked his pen a few times. “That sounds good. Thank you, Imogen. I appreciate your dedication to Yoss’s situation.”
“It’s my job, Dr. Howell,” I replied.
Dr. Howell patted my arm, but didn’t say anything else.
I held it together until the doctor walked away. I turned towards Yoss’s room, my hand on the doorknob.
Yoss was dying.
It was the plain and simple truth.
I tried not to get angry with him for doing this to himself, but it was difficult.
I remembered all those nights I’d lie awake at The Pit, wondering where he was. Imagining what he was doing.
My mind went back to another night. A night when I had seen entirely too much.
It had been the end for us. The day when it all changed.
The alleyway was dark and I could just make out the shadowed figures hidden away from the street. I took a tentative step forward, hoping Manny was lying.
That when Yoss had promised me, he meant it.
I had to learn to trust him.
I started to turn away, disgusted with myself for doubting him.
Then I saw him. I’d recognize the dark black waves of hair anywhere. Even in the shadows, I knew him.
He was on his knees.
And then I saw the man with his sick, sick smile. His hand on the back of Yoss’s head. Holding him in place…
The bile rose in the back of my throat.
Tears burned my eyes and I wiped them away furiously.
I had to get it together.
Falling apart wasn’t an option.
I walked back into his room, prepared for the cold, icy man I had become somewhat used to. I anticipated the brick wall I was about to walk into.
But it wasn’t there.
Yoss looked up as I walked in and patted the bed beside him.
“They’ve finally figured out where the lady is being kept. It’s getting to the good part,” he said. He sounded edgy. Tired.
I should talk to him about so many things. It was my job. It’s what I was paid to do.
“Yoss,” I began, but he cut me off with a shake of his head.
