“Do you want to go to my office? We can do it there, too.”
“You torment me.”
“I love you. But if you want to call it that, let me torment you some more.” His lips come down on mine.
If I didn’t already love the taste of coffee, I would now. Almost as much as I love kissing him.
A little palm pats me on my cheek, and I step back. “Thank you for walking me to work.”
“It was my pleasure,tesoro mio.”
***
“Do you think I should ask Raid out?” Cammie smiles into her cup of coffee.
Why did I end up saying yes to talking to her? No, I don’t think you should ask one of the feral boys out. You’re too sweet for them. “What would your therapist say?”
Cammie frowns. “I’m not asking her. I’m asking you. You’re in love. You’d understand how I feel.”
How in the world would I do that? My abuse was completely different. “I can feel empathy for your situation, but I can’t truly understand what you went through or how you’re coping with it. Only you know that.”
“Why can’t you just give me an answer?” She pouts as she takes a sip.
“Because part of being an adult and making adult choices is actually making them. Especially when you already know the answer.”
“But he’s so cute. That hair of his…His eyes…I could live for his smile. Did you notice his teeth are perfectly straight?”
Shoot me. Please shoot me. This is the part of teenage drama that’s the cutest and the most nauseating.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the hot mama,” the addicts’ leader walks in shouting.
They’ve been quiet since they arrived. This…This feels different.
“Go into the kitchen and lock it down. Bring Autumn with you,” I whisper as I stand up.
Cammie nods and rushes off, pulling Autumn off the register.
The good thing about street kids is that they recognize trouble. The restaurant empties out in a blink except for me and the addict leader.
Hopefully, I can redirect the kid. “Would you like something to eat?”
“You know what I want. I want another hit of the good stuff. But I’m certainly not going to get that here, and he’s not going to give me any until you leave. So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to break things until you agree to leave.” He lifts up a chair. “We’ll start small, but if you don’t get smart, I’m going to start breaking those pretty little things in the kitchen.” He smashes the chair into the glass covering our pastries.
The urge to run and hide is strong, but maybe I can get him to stop before security arrives. “We can go to the clinic. They can give you stuff to help.”
“That stuff doesn’t help.” He tosses the chair through the front window, shattering it into a million pieces. “That stuff is trash. I don’t want to get clean.” He flips over the chairs and tables near him. “Being clean isn’t fun. I want the good stuff. And you’re going to give it to me.” His eyes glitter as he turns towards the kitchen. “Those girls are awfully pretty. Do you think they’ll scream much when I hurt them?”
Over my dead body will you touch them. “You need to stop and think about what you’re doing. There’s still a chance for you to change your path. But if you try hurting them…”
The leader laughs. “You think I’m afraid of you? Stupid little mama. My boss hurts girls like you every day of the week. You’re nothing but trash to him. A napkin for him to wipe his feet on and toss away.”
How many times had words just like those been said to me? “We can protect you from him.”
“You and what army?” He shakes his head. “You can’t protect me. I don’t want protection. All I want is a hit of the goodstuff.” His hands tremble as he picks up one of the chairs he kicked to the ground and throws it through the other window. “I WANT MY DRUGS!”
When kids have outbursts like this, we usually let them just burn themselves out, but this isn’t a trauma response. This was planned and orchestrated. “We can keep you safe.”
“Like you protected this place. Where is your security? Huh? Where are they now? No one is protecting you. I could do anything I want to you. There’s no one here to stop me.”
