What a beautiful name. I stuff the paper into my pocket and start back on my way. Luckily, no one sees me and I’m able to travel adjacent to the big, scary road until night swallows everything.
It’s freezing, but the sky is full of stars. It seems like each one is sparkling for me.
When I can go no farther, I curl up under a tree cradling my guitar. I dream of nothing.
It takes me five days to reach Pullman. I walk when I can, hitch rides from farmhands, stay invisible as much as possible. I eat granola bars from machines. Drink water from hoses. Sing quietly under my breath to remember I still exist.
I arrive to the town grubby. Hollow-eyed. Wearing the same torn trousers and a jacket two sizes too big.
Still, no one notices me. Which is exactly what I want.
I walk past a store filled with washing machines. Inside, there’s a woman with four kids. A man asleep in a chair. A girl a little older than me arguing with someone on her phone. She angrily pushes through the front door past me and enters the cafe next door.
Slipping inside, I watch her dryer until it stops. She’s still in the cafe so I walk over, unload the warm clothes into a bag I brought with me. I score jeans, T-shirts, two clean hoodies. Socks. A beanie. A red bra.
I take them all. I have no choice. Tonight I’m going to pray for forgiveness, but I can’t look back. What’s done is done.
With my stolen clothes in hand, I head to the abandoned shop I scouted earlier. It’s a building with the windows boarded and the doors padlocked. A crooked “For Lease”sign hangs in the window. Locating the loose board in the alley I found when I was scoping, I squeeze through. Inside isn’t too bad. Clean enough. Broken tile, abandoned office furniture and a dented freezer.
Nicer than most homes on the compound.
I climb the stairs, past more plywood nailed over windows, to a crawlspace. The floor’s dry and the vents from below miraculously push enough warm air to keep both me and the pipes from freezing.
I curl up against the wall with my guitar cradled to my body and use the red hoodie as a pillow.
This will do.
A tiny piece of nothing.
It’s more than enough for now.
nine
Linus
Two Months Later
WinterinPullmansettlesinto bones no matter how many layers I wear.
I’ve been here long enough to recognize the routines. Late-afternoon sunsets. Students shuffling across icy walkways. The way everyone’s breath fogs in a shared cloud at bus stops. Enough time to build a life, at least on paper.
Not long enough for the loneliness to quiet.
Classes. Dorm. A job at the student union. A set of new acquaintances who think my accent is charming and my shyness is deliberate rather than reflexive.
I’ve put on a good facade. Pretend the guilt of cheating on Niamh doesn’t follow me from lecture to lecture. Delude myself into believing the quick, clumsy blowjob is the onlyreal confirmation of the part of myself I’ve tried to keep buried.
Pretend I’m not tracking Liam McGloughlin everywhere he goes.
It’s not intentional. I’m not a stalker. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The Wazzu campus isn’t big and Liam’s the big man on campus, though he doesn’t seem to give a fuck. His band, Fireball is building a following, and both he and his twin brother stand out without trying.
Liam’s hair always looks like he ran from bed to class without checking a mirror. He wears the same beat-up black boots every day. Girls orbit him. Guys too. He moves with an easy confidence I can’t look away from.
I don’t want to stare.
Always do.
