“You hungry?” he asked, gesturing towards the shop behind us.
I hesitated; my pride wanted to say no as my hands fumbled around the emptiness of my pockets. But when my stomach growled, it gave me away instantly. “…Sure.”
He turned, walking away from me, before halting and tilting his head. “Well, come on then.”
I followed, cautiously glancing down either side of the street, making sure Danny’s lackeys weren’t watching. The last thing I needed was for word to get back to him that I was now taking charity from a stranger.
Inside, the shopkeeper didn’t even raise his eyes from his screen. No Surprise there.
Chester perused the shop, grabbing a couple of sausage rolls from the hot cabinet, two cartons of juice, and a chocolate bar.
He turned to me, smiling, “Anything else you want?”
I shook my head, keeping myself small. He slid a note across the counter, and I avoided eye contact with the shopkeeper. When he eventually pulled himself from his phone, he looked to Chester, who was offering him a warm smile, before they shifted to me. My gaze met his, and I could see the cogs turning, trying to figure me out. His eyes narrowed as he rang the items through—a snail would have been faster, I swear.
Returning outside, we sat on a low wall across from the shop. Cold brick under us, sun barely warming our backs. He handed me the food, questioning why this guy kept buying me food.
It was weird. Or was it normal? And I just wasn’t used to this kind of gesture. We ate in silence for a bit. Then Chester spoke.
“So,” wiping his hands on his jeans. “What happened?”
I looked at him sideways, gently shaking my head. “Nothing, I tripped over one of my sisters’ toys and fell.” He tilted his head, raising a brow; he wasn’t buying it. I looked down at the half-eaten sausage roll in my hand, allowing the warmth to bring some life back into my fingers.
He paused before nodding and taking another bite of his food. “It doesn’t have to be that way, you know.”
His words took me off guard.
“There are people out there that can help you…. put away toys.” Adopting the shitty analogy I used for saying I had my ass handed to me. He continued, gesturing to me as he waved his finger around my face. “So, things like this don’t happen again.”
I didn’t answer right away, feeling my internal fear rise at the thought of taking the step to tell someone about our home life.
He took a sip of his juice before continuing, “You got anyone else? Other family?” I shook my head.
“Just me and my sister.” I thought about mentioning my mum, but after what happened last night, she could fuck off as well. He leaned back, gazing up at the sky as if searching for something.
“I used to be like you,” he said. “Not too long ago. Different postcode, same story.”
“Well, ain’t you a lucky duck.” I countered, rolling my eyes.
He chuckled, “I stopped pretending the people hurting me would ever save me. So, I took my life into my own hands.” Chester reached into his coat and pulled out a folded slip ofpaper. Held it out to me. I didn’t take it right away, just looked at it with apprehension.
“What is it?”
“My number,” I stared at it a beat too long. In any other instance, if a stranger hands you their number, you’d think they have a creepy white van stashed around the corner filled to the brim with sweets, waiting to drag you inside.
But Chester was … different.
“Are you some social worker? Because if you are, I ain’t buying your crap.” My eyes drifting to him.
He smirked, “No, but I know how to handle people. And I don’t ask questions you don’t want to answer.”
I took the paper from him, folded it tighter, and put it in my pocket.
Chester bumped his shoulder against mine. “So, if you’re not up for getting social involved, what’s your plan?”
Eventually, I spoke. “Watch out for my sister without turning into my dickhead of a step-monster.”
Chester nodded, slow and thoughtful. “Oh, one of those.”
