He wipes the smeared eyeliner from my face, careful not to hurt me.I know when the black eye fully appears because he goes rigid.
Blond whiskers cover the sharp angles on his jaw and cheeks, making him look older than twenty-one.He looks like a man, not the boy who used to sleep on sidewalks with me curled under his arm.He has this vertical line that shows up between his brows when he’s focused, and it’s there now, deep and angry.
“Tell me what happened.”He grips the edge of the sink.
“It’s over.”
“It’s not over until I know who did it.”
I shake my head.
“Then you’re staying here tonight.”
My heart lifts, stupid and fast.I love staying here, and it’s not like I’ll be missed at the foster house.No one keeps track of my whereabouts.
Except Jag.
“Put this on.”He snatches a shirt off the line, tosses it to me, and leaves the bathroom.
I pull the huge garment over my head.The hem covers my shorts, so I take them off and stay in my underwear.
When I come out, he sits at his desk, bathed in the blue glow of his monitors.His fingers fly across the keyboard, coding or breaking into something or whatever illegal thing he does for money now.
I sink onto the cushions, pulling my knees to my chest.
He glances at me every few minutes, waiting.
I don’t talk.
He doesn’t force it.
We’re good at this.Our silent fights.Our wordless peace.But I feel him waiting for my truth.
I watch him work for a while, the captivating way he focuses, the magnetic way he moves.Then I try to sleep, but when I close my eyes, I think about how his body would feel lying on top of mine, the hard press of his mouth against my lips, and the sounds he would make if he put his hand between my legs.I think about that every night until my skin feels too hot and my own hand rubs between my legs.
I used to tell him everything, but I could never tell him that.
My stomach grumbles, loud enough for him to hear it.
Without looking at me, he reaches under the desk and pulls out some packages from a box.Foil-wrapped crackers, a plastic cup of peanut butter, and a box of raisins land on the cushion beside me.
I tear the cracker packet open with my teeth and eat every crumb, dipping them into the peanut butter and scraping the cup clean with my finger.
After a long and unsuccessful attempt to sleep, I push myself up and pad over to him, the oversized shirt brushing my thighs.He doesn’t remove his gaze from the screen, but he tilts his head when he senses me behind him.
I rest my hands on his shoulders.His muscles tense then loosen under my touch.I rub slow circles the way he likes, the way I’ve watched him do to himself when his neck locks up.
His body runs hotter than mine.He’s my very own heater.I lean down and fold my arms around his neck.My cheek presses into the back of his head.His hair smells like sunshine and whatever soap he used in a bucket.
Then I kiss him.Not on the mouth.On his cheek.Then the top of his head.The place where his hair parts.
This is how it’s supposed to be.Him and me.Together.When we’re apart, something inside me goes wrong.I don’t know how to breathe right.
He sets one hand over mine, holding it in place for a second before letting go.His eyes flick to a different monitor, and that’s when I notice it.
The street outside my foster home.
I lean closer.
