Thank you.
Tyler:I'm not agreeing to this. I'm understanding it. There's a difference.
I know.
Tyler:If you're not safe, if ANYTHING happens, you call me. Promise.
Promise.
Tyler:I hate this.
I know. Me too.
I put my phone away. Take one last look at the room. Tyler's unmade bed, the window that looks out at nothing, the cracked mirror, the closet where three shirts used to hang. Eight months in this room. The longest I've stayed anywhere since Linda's house, and I was eight.
I put my backpack on. Walk downstairs. The girl is still in the common room, crying silently. Brian is at the desk doing paperwork. The guy with the bloody nose is already gone. Packed faster than me, or had less to pack, or didn't care enough about leaving to look around one last time.
"Devin." The girl catches my arm as I pass. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I told them —"
"It's not your fault," I say. "None of this is your fault."
"Where will you go?"
"I'll be fine."
"You're bleeding."
"I'll be fine." I touch her hand, briefly. "Stay safe. Lock your door."
I walk out. The porch light. The rainbow flag. The building that's been my address for eight months and won't be anymore.
It's almost midnight on a Thursday in October and I have a backpack and nowhere to sleep.
I start walking.
* * *
The first night is the worst. Not because of the cold, October's not freezing yet, just uncomfortable, but because of the emptiness. All those hours between now and the apartment, and no plan for where to put my body while they pass.
I walk to the 24-hour laundromat on Fifth. It's warm, lit by fluorescent tubes, and there's an elderly woman folding towels who doesn't look up when I sit in the plastic chair by the window. I readThe House in the Cerulean Seauntil 3 AM, then doze upright until the morning light wakes me.
Friday. I wash my face in the laundromat bathroom. Change my shirt, because I have a shift today and I need to look normal. I put my backpack in my locker at the café at 7 AM, before Robin arrives.
The library opens at nine. I read in my usual spot. Robin looks at me. At my cheek, which is swollen and purple despite the concealer I found in the laundromat bathroom's lost-and-found.
"What happened to your face?"
"Walked into a door."
Robin's eyes narrow. He doesn't believe me. Robin doesn't believe anyone's lies. It's his superpower and his curse. But he also doesn't push. Not yet. He hands me a pastry and an espresso and says "eat" and I eat because I'm starving.
Silas arrives. Sees me behind the counter. Changes course toward the café the way he does now, the routine bending, the library waiting.
He stops in the doorway.
"Dev. Your face."
"Walked into a door."