07

WITH ELLIOT GONE, the sounds of the building croak, moan, and breathe around me. I swear it's alive, and every sound injects me with fear.

Darkness swallows the attic when night falls, and I use a Bic I pickpocketed to light a cherry-scented candle I bought with the busking money. The miniscule flame is far from enough to keep me warm, but it smells like my old violin tutor's house, and that comforts me. In my pocket, I touch the rough edge of my heart-shaped box and feel okay for a fleeting moment. I can't believe Elliot got it back to me. The truth is, I'm incredibly thankful; I shouldn't have lashed out at him. He's... sort of a good guy. And if he hadn't shown up, those assholes in the alley would have stolen everything I've worked so hard to keep.

As soon as the sun comes up tomorrow, I'm leaving this area. Nowhere in this city is safe, but I'll be away from those guys in another block. Maybe I'll head east again, to the richer busking areas by the mall. Or maybe I'll find my friends Hal and Chay and see where they're staying these days. I haven't seen them in a while. They would probably think this is weird, but I miss them.

It takes forever to fall asleep. The sticky plastic of the couch crinkles beneath me, but if I take it off, there could be spiders. When I eventually drift away, I dream of Colton Slater.

His hands around my neck.

The bathroom floor.

Blood.

I wake up cold. Smoke rises from the burnt-out candle. A sliver of moonlight bleeds through the window, and I clutch at my neck, as if to make sure it doesn't hurt, as if to prove that dream wasn't a reality.

The only pain is residual from my nightmare.

I escaped him. I got away.

I'll never be anyone's prisoner again.

* * *

Every gym in the city knows to look out for kids like me. Homeless people have easy access to public bathrooms and water fountains, but showers are a whole different story. The good news is it's usually packed this early, so when I get inside, the girls at the front desk are preoccupied with some customers. Ducked behind a crowd of buff men going for their morning workout, I wait for my chance. They scan their key cards, opening the gate, and I slide in behind them.

Whew. Made it.

Women give me dirty looks as I enter the change room and keep my head down, avoiding the curious glances of any workers. I know what I look like in their eyes: greasy hair, dishevelled clothing. A homeless rat.

But I ignore them, because I have to do this. I set my boots in a locker with my freshly cleaned clothes. My first stop today was the laundromat; busking hasn't drowned me in riches, but I have change in my pocket. And after I shower, I'll finally be clean.

In a cramped stall, I turn the water on to the highest setting until billows of steam swallow me. The streams pound against my back, and it alleviates all my stress.

With a sigh, I rest my forehead on the warm tile wall. Elliot's sad, dejected face creeps back into my mind. Why did he have to look at me like a sad puppy who'd been kicked? And why can't I stop thinking about him?

I guess it's because no one is ever that nice to me without wanting something in return. The fact that he's some rich hockey boy, too; I never expected kindness from someone like him.

It's ridiculous. Maybe he thinks I'm cute and wants to sleep with me, but that seems weird, too. I mean, he's good-looking. He must go to a normal high school. He would have plenty of attractive girls lining up to be with him. He wouldn't need someone like me.

After I'm all cleaned up, I get dressed and leave the change room. As soon as I spot two employees pointing at me, I know I'm caught. I bolt for the exit before they can grab me. Slamming out of the doors, I find myself back on the wintery streets, and I run until I'm around the corner, my chest pounding. I catch my breath in a bus shelter, which gains me a few more dirty looks. My damp hair is already turning to ice, but at least I'm clean now. Backpack on my shoulders, violin case in my hand, I keep moving.

Next stop: McMahen Bridge.

It's always alive at this hour, right around noon, when the sun casts long shadows over the graffiti-covered walls. For a lot of street kids in town, this is where we come to meet, to hang out and convalesce. Sometimes we trade resources, buy things off each other, and give each other food. But all I want today is some company.

Kids from Rothford Secondary come here too, to smoke pot during their lunch breaks. I'd probably go to that school if I went to school at all, but I dropped out years ago, and being tethered to a place like that would only give Slater an easy way to find me. Still, when I see them all hanging out in their backpacks, sometimes I wonder what it would be like. Maybe I would know a guy like Elliot, and not because I tried to steal from him.

Hal and Chay are tagging a concrete wall with spray paint. Chay's long ponytail sways with every quick movement, and Hal's wrist flicks faster than I can see. I swear those two have some sort of hive mind connection; the way their colours synthesize is hypnotic, like they're canvassing an acid trip on the wall.

I whistle to get their attention, and they turn to me with half-smiles. Hal's short black hair whisks below her small ears. They have piercing holes in them, but I've never seen her wear earrings. Mine are the same way.

"Hey Pembroke, catch," Hal says.

A cold can of spray paint lands in my hands. Electric blue leaks down the matte-black cylinder in tiny snakes.

"You know I always mess this up," I say, but start tagging anyway. I'm anything but an artist, but joining Hal and Chay makes me feel closer to them, I guess. After a hiss, rattle, and a few clicks, I place my hands on my hips and smile. "There. You know, it's not as bad as I thought it'd be."

One word: FREEDOM. Because with Slater back in town, holding onto my freedom is all that matters.

"Not bad at all," Hal says.

"It's nothing compared to yours."

They've trapped a bird on the wall. A dove trying to break free. But the royal blue color of its eyeball causes Elliot's dejected face to flare in my mind again.

"What's up with you, Pembroke?" Hal asks, nudging me.

"I don't know." I shrug. I'm bad at talking about my feelings, but Hal gets me. Both her and Chay laugh at me when I tell them about how I got caught stealing at Elliot's house. "Anyway, I saw him again the other day," I say.

"Shit, really?" Hal asks. "What happened?"

"Well, he tried to help me, and I pretty much told him to fuck off. I feel like shit about it." It sounds so stupid. I shouldn't care how Elliot feels.

"Least you'll never see him again," Hal says.

"Yeah, that's what I thought last time. I want to forget him, but I'm walking around town with his last name on my shoulders." I laugh. "I think I'm going to give it back. Someone will steal it anyway."

Hal shrugs her leather jacket off her shoulders. "Here, take this one."

"What? No, I'm good."

"Don't worry about it. It's Chay's old one. I've got another."

Hal once told me that Chay can go back to the reservation, but his family hates her, so they roam Godfrey together and drift wherever the streets take them. I wonder what it would be like to have someone like that. Someone who has your back no matter what, who sacrifices their own comfort for you. After what Slater put me though, I can't picture it. But I have to admit, some nights, when I'm alone with the wind, I do dream of a love that isn't toxic; a love that doesn't leave me in tatters.

"Thanks, Hal. Here, at least let me pay for it." I trade her a ten for the jacket and feel the rough leather between my fingers. It's not soft like Elliot's, but you know, I think it suits me better.