But who wanted to hear that fucked up shit? I shrugged instead and kept walking. Miller kept walking with me. He was better now. Not so glassy-eyed or about to fall over. But he carried that same stoicism with him. Wore it like his ratty jacket that was as beat up as mine.
“Is it true you lived in a car?” I asked.
Miller’s eyes flashed anger. “You’ve been on campus for all of ten minutes, and you heard that already? A new record. Yes. A long time ago. No one seems to be able to forget it.”
“Then make them forget.”
“How?”
I flexed my fingers that ached a little from clocking Frankie. Not my way. Don’t be like me. Like him.
Miller peered up at me. He was a few inches shorter than my six-two. “The guy you punched? His dad’s a cop.”
A sneer curled my lips. “Fuck them both.”
“What do you have against cops?”
I thought of the dozens of late visits from police that ended with my dad “cooling off” in jail for a night, only to come back the next day, more pissed off than ever. Restraining orders that he wiped his ass with like toilet paper.
That was shit you couldn’t tell a total stranger, but it felt like, with every step we took on that same path, Miller was less and less strange.
We walked in easy silence until I got to the corner of the building I managed. I’d turned on the TV before I left that morning. We could hear it droning.
“That you?”
I nodded.
“I’m a block down.” Miller stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “You need to get home?”
“Home.” I scoffed. I didn’t know what that word meant anymore. “No.”
Miller nodded. His dark blue eyes looked like they’d seen their fair share of shit too.
“Follow me.”
Miller walked us down a path that started behind a parking lot with an abandoned utility shed. It led to the beach, away from the Boardwalk with its lights and roller coasters and laughing tourists, and toward the cliffs that gave our neighborhood its name.
The way was rocky and hard; we climbed over large rocks where the coast crumbled and spilled into the ocean. Just when I thought we’d have to turn back, it got easier. The water receded, and Miller led us around a huge boulder that blocked our path. On the other side was a small fisherman’s shack, weather-beaten and old but still standing.
“Found it four days ago,” Miller said. “Been coming here every night, since. After work.”
“Yeah?” I examined the small space that had a wooden table, bench, and a window cut into one wall. “Where’s work?”
“The arcade, down at the Boardwalk.”
I nodded and sat on the bench. “You can see the ocean.”
Miller jammed his hands into his pockets again. “Yeah, it’s nice. A good place to just…”
“Get the fuck away from everything?”
“Precisely.”
“You looked sick earlier,” I said. “What’s with the watch? That part of it?”
“It’s an alarm. My blood sugars were low.” Miller lifted his shirt to show me a small white device stuck on his abdomen. “I have diabetes.”
I nodded and then an old childhood memory—one of the rare decent ones—came back to me. I covered a smile so Miller wouldn’t think I was making fun of him.
Too late.
“Something funny?” he asked, a suspicious edge to his voice.
“I knew a girl when I was a kid…five years old,” I said, and then the laughter came at me like a wildfire, taking me off guard. “Her aunt had diabetes. The kid called it dia-ba-titties.”
Miller stared at me and then the laughter spread to him too.
“No one corrected her?”
I shook my head. “Would you?”
“Hell no.”
We lost our shit over that stupid word, like it was the funniest thing we’d ever heard. But I hadn’t laughed in ages and I bet Miller hadn’t either.
“Shit, haven’t thought of that in years,” I said when we could breathe again.
Miller wiped his eyes. “That’s a winner. Dia-ba-titties. Sounds like something my mom’s new boyfriend would call it. On purpose.”
I caught the subtext instantly. Our laughter vanished. “He’s one of those?”
“Yeah. One of those.”
I stared out at the small window, to the ocean crashing over the sand again and again, leaving it smooth. A fresh start. That’s what I’d come here for, and I’d nearly given up school on Day One.
I could keep going. For me and Miller, too. I touched the owl tattoo on my right shoulder. Mom would want me to watch out for him.
I’ll help him. Because I’m not like my father. I’m fucking not…
“They won’t fuck with you anymore.”
Miller frowned, confused, then suspicion swarmed back over his face. “You going to be my bodyguard or something? Forget it. I can take care of myself.”
I cocked my head, waiting. He wasn’t used to people doing shit for him without a price, either.
“Okay,” he said finally, and with that one word, something settled between us. Became solid and real. He gathered up his stuff. “I gotta get to work. Stay as long as you want.”
It’s yours now too.
He didn’t say it, but I heard it in his voice. Miller Stratton was like me. A loner who’d been dealt a shit hand. But he didn’t bitch and moan. He handled his business and got on with it. I respected that.
I stayed until the sun set. I didn’t want to leave, but it was getting dark. Old pieces of driftwood lay scattered around. I dug a shallow pit in the sand with my hands and tossed in the driftwood. Next time, I’d bring lighter fluid. Then I could stay as long as I wanted.
Except I needed to eat. Eventually.
I dragged myself away from the Shack, back to the parking lot and my empty apartment. I heated up a frozen dinner while the TV blared sports news and scanned a local paper’s want ads. I made a few calls and lined up a couple one-time gigs—and one longer job building a shed in an old lady’s backyard. The timing was good; I’d caught up with the tenants’ requests and had three days of suspension to kill.
I ate the dinner and watched a football game, then sports talk about the game, and still, it was only eleven p.m.
But it was a new town. A fresh start. Maybe I could sleep like a normal person. Maybe it’d be okay.
I curled up on the shitty futon and eventually dozed off.
The nightmare was waiting.
The thud of his bootsteps across our kitchen. The slide of her jeans against the linoleum as she tried to back away. The bat, rising and coming down.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I woke up to my own screams, the sheets drenched in sweat, the reverberations of the bat still running through me like aftershocks.
I sucked in deep breaths until I felt steady, then threw on some clothes, laced up my boots.
So much for fresh fucking starts.
Outside, I stared into a dark, quiet night and began to walk.
Chapter Three
That Friday, the end of the first week of school, I woke at five a.m.—like usual. Dawn had just begun to creep into my bedroom that was impeccably neat and yet completely full of everything that was me.