I tuck my hands beneath my legs and grunt slightly when a splinter breaks loose from the porch and pricks the top of my hand. The logical thing to do would be to get up and move to a different spot, but I like where I’m sitting—it allows me to see everything and everyone that goes by.
Not that I ever pay much attention.
Except on garbage days when the nice man comes by with new trinkets for my home.
Other than that, I usually have my eyes to the sky or the ground, my head in the clouds, and my heart buried six feet under where it’s belonged for an awfully long time now.
I lean forward enough to be able to place my forehead against my knees and then I sigh. I can’t help but think of Grace again. Lost in the world somewhere; alone and probably still believing that no one loves her. That was a sacrament that my parents bestowed on her before they shoved her out the door.
That no one could ever care for “wicked little girls” like me and her.
Clearing my throat, I close my eyes for a moment.
Reade loved Grace in his own way. At least that’s what I like to think, and I know that somewhere in that muddled brain of hers, she believed it too.
As for me, I’ve never found enough room in my heart for anyone other than my sister, and since we’ve been torn apart for all of these years, I can almost swear only half of it still beats inside of my chest.
It will be okay, I think tiredly.
Charlie may not want to talk to me when he sees me watching him, and he may not want to let me get close to him ever again, but he’s the key to the chamber of sorrow I feel, and I’ll force him to open it one way or another.
Chapter Five
“Karolina?”
Fuck.
I fell asleep again without meaning to but at least I’m not in the company of strangers this time.
I sit up and rub my eyes and let out a yawn as I wait for the figure in front of me to come into focus. Usually, all I see are blurs, nothing is ever in stereo, and colors sometimes elude me, but when my eyes finally start to take in the welcome sight in front of me, a small smile curves the edges of my lips.
“Hi, Garbageman,” I greet my friend softly. He chuckles as he sits down on the porch next to me and removes his jacket. It must be a chilly morning, but I’m used to low temperatures, so it never really bothers me. He reaches over slowly to carefully drape his jacket around my shoulders then waits for me to fully wake up.
Garbageman is patient with me. I think it’s because he can see the emptiness in my heart through my hollow eyes.
“Jack,” he offers softly, and I grunt.
That’s right; Garbageman has a name too.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“It’s okay. I thought I would mention it again in case you forgot is all,” he assures me with a chuckle.
I raise my eyes toward the massive green truck he drives, the hum of the engine finally registering in my ears before I turn to look at him.
“I wish I had something for you today,” he begins quietly, “but I’ve been off for a week on vacation. You can keep my jacket though if you like it.”
My eyes turn away from him as I look down at my toes. Wiggling them, I turn my face slightly to inhale his scent on my new jacket.
“Jack,” I muse softly to myself. “His name is Jack, like a jacket.”
“Have you eaten lately?” Garbageman asks me curiously.
I shake my head as I tuck my hands beneath my legs again and dig my fingernails into the flesh. Hunger pains can always be diverted by hurting myself in different ways.
“Wait here, okay?” he directs, and I nod without looking over at him again.
I have to remind myself that he gives me presents because he’s nice and for no other reason.
It’s what keeps him safe—and me too.
“Here,” he says when he returns. He eases a brown paper bag into my lap as I begin to rock back and forth slowly. “It’s my lunch; it’s not much but hopefully it’ll hold you over for a little while.”
When I don’t make a move to open the bag, when my body keeps moving back and forth, Garbageman clears his throat as he leans over to open the bag for me.
I lean forward and sniff the aroma wafting up from inside, suddenly feeling slightly faint from the hunger, then dig my nails further into the flesh of my thighs.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as Garbageman undoes the clear wrapper around his sandwich. He then tears away a piece and holds it gently to my lips.
“Open up,” he encourages me softly.
I finally raise my eyes toward his again as I part my lips just enough so that he can slip the piece into my mouth.
Garbageman’s eyes startle me like they do every time I see them.
They’re as blue as a clear sky, and the crinkles around them when he smiles makes him look even kinder than he is. His face looks younger and clearer each time I see it, and I like the way his nose slopes to a point. The color of his hair reminds me of a butterscotch candy I once found half-eaten on the street, and I’m willing to bet anything that it feels just as smooth.
I begin to chew slowly, and he leans back and waits for me to finish my bite. It’s the first time I notice the colorful art on the right side of his neck, and when I lean forward again, my lips parting for another piece, I see that he has more on the top of his hands.
“Like them?” he asks in a hopeful tone when he notices my staring.
