The motion is so achingly familiar that it makes my heart clench. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to keep my voice low. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I won’t hurt you. Are you okay?”
The bundle shivers, and I can’t tell if it’s from fear or the cold. Most likely a combination of the two. But they don’t move from their protective stance, and they don’t speak. “Hey, I’m Roman. Can you please look at me?”
There’s a long pause, and then startling green eyes peek up at me from behind a curtain of greasy black hair. My heart jumps into my throat as I take in the dark bruising around the kid’s—early teens if I had to guess—eye. It’s not the only injury, but it’s definitely the most glaring. The split lip with remnants of dried blood clinging to their chin is pretty damning as well.
“Hi,” I try again, even quieter than before. “What’s your name?”
They don’t say a word. They simply keep their terrified eyes locked on mine. “You don’t have to talk. That’s okay, but can you come inside with me? It’s far too cold out here, and you’re covered in snow.”
They study me for a second, then slowly nod. Relief washes over me and I hold my hand out. When they take it, I help pull them to their feet and lead them back into the warm building. Once we’re inside, I look at them a little closer. The kid is a boy, probably no older than fifteen if I had to guess, and that’s generous.
I take him to one of the couches in the lounge area, and gesture to it. He sits down, toying nervously with the sleeves of his thin hoodie. “I’m going to go grab you something warm to drink and a couple of blankets, okay?”
He nods, eyes wide and still so fucking scared. The second I’m out of sight, I lean against the wall and rub my chest, like it can stem the pain blooming there. I started this non-profit to help kids just like him, but it never,evergets easier to see kids like that. Bruised and broken and fucking scared of the world.
Even with how rewarding this job is, there’s not a single way I could do it without talking to Alexis monthly. There’s no way I could handle seeing kids like me, dredging up bad memories, without my own past bringing me down.
Shaking off those thoughts, I peel myself off the wall and walk to the supply closet where we keep extra clothes and blankets. I pull two down from the top shelf and head to the kitchen to make a cup of hot chocolate. I use water, even though milk is better, since I’m not sure about any possible dairy allergies. Once it’s heated in the microwave, I tear open a packet of the dairy-free hot chocolate mix we use.
When I get back into the lounge area, steaming hot chocolate in one hand and blankets in the other, the kid jumps out of his skin. I see my fair share of frightened kids, but he seems worse than most.
I approach him slowly and set the hot chocolate on the table in front of him, noting that his eyes are following each movement of my hands. I start to wrap one of the blankets around his shoulders, but he flinches away from me and lets out a terrified little sound that shoots straight to my heart. Stepping back as far as I can, I instead hold the blankets out toward him. He takes them cautiously and wraps them around himself, damn near hiding his face behind the fluffy material.
I sit cross-legged on the floor, watching as he takes the hot chocolate off the table. “I didn’t make it with milk,” I murmur. “I didn’t know if you had any allergies. It’s way better with milk.”
His gaze finds mine, so I offer him a little smile. He darts his eyes away again quickly and brings the cup to his lips, sighing with the first sip. “Pretty good, huh? Hot chocolate always makes me feel better on a cold day.”
He looks back down at me, nodding slightly. It feels like a damn victory, but I work hard to keep my face impassive. “Like I said, I’m Roman. Do you know where you are?” Another slight nod. “Awesome. How long have you been sitting outside?”
I’m not expecting an answer, but he clears his throat. “All day.”
Fuck. “I’m sorry to hear that. Why didn’t you come in? Do you know what we do here?”
His eyes drop to the mug in his hands and he nods. “My friend Liam came here. He said you were really nice, and you helped him get away from his mom.”
Liam. I remember him well. Rambunctious and full of life, but neglected by his drug-addicted mother. I helped him get placed in a foster home that has since adopted him, and the last time I checked in, he was thriving and happy. “Yeah? Liam’s a good kid. Do you know each other from school?”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “I’m Eli.”
I smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Eli.” He doesn’t say anything to that, but that’s alright. He doesn’t have to. “Are you warming up?”
He nods again, bringing the cup back to his lips, and takes another sip.
We sit in silence for a while, and when he’s finished with his drink, he sets the empty mug down on the table and leans back against the couch, a faraway look in his eyes. “I was scared,” he says quietly after a long while.
I hum. “Scared of what?”
“Coming inside.”
Poor thing. “Yeah, it can be a little scary asking for help, huh?”
“Yeah,” he whispers, his voice rough and cracking a little.
“I’m glad you’re here, though. Would you like to tell me what happened?” He shakes his head, fear flashing in his eyes. “You don’t have to right now. But, I need to know what happened so I can help you, okay? We can just sit here for a while until you feel comfortable.”
He takes me up on that, and we sit in silence for so long that I start to wonder if he’s going to say anything at all. The sound of his stomach growling breaks the silence. I smile. “Man, I’m starving. What about you?”
He shakes his head. “I’m okay.”
