Page 83 of Ghosts Don't Cry
He sets his mug down.
“You shouldn’t have been given that sentence.” His voice is quiet. “Five years for a first offense … especially one where there was nothing stolen, and no one hurt …” He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to press charges. I told them that. You needed help, not a prison cell. But they went ahead with their own investigation, and turned you into their poster boy for why drugs were bad.”
“In a way, it was the best thing to happen to me.” I take another sip of coffee, and allow myself to share the truth I learned. “They made sure I got clean. I had a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in. I received three meals a day … and I was warm. It’s more than I had before.”
“You should have come to me, instead of breaking in. If you’d asked for help, it would never have gone that far.”
“It wasn’t your problem to solve.”
“No, but store owners notice things, you know.” He takes another mouthful of coffee, then sets down his cup. “It’s hard to miss when someone is falling apart right in front of you. And we all watched it happen. I saw you getting thinner, the shakes getting worse. I watched you fading away. And I let it happenbecause I kept telling myself you must have a family member who would help you.”
“I was good at hiding how bad it was.”
“Not as good as you think you were.” A small smile tips his lips up. “That girl who came in with you sometimes. Lily Gladwin. She saw it too.”
Lily saw everything. That’s why I had to push her away. So she didn’t get dragged even further into my downfall.
I stare down at my coffee. The surface is dark, reflecting nothing. I don’t know what to say.
“Why are you being so …” I wave one hand, unable to find the right words.
“Understanding?” His lips quirk up. “Because I’ve seen enough kids pass through here. Some make it. Some don’t. The ones who do usually learn to stop punishing themselves for doing what they had to so they could survive.”
“You know what your real problem is right now?” Feldman leans forward slightly. “You’re still that kid who’s too scared to ask for help. Inside, you’re convinced you don’t deserve a second chance.” He reaches across and pats my hand. “Son, listen to me. You can’t change what happened. But youcanchoose who you want to be now.”
The bell over the door chimes before I can reply. Which I’m glad about because I have no idea what to say.
“Here’s Terry. Right on time.” Feldman stands, picking up our empty cups.
I push to my feet, feeling steadier than I was when I arrived. “I really am sorry.” The words feel inadequate, too small for what I’m trying to convey. “About that night.”
“I know.” He moves toward the counter, then pauses. “Make me one promise, though. Next time you’re hungry, come in through the front door. It works better than breaking windows.”
A laugh breaks free, surprising me. “Yeah. I figured that out.”
When I walk outside, the sun has been hidden by rain clouds. The air is cold and damp against my face, but everything feels fresher somehow. Feldman’s words follow me to the car, mixing with memories of Lily.
I can’t change what I did to her back then, or the words I threw at her last night. And I still don’t think I can let her close enough to matter again. But maybe I can stop choosing to be the weapon that years of neglect and homelessness forged. I can stop trying to prove that I’m exactly what everyone in this town expects me to be, and figure out who Iwantto be instead.
Chapter Thirty-Two
LILY
The mirror doesn’t lie.
My fingers trace over the marks he left on my throat. Dark bruises blooming purple and blue, with yellow at the edges. Each one aches under my touch, evidence of everywhere his mouth has been. The largest sits at the base of my throat, teeth marks visible if I look closely enough. I press against it, watching my reflection wince, needing the pain to ground me in reality.
But it’s not just my throat. Marks scatter across my collarbone, disappearing beneath my shirt. My lips are still sensitive when I touch them. There’s stubble burn along my jaw and neck. And between my legs … a different kind of ache. One that flares with every movement, every shift of weight.
My whole body is a record of what happened last night. It feels like a fever dream.
After the confrontation with Amy and Kate, Cassidy insisted I go back to her place. She didn’t push for details on what happened while I was outside with Ronan, just made hot chocolate I didn’t drink, and sat with me while I stared at nothing. When the silence got too heavy, she put on the television and let the sounds of random shows fill the room.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” she said sometime after midnight. “But I’m here if you need me.”
I couldn’t find the words then. I had no way to explain how it felt to have him touch me again, to feel him against me, with his voice, rough and wanting, in my ear before he twisted it into something cruel.
I didn’t sleep, tossing and turning in her spare room, and watched the shadows move across the ceiling while I relived every moment, every touch, and every word he uttered. When the sun rose, I left Cassidy a note on her kitchen counter, and slipped out without waking her.
