Page 2 of The Lost and the Found

Hayden

I walked brisklyto my apartment building.

At this time of night, in this part of town, it was best to walk as quickly as possible and not draw attention to myself.

My hands tightened around the thin sweater I was wearing as a cold breeze blew in, reminding me that we were in the middle of a frigid Chicago winter. It wasn’t like I needed a reminder.

It was mid-February, which meant I still had three more months left to go.

When I caught sight of a couple of men up on the street, I kept my head down, relying on the black hoodie to keep my face and long hair partially hidden. I let out a sigh of relief when I walked past them without any trouble.

A familiar figure stood out front by the entryway of my run-down apartment building. It must have been colder than twenty degrees outside, but he was dress in nothing but ratty old jeans and a thin sweater. I assumed he was probably too drunk or too high to notice the freezing cold.

“Hey, Hayden. What are you doing out so late?” He slurred his words a little at the end.

I shook my head. “Just got home from work, Kenny.”

“I was just thinking about you,” he said, his eyes taking me in. He made an obscene gesture with his hips to show me exactly how he was thinking about me. I rolled my eyes and walked past him, through the door. “I can’t stop thinking about you, baby girl! Especially when I’m in the shower.” His annoying laugh followed me up the stairs as I made my way to my floor.

Kenny was my neighbor who lived three doors down.

He was also the resident drug dealer. Everyone knew this. I knew this, and I had never even purchased anything from him. He was a proud high school dropout and once told me going to college was a waste of my time—that I should do what he did.

I had never seen him sober enough for anything, no matter the time of day, and after two years of living near him, I knew he was completely harmless, if not a little crude.

I quickened my pace when my front door came into view and only let out a sigh of relief once I safely inside with the doors locked behind me. I had lived on the streets before, and it had done nothing to keep me from jumping from even the slightest sound at night. If anything, it only heightened my awareness to how truly dangerous the world really was.

I turned on all of the light as I walked around the small apartment, something I’d done every night since I’d moved in. When everything seemed to be in place, I walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

I looked at myself in the mirror while I undressed, taking in my too-slight frame, taking note of every obvious imperfection and going over to the parts of me that I loved most. I wasn’t vain. I did this as way of telling myself that I needed to love myself, first and foremost. That I was worth loving, even if I was the one doing it.

And for me, I loved my eyes the most.

My piercing blue eyes.

I got them from my father, and I knew I shouldn’t be fascinated by the man who left my mother and me when I was only eight years old, but I was. I had only a vague recollection of him, and that was all. I didn’t even have a single photograph and had long ago forgotten what he looked like.

But his abandonment had impacted my life in ways I couldn’t imagine. He was someone I hated to love, and someone I would love to hate. Were those things the same?

I took after my mom. From the same waif-like frame—a frame that had only gotten more fragile since my days of living on the streets—to my olive skin, a true testament to my mixed heritage, and my above-average height, coming in at 5’6”.

I also had thick, blonde hair that was a little wavy (especially when it was wet or humid outside) and I let it grow long—something my mom had always wanted to do but never had patience for—despite how much attention I drew from it. And where I lived, drawing attention to myself was a dangerous thing.

But it reminded me of my deceased mother. And I didn’t want to let her go.

I brushed my teeth while I waited for the water to warm up, then I practiced smiling in front of the mirror. The muscles around my lips felt unused, probably because they were. These days, I had a difficult time trying to find anything to smile about.

My eyes honed in on the slight imperfection of my two front teeth, a result of having my baby teeth knocked out when I was six after accidentally running into the wooden table in my mom’s kitchen.

Shaking off the cold, I hopped into the shower, savoring the hot water as it rained down on my skin.

I always showered when I got home, no matter the time. It was the one thing I couldn’t go without. Aside from food and warmth, I never realized how vital having clean water really was. Not until I had spent so long covered in dirt, grease, and who knows what else. Those dirty things had stripped away all of my pride and identity back then.

I just couldn’t go back to it.

I stayed in the shower for a good thirty minutes before getting out, then I wrapped the fluffy yellow towel around myself and walked out, where I searched the entire apartment once more. When everything seemed to be in order, I went to bed.

I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

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