I was sitting on the sidewalk nearby where I squatted, some punk-ass kid comes out with this old lady. The kid was wearing an expensive wool coat I now know was cashmere, and he had these pristine white basketball shoes to go along with it. I thought he looked like a dumbass wearing those shoes with such an uptight looking coat, he definitely didn’t belong in that part of town. Kids on skid row were lucky if they had a jacket to wear or shoes without holes in the soles. But out on those streets, his get-up wouldn’t last long. He was a walking target and his spotless shoes were a beacon.
Minutes later, the woman and the kid got jumped by four teenagers as they made their way down the block. They were asking for trouble with how they were dressed, it was a matter of time—nothing less. The perps were guys I knew well, who ran in my same circles. They were thugs, both violent and desperate, who’d jump anyone to scrape up some money for drugs. The woman got in front of the boy trying to shield him from danger, but then one of the boys punched her square in the face making her fall crashing down to the ground, probably breaking her nose. The boy started crying. He collapsed on the ground. It was a pathetic fight.
Normally, I wouldn’t have cared, would have just looked on, minding my own business. But seeing those two on the ground, defeated, victims of senseless cruelty, something in me snapped. I related to them, feeling helpless against a tyrant, overpowered and unable to defend themselves. Plus, I like how the mom had defended her son, how she stood right up to those dudes like she could possibly stop them.
I wasn’t gonna fuck with them, but something about them spoke to me that night. I got up and stepped into their midst. As soon as those guys saw me, they froze.
I leaned over and helped the woman up, then stared the rats down and simply told them the woman and the boy were with me. They knew what I meant. No one fucked with scary Silas and no one touched what belonged to him. They ran. I never would have guessed that interaction would change my life, but it did in so many profound ways. It almost felt like the universe set it up especially for me. Because the boy would eventually become my best friend, and the older woman, would provide me with the closest approximation to a mother I would ever know. It was Kyle and Annie who crossed my path that night and set my life on an entirely different course—a change in my destiny that I’m eternally grateful for.
I sat on my bed, sinking into the dark blue satin sheets. I barked out a laugh like a mad man, with the realization that I‘d already come a long fucking way, but tonight the minute Olivia saw those scars, I was reduced to that frightened, rejected little boy. She had so much power over me and she didn’t even know it. If I wasn’t careful, she’d break me. It was my own fault. My feelings for her were handing her, wrapped and ready, the power to undo me.
It’s not like it would be a difficult task. I could barely keep my shit together for more than five minutes with her. My head was filled with mind-numbing anger, mostly at myself for not getting better control of my emotions, for still letting my past be an issue. I grabbed my sweats and walked off to the woods. I needed to be alone, to run and inhale fresh air into my lungs, to shut my mind off, even if it only lasted a moment. Running gave me freedom, even if only temporarily.
Olivia
I couldn’t sleep. The scenario with Silas was running on repeat in my mind. I thought about what could have caused those horrendous scars on his body. The ones on his face were deep, the marks looked like they were caused by a forceful slice from something sharp—like a knife or a razor. There were three on his right cheek, one above his left eye, and one on his neck. His neck had the most vicious one and looking at it made me think the worst. Had someone tried to kill Silas? Maybe they were scars from jail or the military—maybe he’d been to war. The scars definitely weren’t recent, the white appearance made me think they happened many years ago, something he would have gotten as a child or a young teen. They were brutal markings that made Silas look not only intimidating, but dangerous as well. It was unfair, that someone could inflict wounds on him and he could forever be branded the bad guy. The scars that covered half of his body were raised rough patches that could have only been caused by one thing—fire.