Salvation (14 page)

I slowed my pace and took in my
surroundings. Sutherlin was almost a century old and really beautiful, composed
of elegant buildings and big trees clustered into cozy little quads. I
meandered into a courtyard with a fountain. Lavish, bright purple bougainvillea
vines climbed up onto a second-floor gallery. It was so pretty and peaceful
that I decided to stay for a few minutes, settling onto a wooden bench and
letting the sound of the trickling fountain soothe me.

I used to dream about going to college
when I was younger, literally. I’d have vivid dreams about leaving home and
getting to learn in a place just like this, a world away from the cramped
apartment I grew up in and the bullies in high school and my uncle, who thought
the answer to most things was a swift backhand across the face. I was a
B-average student though, more likely to spend my time in class daydreaming
than paying attention, so I realized as I got older that this was never going
to be my reality. No one was ever going to give me a scholarship and I was too
broke to pay for school on my own.

Okay, maybe that was an excuse. If I’d
wanted college badly enough, I probably could have taken out loans and made it
happen. But I began working two jobs right out of high school, struggling to
keep a roof over my head after my uncle kicked me out the day I turned eighteen
and the checks from social services ended. My dreams of college just faded into
the background.

I didn’t think about it much. I just
survived day by day, worked hard, got by. Right now though, in this
environment, I found myself missing something I’d never even had.

*****

Apparently I fell asleep on that bench
in the little courtyard. I awoke sometime later with a start, sitting upright
quickly. I wasn’t alone, and I blinked at my companion in confusion.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” Christian
said with a grin. “I was beginning to wonder if you were down for the count.”

He was on the bench beside me, and it
seemed I’d been using his thigh as a pillow. “What time is it?” I murmured,
pushing my hair out of my eyes.

“Close to one a.m.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Well, I decided to get drunk in my
favorite spot on campus,” he said, rattling the empty flask in his left hand,
“and found you’d beat me to it. Since you were out cold, I then decided to hang
out here and act as your own personal bodyguard until you woke up.”

“Oh. Why?” It was taking me a little
while to get my bearings, and apparently all I could manage right then was a
series of stupid questions.

Christian shrugged and said, “I didn’t
want anyone to mess with you while you were sleeping. Besides, it was something
to do.”

I absorbed that for a moment, then
asked, “Who were you trying to avoid at the art show?”

“My parents.”

“Why?”

“Because the only reason they ever come
to things like that is so they can judge me and look down on everyone and
everything. I was in no mood.”

“Ah.” I stood up a bit unsteadily and
stretched. Christian got up too, pocketing the empty flask. “What happened to
you?” I asked when I got a good look at him.

“What do you mean?”

“You look so normal.” He was dressed
simply in a blue long-sleeved t-shirt, faded Levis, and sneakers, no eyeliner,
silver jewelry or leather in sight.

He grinned at that. “Meaning I usually
look abnormal?”

“Meaning you usually look like a rock
star.”

The grin turned into a smile. “Even rock
stars dress down on occasion. Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.” He started
to leave the courtyard and I fell into step beside him.

“Thanks, both for offering me a ride and
for standing guard while I slept. You should have woken me up, though.”

“Nah, you were exhausted.”

“But it must have been boring for you.”

“I’m good at entertaining myself,”
Christian said. “Up until twenty minutes ago when my phone’s battery died, I
was sexting with this hot guy that lives over on Potrero Hill. I had my flask
to keep me company, too.”

The campus was really still, a fine mist
making halos around the streetlamps. We walked in silence for a little while,
until Christian ventured, “So, are you and Skye dating?”

“Oh. Um, no. He asked me out this
afternoon, but I turned him down.”

“How come?”

“I’m trying to get over this other guy,
but I’m just not there yet.”

“I see. So, how did Skye take it when
you turned him down?”

“Fine, I guess. It kind of seemed like
he expected it.”

“I hope you let him down easy.” There
was a little sting behind that, which surprised me.

“I really like Skye. I wouldn’t hurt
him, Christian.”

“Not intentionally.” We’d reached a
black ragtop Jeep, and he unlocked the passenger door and held it open for me.

I paused in front of him and asked, “Are
you okay to drive, since you’ve been drinking?”

“I’m fine. I forgot to fill up my flask
earlier, so my plans of getting drunk didn’t pan out.”

Once we were settled in and Christian had
pulled out of the lot, I said, “Both you and River seemed concerned about
something happening between Skye and me. What’s up with that? I mean, it’s
sweet that you care about him, but he’s not a kid. Why are you guys so
protective of him?”

“There are things you don’t know about
Skye’s past, but it’s really not my place to talk about them. Let’s just say
River and I have our reasons, and leave it at that.”

“Fair enough.”

He changed the subject by asking for my
address. When I told him, he said, “Wow, that’s a really shitty part of town.
In fact, it’s so bad that I have a couple public improvement projects right in
your neighborhood. I can give you a mini-tour on the way home if you’d like.”

“Sure.”

I’d assumed Christian was kidding when
he called his graffiti a public improvement project, but when he pulled onto a
side street a few blocks from my apartment and came to a stop beside a huge
mural, I realized he was absolutely right. The bold, beautiful painting was on
the back of a dingy, lifeless building that looked abandoned. Words and bright
colors made up the sky over a fantastic utopian cityscape. “I call it Perfect
World,” Christian said. “It’s not done. I want to cover the entire back of the
building, but the cops have figured out that I keep returning to it. I get very
little done with each visit before they roll up on me and try to chase me
down.”

“It’s amazing,” I murmured. “I never
knew it was here. I don’t walk around my neighborhood much, I just hurry back
and forth between the bus stop and my apartment.”

“That’s probably wise,” he said as he
started driving again. “I’ll show you one more that’s nearby, but we have to be
quick. Stopping by to admire my handiwork could call attention to us,
especially at this time of night.”

On another side street behind a run-down
building, he had painted an eight-foot-tall young man trying to break through
the wall, his head and hands emerging, bricks crumbling around him, his
expression determined. “This building generates more 911 calls than anyplace
else in the city. There’s so much shit that goes on in there – drugs,
prostitution, domestic violence, you name it. The sad thing is, a lot of
families live here, too. It’s kind of overly literal, but I painted this to
show the kids growing up here that there’s a future beyond these walls, that
they can break away and escape this environment. Maybe I should work on my
subtlety.”

As he started driving again, I grinned
at his profile. “I think it’s awesome. And subtlety is overrated.”

“Not all my work is this optimistic,” he
said as he pulled onto a main street and started doubling back toward my
apartment. “But I kind of figured around here the residents need messages of
hope, or at the very least, a little beauty. I reserve my bleaker statements
for the rich neighborhoods.”

When he pulled up in front of my
building, I leaned over and gave him a hug. “Thanks, Christian, for
everything.”

“My pleasure. Take it easy, Trevor.”

I gave him a little wave after I got out
of the car, then hurried up the stairs of my apartment building as he drove
off, coming to an abrupt halt on the top step. There was a homeless man
sleeping on the dark landing, which wasn’t unusual, but this one was leaning
right against the front door. Usually they bedded down in the little alcove off
to the right.

I chewed my bottom lip as I tried to
decide what to do. If I opened the door, he’d tumble into the lobby and
possibly wake up angry. I’d already had a couple scary encounters with street
people in this neighborhood and was in no mood for another one tonight. At the
same time though, I was tired and wanted to go to bed, so I had to deal with
this.

“Excuse me,” I said, bracing for
conflict. “I need to get in.”

The man stirred. I could smell alcohol
on him. He raised his head, which had been tucked into his folded arms.
“Trevor,” a raspy voice said.

“Oh my God, Vincent!”

His face was bruised and bloody, his lip
split. I dropped to my knees beside him and took his face in my hands. “Needed
to see you,” he whispered.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and
said, “I’m going to call an ambulance.”

But he closed his hands around mine and
said, “No. I don’t need a hospital.” The sleeves of his shirt slid down,
revealing bruises and lacerations around both of his wrists.

“Are you sure?” He nodded, and I asked,
“What do you need then?”

“You. Just for a few minutes. Please.”

That broke my heart. “Do you think you
can stand?” I asked, and when he nodded I helped him up. He swayed
precariously, reaching out to brace himself against the building while I
quickly found my keys and got the door unlocked.

Vincent was so unsteady on his feet that
I realized we’d never make it up the stairs to my apartment. Instead, I put my
arm around his waist and led him to a little cluster of furniture in the lobby.
The couch was beyond old and disgusting, but this was no time to worry about
weird smells or stains of unknown origin.

I sat down on the sofa with my back
against the armrest and Vincent settled in my arms, his head on my chest. The
tension drained from his body as he exhaled and let his eyes slide shut. As I
stroked his hair, he whispered, “I know I shouldn’t have come here like this. I
think…I think I’m really drunk. I seem to remember a lot of bourbon….”

“Who did this to you, Vincent? Who hurt
you? Was it those thugs that were chasing us?”

“I can’t talk about it,” he murmured. I
sighed quietly and shifted a bit, arranging both of us more comfortably. He was
quiet for so long that I thought he’d fallen asleep. But then he whispered, “I
totally get it, you know. I get why you don’t want me. I’m such a fucking mess.
My entire life is a disaster.”

“But I
do
want you, Vincent,” I
admitted quietly.

 “You don’t really, and I should be
glad. It was selfish of me to try to bring you into my fucked up world.”

We both fell silent after that.
Eventually he drifted off, his breathing becoming deep and regular. I watched
him as he slept, wishing I could soothe away the bruises and swelling that
marred his beautiful face.

Be his salvation, Trevor
.
Skye had said that several days ago, before he decided he wanted to go out with
me. Maybe there was some way to do that, to help Vincent untangle himself from
whatever he was mixed up in and make a fresh start. No one could possibly want
a life like this.

That train of thought reminded me of something.
Melody had told me once that I was obsessed with saving everyone I met. We’d
been fighting at the time, and she’d said it to be hurtful. I’d told her that
was a really poor attempt at insulting me, but I’d actually kept it in the back
of my mind ever since.

She’d claimed I went out of my way to
try to save people (and her in particular), just because that was easier than
trying to address my own issues. Did I? Sure, I had scars (inside and out) that
I’d never really dealt with…but I didn’t know how to fix
me
. Helping
other people was a lot more straightforward. So maybe I was repeating my
pattern right now with Vincent…but I really did think I could help.

I had to try anyway, because I knew I
couldn’t keep forcing myself to stay away from him. I didn’t
want to
. My
attraction to Vincent was overwhelming and I wasn’t going to fight it anymore.

Yeah, I’d probably be putting myself in
jeopardy with this decision. The proof of his violent life was etched all over
his face, after all. But when I really admitted to myself just how much I
wanted him, the risks paled in comparison to the reward.

I routinely let so many of my dreams go,
made excuses for why I couldn’t have the things I desired and got used to
living without. But I didn’t want to do that with Vincent. For once, I wanted
to give myself permission to go after what I wanted, whatever the consequences.