The Guy With the Suitcase (Once Upon a Guy #1) (8 page)

“Com’on. You can tell me if you are. Who is it?” Marissa insisted, asking what he looked like and where he met him. Rafe was getting sick of the interrogation fast. He felt his blood rising inside of him and his skin getting hot.

“I’m not in love, Marissa. I was nearly raped, for fuck’s sake,” he scoffed at her, making sure to not shout loud enough to be heard all across the store.

Marissa pushed herself back in her chair. “What? How? What happened?”

“Some assholes saw me trying to pick up customers and started following me. They pushed me in an alley and pinned me to the ground,” Rafe murmured.

“Did they...?” Marissa couldn’t and wouldn’t finish her sentence, but Rafe was okay with that. Even he didn’t like the sound of it spoken out loud, no matter if the word circled round and round his mind.

“No, they didn’t. I said nearly. This guy came in the alley and stopped them,” he told her and sipped his chocolate.

Marissa reached for his hand across the table. “How do you feel? Can I...?” she started, but Rafe had enough talking about last night’s incident.

He withdrew his hand from under hers. “I’m...okay, I guess. I will be okay. There’s nothing you can do for me anyway,” he said. Only when he said it did he realize it might have come across in a different way.

If Marissa was hurt, she didn’t let it show because her hand stayed where it was on the table and her voice was as sympathetic as it had been before.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do, no matter how small,” she told him.

Why wouldn’t she drop the subject already? Rafe set his drink down, spilling some on his hand as he retaliated on Marissa. “Can you find me a home? No. How about a job that doesn’t include me selling my body to creepy old dudes? No. Can you give me my medication or a medical insurance? No. So how the fuck do you think you can help me, Marissa?”

Was Pierce rubbing off on him or what? Where had that come from? He loved Marissa like a sister and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but there he was, throwing insults at her face, totally unprovoked. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say before he dashed out of Mario’s with his head hanging low in shame.

He wandered the streets thinking of how terrible he’d been to his best friend. Thinking of last night’s events and how they brought out the need for safety back into his life. He couldn’t keep doing what he did because it was risky, but if he didn’t, he’d die. How had his life got so fucked up?

The more he walked, the more upset he got with himself. His stomach tied up in knots as he kept telling himself what an idiot he’d been and how stupidly he had acted. He didn’t know what had got into him. He wasn’t like that. He was always nice to people. He was always nice to his parents even though they were far less than that to him. He’d just take the hit. Literally.

His stomach bloated and his mouth felt dry and his knees wavered. He kept walking, but he felt weaker. His throat became hoarse and tingly. He coughed. He coughed again. Once he started, he was unable to stop. He tried to stop, but to no avail.

He sat on a ledge, steadying himself, trying to soothe whatever had awakened inside. He took a deep breath, then another one. Sweat trickled down from his hairline to his forehead and down his eyebrow. His cheeks felt flushed. His body had calmed down, though, despite feeling warmer and warmer.

He took another breath and the city pollution traveled up his nose and down his lungs causing him to cough again. He covered his mouth and eyed the passersby hoping he hadn’t alarmed anyone. Rafe looked at his hand and found it was covered in sprinkles of blood. He put his finger in his mouth and took it out to inspect it. There was no blood. Where the hell had it come from?

His breathing became harder and he felt more sweat encompassing him. A feeling of sickness found its way to his mouth and he spewed vomit beside him. He coughed a little more, then wiped his mouth. The oxygen his nostrils inhaled seemed fresher now and a coolness reached out to his limbs. He found his footing again, slowly, but steadily.

Pierce opened his eyes, craning his neck to both sides, trying to ease the pain in his neck. Sleeping with a pillow under his neck was no longer a habit, so whenever it happened it hurt his whole back. Not that he wasn’t welcoming the soft feeling under him and the warmth surrounding him.
 

He had a quick shower in the same dingy bathroom he had used before
 
and went down to the common room for breakfast. He took his time this morning, not being in any particular rush. His plans were all set and he knew exactly what was going to happen, so his nerves were at ease and his brain fully concentrated on the one difficult thing he had to do today. Work.

He waved at the receptionist, a hipster with dreads who was too far into reading a book to acknowledge with more than a nod. He was okay with it. They had spent all last night talking about the possibility of him coming back later tonight and grabbing a last minute bed, whether it’d be possible to hold the same dorm for him. He thought since it was a different guy, he could try his luck at pushing things again. The guy had told him he’d do his best and promised to try his hardest to keep the two-bed dorm empty for the night. That was good enough for Pierce.

He went out into the street. Although it was a late October day, he was greeted by warmth and a sunny blinding light. He smiled as he headed up the street.
 
He walked for almost thirty minutes before reaching his destination. A clothing store called Market Deals spread out across the block in red and typical New York foot traffic rushed in and out of the store.

He might have spent all his boss’s money on Rafe’s hostel last week, but he didn’t regret it one bit, and he had even managed to make an honorable twenty-nine bucks in begging, trying to compensate for the money he’d lost and not willing to turn up at work in the same clothes and prove to his boss that he was a hopeless junkie, after all. He now had a bit over $40 to spend on clothes and the first thing he’d grab was a coat. It might be a sunny day today, but that wouldn’t last for long.

He walked in and grabbed a cart, placing his suitcase inside it. He rolled around following the signs to the men’s section.

He needed a thick enough jacket to ward off the cold on the nights he’d be sleeping outside or in the subway, but one that could easily be tucked away into his suitcase and still leave enough space to put some extra tees in.

He was struck by how many options he had and how cheap everything was. He tried more than a dozen coats, assessing them for all their flaws and pros and narrowed it down to two. One was stylish, had a flannel coating inside that made it extra warm, and had enough pockets in and out to fit in a small armada of knick-knacks. It was navy blue in color with brown buttons and cords and reached his thighs when worn. The other one was a black parka with cotton stuffing and a few pockets, but otherwise less practical for anything other than sleep outside. It was easily washable, however, made from polyester. He eyed the clock on the wall and decided not to waste any more time on making a decision his brain had already made ages ago. He picked up the navy blue coat and marched to the t-shirt section. Yes, it was more difficult to wash, but it made him look less homeless and more hipster, which in his situation was a good thing.
 

The t-shirts he found were on a bargain. 3 for $20, plus $15 for the coat gave him some extra change to spare. He picked up a red comic-book themed tee and two artsy ones, black with white creative strokes and floral lettering which he deemed perhaps more appropriate for a workplace environment.

Making his way to the registers, he noticed the shoe section and a big flashing card that read ‘$5 only’, which, of course, attracted his attention. He looked down to his shoes. While the wear and tear in his jeans made them look trendy, the same didn’t apply for his all-stars. The soles had long separated from the rest of the shoe, only hanging onto a bit of glue, his laces were all muddied up and the fabric was full of holes where his socks were visible. He needed new ones, but he always put them last on his list, always deeming the coat more important and, considering he was only just buying one after a month of planning to do so, it left his feet to their fate. Thankfully it hadn’t rained much in the last few weeks and Pierce was grateful to whatever being or planetary movements determined that.

He browsed the shoes selves and found a pair of red and white sneakers. He found his number, the last in that design, and carried everything to the register. The woman rang everything up for him and once he’d paid he went to the corner of the street, took off his old shoes, threw them in the garbage can, and put on the new ones. The change in the arch of his feet felt strange. The balls and toes of his feet had grown so used to the discomfort of holes and bumps that being massaged while in motion seemed out of the ordinary, inhumane, even. Shoes surely didn’t feel so comfortable.

He started his journey down Malcolm X Avenue. He checked the clock inside a convenience store and realized it was still early. He was supposed to start in three hours, so he slowed his pace, enjoying a good stroll after a long time, feeling refreshed. He didn’t want to admit it, but shopping made him feel good about himself. Elevated. Shopping therapy was a thing of the past. He was happy he had indulged in it after almost half a year. It had been that long. He had changed a lot since. But he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he hadn’t thoroughly enjoyed the excursion for necessities. Matched with the elation of starting a job, this was being the best day he had ever had out on the streets.

“Hey,
bruto
,” he heard someone say very close to him and an eye lift revealed none other than Rafe.

“Hey,” he said, feeling his lips part as they formed a smile out of their own volition. “How are you? How has it been since...?” He left the last bit of his question to hang in the air, not particularly keen to remind Rafe of that night.

“Good, good. Much...quieter, let’s say. How about you? Been shopping, I see,” he said looking at the plastic bags and the new flashing shoes.

“I was just heading to work. I had to buy a few things so I don’t turn up like a hobo on my first day,” Pierce explained.

Rafe nodded. “That’s cool. I like the shoes. It was good seeing you. Enjoy work,” he added, backtracking, moving away from Pierce hesitantly.

Pierce grimaced for a second, his mind processing the prospect of spending more time with Rafe. Before he got too far he called out to him. “Wanna walk with me? Get something to eat? I’ll buy. I think,” he said, remembering he’d spent the spare money he was supposed to have for food on the shoes.

“Uhm, are you sure? I don’t wanna keep you from work or anything,” Rafe replied. His face brightened up in an instant at Pierce’s suggestion.

Pierce nodded, noticing the change in Rafe. His stomach curled. He could see the street rub off Rafe’s face and being replaced with the cuteness of looking forward to something. “Sure. I’ve still got time. I’m not sure if I have money, but time, I’ve got plenty,” he chuckled and Rafe approached him, walking down together.

Pierce counted his change. “I’ve got enough for ice cream,” he admitted noticing an ice cream van parked in the street in front of the north side of Central.

“Ice cream sounds fun,” Rafe’s lips arched, exposing his white teeth. A beautiful smile that gave Pierce goosebumps.

He’d buy him all the ice cream if it’d make him smile like that all the time.

 
“So, what’s your flavor?” he asked with a smirk.

Rafe was taken aback by the question, for a moment contemplating replying to the double entendre in a publicly unacceptable way. Then decided against it, as they approached the ice cream truck, which housed an older, Indian man with gray hair waiting to get paid by a mom.

“I like vanilla and Oreo. Just pure perfection,” he answered and hummed with pleasure at the image in his head.

Pierce laughed. “I love oreo too. But my favorite hands down is chocolate. I love milk chocolate. It was so hard giving it up,” he commented as they stood in the small line to be served.