In Control (The City Series) (6 page)

I’m glad we finally talked. It only took all year! Just so you know, I wanted to talk to you so many times, but you were always so quiet and mysterious. This morning I was going to tell you something. Well, here it is. I think you’re really pretty, and your smile, like the one on your face right now, could stop traffic.

Porter Henning

P.S. Wanna come with me to Cafe Grumpy sometime?

My words left Wren in disbelief, and as we walked back to my apartment, he kept asking me to repeat myself.

“Just say it one last time,” he pleaded.

“I’m not saying it again. You heard it loud and clear the first ten times.”

He pulled my hand into his and we walked past the brownstones. The streets were lined with proud parents watching their children play. I imagine if I had grown up on this street, my life would have turned out much differently. Maybe I wouldn’t know what heartbreak was. Maybe the most terrifying thing that would have happened to me was a stolen bicycle or losing at a game of hopscotch. If I had grown up on a street as nice as this one, maybe I would be intact.

A young boy and girl were playing catch in their front yard, and the large red ball they were playing with landed right in front of Wren and me. Wren picked up the ball and turned in their direction.

“This your ball, little guy?” he asked over the noise of the traffic.

“Yeah!” the boy and girl responded in unison.

“I’m gonna throw it back. Who wants to catch it?”

I watched their animated faces as they jumped up and down in excitement, arguing over which one would catch the ball.

“Okay, here it comes!” Wren cupped the ball in his large hand and pretended to throw it in their direction. “Gotcha!”

“Aw, c’mon!” the little girl shouted.

“Okay, okay. Here it comes.” Wren finally threw their ball back to them, and we both watched the kids playfully trample one another in hopes of catching it.

It landed a few feet from the girl, and she jumped on top of it, trapping it beneath her body. I watched with a smile on my face, looking up at Wren every so often; he held the same expression.

“What’s going on up there?” Wren asked, tapping his finger against my temple.

“Nothing really,” was my response, though in truth, my imagination was soaring with thoughts of having kids of my own someday, and how Wren would be the perfect fit to that equation.

“Nothing on your mind?” Wren looked at me in disbelief. “Out with it.”

I chuckled. “I was just thinking about all the fun we’ll have in the Hamptons.”

“And you’ll get to meet my mom. That may actually be the highlight of your vacation,” he said sarcastically, grabbing my hand and continuing down the street.

My smile fell. I hadn’t thought about meeting any of his family. Like any caring parent, they would want to know who their son was bringing home. They’d inquire about my past, where I was raised, what my parents did. The answers to those questions weren’t easy, and as soon as they found out that I was filth, they’d kick me out of their fancy home.

“Your parents aren’t going to like me. Maybe I shouldn’t go. Maybe—”

Wren stopped walking and put his hand over my mouth, pulling me into his chest and holding me as strangers walked past. I was usually so bothered when anyone showed affection in public, but as we stood there on the sidewalk, traffic rushing past us, I didn’t feel the need to pull away like I would have in the past. It felt okay. Almost good.

“My mom is going to love you. Just as much as I do.” Wren whispered the last part, almost as if he knew that whispering the words in my ear would sink in even more.

The silence between us stung, and as he let go me, I knew I had disappointed him. He walked ahead, not turning around to see if I was following. When I caught up, Wren’s happiness seemed to have disappeared. He trotted the sidewalk silently, acting as if I weren’t even there.

“Did I do something?” I asked, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“You can’t say it yet, can you?”

“Say what?” I knew what he was asking, but I couldn’t say those words out loud. If only he could read my mind, he’d hear them. Loud and clear. I’d shout them over and over until they were carved into my veins.

“How long do I have to wait for you to tell me how you feel? How many times am I going to have to get over the fact that you can’t say three simple words?”

Wren demanded an answer, but I didn’t know how to give it to him. The words were trapped inside of me.

“Give me time. Please.”

“I’ve waited a long time for this feeling, Kingsley. I’m not going to give up, but I hope that what you’re holding inside is what I need.” He held my face in his hands, his eyes piercing into mine. Within them, I could see hope. I could see that he wanted me. Needed me. His eyes pleaded with mine to let go of my inhibitions.

I could have told him I loved him as he ascended the stairs, but I didn’t. Just the thought of being
in love
terrified me. Love brought on a bunch of other problems, and I witnessed those all before. I didn’t know if my heart could handle that kind of pain again.

I walked into my bedroom just as Wren was picking up my suitcase from the corner of the room. Since I had just gotten back from Juilliard, I hadn’t had much time to unpack. Clothes were thrown over every surface. My closet doors were open, with empty hangers dangling from the knobs.

When I moved into this room three years ago, Trish asked me what color I wanted to paint my walls. The only word I’d focused on in that sentence was the word
my
—everything else I ignored. I’d never had my own bedroom, and just the idea of not having to share my space with moving boxes or scary bugs had me jumping for joy. I kept asking her if she was sure.
Are you sure there’s no one else moving in? I get the entire bedroom to myself?
Trish just laughed, answering each question with, “I’m positive,” and, “yes.” After I got over the shock of having so much space for myself, I was able to paint my walls a deep purple. The same color as Ms. Cole’s ballet studio.

“Wren, what are you doing?” I sat down on the end of my bed, crossing my legs.

“We leave for the Hamptons in two days. We need to get you packed before you change your mind.” Wren didn’t look my way as he spoke. He was cleaning out my luggage, taking out a stray sock, an old plane ticket, and a hairbrush that I thought I’d lost.

“Can you just stop for a second?” I said, crawling over the clothing on the bed. I placed my hands on top of his.

As he held a pair of my broken earrings, he looked at me. His eyes told me everything. Wren needed a few minutes to reset. I had to give him some time to calm down.

I walked into the living room and lay on the couch. It was brand new and it still smelled like the warehouse Trish purchased it from. I moved onto my back and stared up at the recessed lights. When they were the only lights on, the ceiling resembled the night sky. The lights almost looked like stars, and anytime I was in a bad mood, I’d always lie in that exact spot. I’d focus on each light until my eyes went blurry, and then moved onto the next one. One night, I counted them, hoping it would lull me to sleep. I counted up to twenty before I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.

Wren walked into the living room and sat down in the small space left over. “Your feet are filthy,” he said as he lifted my legs and placed them on his lap.

“That’s what happens when you get a girl to run after you without any shoes on.”

A small smile crept onto his lips. His fingers moved across my toes lightly, and I quickly jerked my body away. There were two things I absolutely hated in this world: clingy men and being tickled. Wren was aware of both.

“Don’t you dare!” I yelled, backing into the corner of the couch. I liked his face a lot, and I’d feel really bad about bruising it, but if he came any closer, I wouldn’t hesitate to strike.

Wren slowly crawled closer to me, looking as if he were a wild animal stalking his prey. “C’mon, K,” he sang, reaching for my foot.

“Get away from me.” I showed him my clenched fist, hoping he’d give up. “I mean it, Wren. I’ll hit you.”

“You wouldn’t hit me. You like my face too much,” he challenged.

He grabbed onto my ankle just as my fist met his bicep. At first I didn’t feel anything, but then all at once, pain shot through my hand. I cradled it against my chest, jumping off of the couch and running toward the kitchen, where I rummaged through the freezer, grabbing the first cold thing I touched. As I held frozen steak against my knuckles, I sank to the floor, all the while screaming at Wren to get the hell out of my house.

“Kingsley,” Wren walked into the kitchen and knelt down in front of me, “I’ve been working out a lot lately, so I guess that extra gym time has really done my arms some good.”

Without thinking, I threw the piece of meat at Wren’s face. I realized where it hit him when he began screaming in pain.

“What the fuck!” He threw his hand over his left eye as he felt around with his free arm in search of the culprit.

“Here, baby,” I teased, handing him the steak.

Wren snatched it from my hands and positioned it over his eye. I grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer and joined Wren on the floor. I could barely wiggle my fingers, and every time I tried, I felt like puking.

“Fuck, this hurts,” he said as he lay down on the floor. “My eye is going to be black and blue tomorrow. My mom’s going to think you’re abusive.” Wren laughed, grabbing my arm and pulling me down next to him.

“If you tell her I did this, I’ll lure you out to the ocean and leave you there for the sharks,” I threatened.

“Fine. We’ll just hope no one asks any questions.”

I never imagined the kitchen floor being a comfortable place for sleeping, but as we fell asleep, both of us looking like we’d wrestled a bull...and lost, I mouthed the three words that couldn’t be said out loud.

Yet.

It was the first day of summer vacation, and already I wished I was back in school. Back at the place that gave me sanctuary. I had exactly 79 days to fill. 79 days of avoiding the Hendersons at all costs. 79 days until the safe haven that was school reopened. I had just woken up, shivering from the chilled air in the basement. The small windows were old and full of rust, allowing the air from outside to seep through the cracks. I wrapped my frail body in the thin sheet, wishing that I had a blanket.

Last night, when I arrived home, I was the happiest I’d ever been. I had the sort of day that I’d only read about. Porter Henning signed my yearbook with the most beautiful message. He wanted to take me to Cafe Grumpy and fill my stomach with cookies and muffins. With that thought, my mouth watered, kicking my stomach into hunger overdrive. I didn’t know how we would meet up. I don’t even think he knew where I lived. I could look in the school directory and call him, but what if Mr. or Mrs. Henderson found out I used the phone? I didn’t want to think of the consequences, though if I wanted a whole day with Porter Henning, I’d have to go for it—put my fear aside, and just do it.

The floor above me shook, and I could hear Mrs. Henderson shouting over the TV.

“Jenny!” she called. “Turn down that racket!”

Jenny was a year younger than me. The Hendersons had taken her in six months ago, and the moment she arrived, I knew she hated me. When she walked into the front door, the first things she noticed were her bleak surroundings, particularly the box TV sitting on the floor and the yellowed wallpaper tearing at the corners of the wall. She turned her nose up in the air, like she was the queen and didn’t belong in such a low-class place. When her eyes met mine, I smiled, excited to see that there would be another kid in the house that was my age. I was overjoyed at the thought of playing games that weren’t meant for toddlers, and being able to finally relate to someone. That illusion was shattered the minute she glared at me.

It was because of Jenny that I moved to the basement. It was because of her that I couldn’t eat my meals at the dining table. It was because of her that something inside Mrs. Henderson changed and instead of ignoring me, I became her boxing bag.

Jenny was the cause of my life going from bad to worse, yet almost every day, I tried to get her to like me. A few days ago, I worked up the courage to ask why she hated me.