CHAPTER 14: The Boy Nobody Wanted (Betty's POV)
His skin was warm.
And I wanted to keep my hand there.
That is dangerous.
Not because he is dangerous.
Because I am starting to forget that he is.
I stand in the kitchen. My back is to him. My hands are on the counter.
I hear him stand up. His footsteps. Slow. Careful.
He stops at the edge of the kitchen.
"Betty."
I do not turn around.
"What?"
"Ask me."
I frown. "Ask you what?"
"Whatever you want to know."
I turn around.
He is leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed. His dark eyes are on me.
"Why now?" I ask.
"Because you touched me like I was a person. Not a criminal."
I look at him.
"I do not know anything about you," I say.
"Then ask."
I hesitate.
"Where did you grow up?"
His jaw tightens.
"Foster care," he says.
I blink. "Your parents?"
"I do not have parents."
The words are flat. Empty. Like he has said them a thousand times.
"What happened to them?"
"Nothing happened to them. They happened to me. Then they left."
I feel something in my chest. Tight. Uncomfortable.
"How old were you?"
"Three. Maybe four. I do not remember their faces."
I step closer.
"Where did you go?"
He looks at the window. At the gray sky.
"House to house. Family to family. Some were okay. Most were not."
"What do you mean not okay?"
He looks at me.
His eyes are dark. But there is something else now. Something buried.
"Beatings," he says. "Hunger. Locked in closets. The usual."
My stomach turns.
"Adrain—"
"Do not," he says. "I am not telling you for pity."
"Then why are you telling me?"
"Because you asked."
I stare at him.
He says it like it is simple. Like no one has ever asked before.
"How long were you in foster care?"
"Until I was sixteen. Then I left."
"Left to where?"
"The streets. It was better than the houses."
I feel tears burning behind my eyes.
He notices.
His brow furrows.
"Why are you crying?" he asks.
I wipe my face. I did not even realize I was crying.
"I do not know," I say.
"You are crying for me."
"No."
"Yes. You are."
I shake my head.
"I am not."
"You are. And I do not understand why."
I look at him.
"Because no child should go through that," I say.
"Children go through worse every day."
"That does not make it right."
He is quiet.
He looks at me for a long moment.
Then he looks away.
"You are strange," he says.
"I am a doctor."
"That is not the same thing."
I almost smile.
Almost.
"What happened when you were sixteen?" I ask.
He is quiet again. Longer this time.
"I met someone," he says. "Luke. He was on the streets too. We survived together."
"That is when you became... what you became?"
He looks at me.
"Yes."
"Was there no other way?"
He shakes his head.
"The world does not give second chances to kids like me."
I step closer.
"You have one now."
He looks at me.
His dark eyes. His pale face. His bloody bandage.
"Why?" he asks. "Why are you being kind to me?"
"I am not kind. I am a doctor."
"There is a difference."
"There is not."
He takes a step toward me.
"There is," he says. "A doctor saves a life because it is their job. A kind person saves a life because they cannot walk away."
I hold his gaze.
"Then maybe I am both."
He stares at me.
Something shifts in his eyes.
Something soft.
Something scared.
"You should not be," he says.
"Why?"
"Because I will ruin you."
"You have not yet."
"I will."
I look at him.
"Then ruin me."
He freezes.
The words hang in the air.
I cannot believe I said that.
He cannot believe I said that.
Neither of us moves.
Then his phone buzzes.
He looks at the screen. His face changes.
"I have to go," he says.
"Go where?"
"Luke needs me."
"Now?"
"Yes."
He walks to the door.
He stops.
He does not turn around.
"Wait for me," he says.
I say nothing.
He opens the door.
He leaves.
The door closes.
I stand in the kitchen. Alone.
My face is wet. My hands are shaking.
He was beaten. Hungry. Locked in closets.
And he still made me coffee every morning.
I whisper to the empty room.
"I will wait."