I Found Home [Completed]

Chapter Two

"You shouldn't stress out!"

"Stop working at that coffee shop. It only makes your medical issues worse.

"Sam, this isn't a good idea."

I bit my tongue down as I pulled on my sweater, grabbing my bag. I slammed the locker shut, and made sure that nothing looked questionable on me. My shift ended a few minutes ago, and I was the first one leaving. I had to pay the rent money to the landlord before he hung my head over the balcony. The others had decided to stay behind; I was guessing that the baristas had unfinished business with all the girls begging to come in, thinking they had a free pass on our closing times. Pulling on my Vans again, I opened the door that led out to the open and cold streets. I pulled on my black scarf and wrapped it around the lower half of my face.

Geez. It's colder this year.

I sighed, brushing off the weather. The streets seemed empty except for the passing cars and a few people out on a stroll. The bag slung around my shoulders added a heavy weight to my side as I walked towards the curb. I haven't seen my sister.. in more than ten years. I wonder how she's doing right now. I kicked the snow. Probably better than me. Suddenly, I heard the shuffling of someone else's footsteps and looked up, only for my eyes to meet those of the Table 8 girl. Her brown eyes widened tremendously, as if not expecting me to have appeared before her so suddenly at the traffic light. My face remained blank, and she struggled to say something, pulling away from her scarf.

"U-Um, hi," she managed to stutter out, her cheeks flushed.

I didn't know what to say, so instead, I just nodded. She took it as a greeting. I noticed because her eyes twinkled a little, brightening. I breathed in, and then decided to start a conversation. "It's late," I noted, my hands stuffed in my coat pockets. "What're you doing out here?"

She looked away and laughed a little. It sounded nervous. "I- uh- kinda ran away after yelling at my mom, so I'm not really welcome to go back there." She awkwardly stood there, and I was aware of her feeling of discomfort after she basically confessed.

"Home."

She looked up as a confused expression crossed her face. "Pardon?"

"Home," I repeated icily. My heart swelled up. "You mean you're not welcome to go back home."

She squirmed a little where she was standing, looking at the ground. "That's what I just said."

"No, you didn't," I argued back. My eyes dug into her head, and she squirmed again under the stare. "You said 'back there', as if you were disgusted by the thought of going home."

"That's because I am," she replied bluntly. Her freckles were dotted with snowflakes at this point, but I was too distracted to care about the slow traffic light. "I hate it."

I walked up to her suddenly, forgetting that personal space was a thing as our bodies almost touched. She seemed startled by the sudden movement and stepped back a bit. I looked down at her, my eyes blank. "I'm sorry, but may I remind you that some people out there would kill to have a home?" Her lips thinned at my question, but I interrupted her before she could defend herself. "Judging from the way you speak and the way you dress, you obviously come from a family of riches. It's easy to see that you don't take that wealth for granted, and you wish you weren't born into that specific family." My eyes sharpened. "You're weird, lady."

The girl blinked, ignoring my concluding statement. "How—" she stopped herself before continuing again, "How did you know all that?"

"A lot that people do tell their stories so clearly," I replied monotonously. The light turned green, and I grabbed her hand. She squeaked. "If you insist on not going back to a wonderful home, I guess the best I can do is let you stay at my apartment."

"W-What?!"

I looked back at her as we crossed the street. People in cars watched intently. "I'm not an asshole, you know. I'm not going to just let someone freeze in the cold when I know they have no place to go."

"I-I feel like you're going t-to try to rape me or something," she said aloud.

I rolled my eyes. We reached the other block, and I moved my hand, holding hers correctly this time. "My my, what an imagination you have." I turned back and shot a nasty glare at her. "I'm not going to rape you. If anything, I find that touching a girl like that is deemed inappropriate on my part. It's weird to me."

Her cheeks reddened. "I-I guess that's comforting. Just a little." She suddenly ran up to my side so that I wasn't dragging her across the floor. "I believe we haven't exchanged names yet?"

I gave her a questionable look. "And why would you want my name?"

She smiled sweetly. "Just in case you're actually going to rape me." I rolled my eyes again as she continued, "And because if I'm going to be at your apartment, I think it's appropriate to ask for your name."

"You go first."

"Rebecca. Rebecca Walker."

We rounded the corner of the block, and I stopped. "Samuel Hernandez. Please call me Sam. It's annoying when people call me Samuel." I looked over at her. "That bag you're carrying— it's a few spare changes of clothes, right?"

Rebecca blinked again. "How did you—"

"I've seen many people, and knowing their backstory just gives even more information about them," I replied, interrupting her. I unlocked the door at where I stopped and opened it. "Come in. Take off your shoes."

"E-Ehm, okay."

I turned on the lights and cringed at the sight. The coffee table in the living room was filled with a bunch of old rent money information and letters from my doctors. I immediately went over to the table and picked up the letters, shoving them into the little shelf on the table that held the TV. Rebecca had looked around, as if trying to find anything suspicious about my apartment. She took off her coat, revealing a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of skinny jeans. I spotted her sitting down on the couch quietly with her hands in her lap.

"Did you eat anything yet?" I asked.

Rebecca shook her head. "No, I didn't. But I can make it through the night without anything to eat—"

Before she could end her sentence, I interrupted her again. "Shut up. I'm going to cook up something to eat, and if your plate isn't empty, I'm going to shove the food down your throat."

She seemed a little frightened at the last part, but smiled anyway. "U-Um, okay."

"And try saying something other than okay," I remarked sarcastically, heading into the kitchen.

She called over my shoulder. "Okay— I-I mean— I'm so sorry!"

I smirked a little at the slip-up. Girls are hilarious when they're embarrassed. It's just a fucking mistake and yet she's still a little embarrassed. I clicked my tongue and shook my head.

I'll never understand.