It was irrational to be scared of the police. I’d done nothing wrong, yet I felt like a criminal. From the way they looked at me, their barely concealed judgment felt like an unwanted touch. Like it was his hands on me, uninvited. It made my skin crawl.

I could see in their eyes what they were thinking. I had no fixed address, no family. I was gay. I wasn’t masculine. I wasn’t strong enough to stop him.

Men weren’t the abused. They were the abusers. In their eyes, that made me the weaker one, the battered wife. No doubt, I’d probably be the punch line of a few jokes when they had a coffee break. When the truth was, domestic violence, violence of any kind, wasn’t fucking funny.

When we’d finally been allocated an office with two uniformed police officers, Mrs Landon did most of the talking. She spoke with a no-nonsense confidence and seemed to know the jargon, the right words that ensured action. Mr Landon sat on my other side and put a reassuring arm around my shoulders. I felt like a child, certainly not the twenty-one-year-old I was.

I nodded at all the right times, and I answered yes or no. I gave my account of what had happened the day before, and I signed the statement to make it official. I knew they’d be calling Spencer for his side of the story, and I felt bad about that. I didn’t mean to involve anyone else. I didn’t even want to involve me.

An older policeman asked if he could speak to the Landons in private, leaving me with the female officer. She had dark curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, dark brown eyes, and a dimpled chin. She’d already introduced herself, but her demeanour was different now. “My name’s Detective Serena Hernandez. But you can call me Serena.” She smiled at me and spoke in even tones. “You did the right thing, Yanni. It was a pretty brave thing for you to do.”

I nodded.

She pointed her chin to the door Mr and Mrs Landon walked out of. “They seem like real nice people.”

“They are. They didn’t have to help me, but they did.” I shrugged and looked down at the yellow sweater I was wearing. “They gave me these clothes. And food.”

Serena’s face softened.

I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to defend myself. I couldn’t look at her, though, so I spoke to my hands in my lap. “I’m not a weak person. Well, I didn’t use to be. I didn’t think it would ever happen to me.”

“It’s not your fault,” Serena said. I looked at her then. “You just trusted the wrong guy.”

I nodded. “Then I couldn’t leave. I had nothing, and he…”

“Made you feel worthless,” she finished for me.

I went back to looking at my hands, and she reached over and slid her hand over mine. “You did the right thing. It wasn’t easy, but you did it. You have more courage than he will ever have. Don’t ever forget that.”

I looked up at her again, and I could see in her eyes, she understood. She’s been where I’ve been. “Thank you. I’m just trying to get through one day at a time.”

“That’s all you can do. One foot in front of the other, one breath at a time. And you will get through this.” Serena gave me a hopeful smile. “Come on, let’s go find Mr and Mrs Landon.”

She held the door for me, and we went down a corridor where Mr and Mrs Landon were talking with the officer they’d left the interview room with. Unfortunately, we walked in on the end of the conversation. Mr Landon was talking, “… starving hungry but too scared to eat without permission―” The three of them stopped and looked at me. Mr Landon looked sorry and upset, and I hated that I was the cause.

I don’t know why I said what I did. There was a strange detachedness to admit this stuff out loud. “Only sometimes. I was only not allowed to eat sometimes. I think he preferred me to not know what to expect. It was scarier that way. But I’d have to wait to be told to eat. Or sometimes he’d put my plate on the floor like I was a dog.”

The policeman recoiled with a frown. I’d wondered if he didn’t believe me up until now. He seemed sorry to have doubted me. Serena put her hand on my arm, her eyes filled with a familiar sadness. And with that, our meeting was done.

Mrs Landon had tears in her eyes, and Mr Landon was quick to put his arm around me. “I think we need takeout, ice cream, and popcorn,” he said, as brightly as he could. “We can’t have Friday night movie night without takeout, ice cream, and popcorn.”

We made our way out of the building, and Mr Landon never dropped his arm from my shoulder. “What’s your favorite ice cream?” he asked as we crossed the lot to the car.

“Um, chocolate?”

“Mine too!” He unlocked the car. “Helen, where’s the closest Ben and Jerry’s?”

So that’s what we did. They bought ridiculous amounts of Chinese food, tubs of ice cream, and bags of popcorn. We laid all the food out on the kitchen counter, and truthfully, it was enough to feed ten people. But Mr Landon handed me a plate and looked me right in the eye. “You don’t ever need permission to eat. Not in this house, not anywhere. For as long as you’re here, anytime, day or night, there’s fruit or bread, milk, coffee, whatever. If you want anything, you help yourself. Okay?”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Well,” Mrs Landon said thoughtfully, waving a fork. “About not needing permission from anyone… unless you have dinner with the Queen of England, I’d probably hold back until someone gives the nod.”

Mr Landon smiled and bowed his head. “Oh, but of course.”

“Or Judi Dench,” Mrs Landon added.

I fought a smile. “I thought that was who you meant when you said the Queen of England.”

They both burst out laughing, and Mrs Landon gave me a half, side-on hug. “Oh, you are a man after my own heart.”

We ate our dinner and took our ice cream in front of the TV for our movie night. Joan of Arc was just as I’d remembered, and the ice cream was divine, but my favorite part was sitting in a family home doing something that families did. They weren’t my family—I hadn’t had a family for a long time—but for one night I could pretend. I had no clue how long I’d be staying with them, so I just allowed myself to imagine.

When the movie was done and my stomach full, Mr Landon suggested the second film, but I could hardly keep my eyes open. I’d spent the last year barely sleeping at all—first with him, then at the homeless shelter—but it was barely eight o’clock and I was nodding off. Mrs Landon took our empty plates. “Can I get you anything else, Yanni?” she asked on her way to the kitchen.

“No, thank you. I think I need to go to bed,” I admitted. “I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

Mr Landon waited until we were alone. “You’ll be tired, and you’ll need to sleep,” he said quietly. “I remember when we finally got Helen away from her ex, she slept like she hadn’t slept in months. So if you feel yourself getting tired, don’t fight it. It’s perfectly normal.”

I swallowed hard. I didn’t think I’d ever be used to discussing such things so casually. “I feel like I could sleep for a week. I guess a full belly and feeling safe here helps. So thank you.”

His smile was a mix of proud and sad. “You’re more than welcome.”

“Good night,” I said, standing up. “Please tell Mrs Landon I said good night and thank you.”

“Will do. Sleep well.”

By the time I’d changed and brushed my teeth, I was so exhausted I almost fell into bed. Yes, I felt safe here, but I still slept with my backpack under the covers with me, and I slept with the light on.

Small steps.

* * *

The next few days were a blur of sleep and meetings at the Acacia Foundation. Mrs Landon wanted me to go with her so I could see what my options were. With her holding my hand, I called Pol’s and requested a temporary leave on my studies until I decided what I wanted to do. Mrs Landon didn’t want me to quit school or acting but didn’t want me to deal with ultimatums or deadlines right now, and to be honest, after I’d made the call, I felt relieved.

“You need to look after your health. Physical and mental,” she said. She showed me a list of housing options, though she wasn’t sure any were suitable for me. All the readily available placements were basically like halfway houses for people from the LGBTQI community getting back on their feet. People who the Acacia Foundation were helping get their lives back on track after being kicked out of their homes or abused, beaten.

People exactly like me.

“I’m not playing favorites,” Mrs Landon said, looking over the housing options. “But, and this is only if you want, how about you stay with us for a little while longer? It can’t be permanent, but we have the room, and you’re such a joy to have around.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe it’ll only be a few weeks, but there’s a place I have in mind for you. It’s close to our performing arts school and there’s a ton of cafés and restaurants where you could get some part-time work. It would suit you so much better than these.” She nodded to the list. “All of our houses are situated close to colleges and shopping outlets because the majority of our clients are young adults. But the one I’m thinking of would be perfect for you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Have you heard of LA’s School of Performing Arts?”

“Yes, of course. It’s an incredible school. But I can’t afford fees like that. I could barely afford Pol’s with the money I made at the café. I only did a few shifts a week, and staying at the shelter, my wages went on tuition and food.”

She gave me a sympathetic smile. “It’s not often I’ll use my name or credibility to pull strings, but have you forgotten who I am?”

I chuckled at her attempt at fake indignation. “Certainly not.”

“And if my name isn’t enough, I’ll just sleep with the boss.”

I’m sure my eyes almost bugged out of my head, and she burst out laughing. “Los Angeles School of Performing Arts is Allan’s pride and joy. He’s run that school for fifteen years.”

“Oh.” I put my hand to my heart, still not over the shock of her sleep-with comment. “Thank goodness.”

She laughed again, delighted by my reaction. “Yanni, my dear. You are the sweetest child.”

Good lord. LASPA was a small, leading school, which produced some award-winning stage actors. I would never have imagined in my wildest dreams… I couldn’t get my mind around it, and one question begged to be asked.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked. “Not to sound ungrateful, because I’m so very thankful for everything you and Mr Landon have done for me, I truly am. But why me? It can’t be just because Andrew and Spencer dropped me off on your doorstep. You could have taken me to one of the placement homes the next day and wished me luck, and even that would have been enough, but this…”

Mrs Landon stared at me for a moment, the papers on her desk in front of her long forgotten. “Because you remind me of me. You are me. Thirty years ago I was in your shoes, a broken soul who just dreamed of being on stage. But where you have no one, I had Allan, and he saved my life. Literally, if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here today. So I pay what I can forward, and if that means I need to be someone else’s Allan, then that’s what I’ll be.”

“So it’s kind of like some universal general ledger,” I surmised.

“Exactly! And in a few years’ time, when you’re a successful actor and settled down with some gorgeous man, you can pay the universe forward.”

I laughed at that. “Neither of those things seems likely at this point.”

“You can have both or neither. Whichever you want. It’s your choice.”

I thought about that for a moment, and even the idea of having the freedom to choose sent a thrill through me.

“Speaking of choices,” Mrs Landon continued, “have you thought any more about therapy or counseling?”

That surge of excitement at taking back some control made me smile. As daunting as it was, I knew it would be good for me. “Yeah, I have. I’d like to try it, if that’s okay.”

By the time we left her office, I had an appointment the following day with a therapist, and we had plans for a home-cooked dinner, and apparently Mr Landon wanted me to do a script read-through with him of his latest stage adaption. And they wanted me to stay with them for another week or two. In just a few short days, with the Landons’ help, of course, I’d taken huge steps in a positive direction.

And for the first time in a long time, something began to bloom in my chest. I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, but it felt a lot like hope.