CASEY
Given the current situation at home, I'd be a fool to pass up a free meal. When you're not sure where your next meal is coming from, free food is the one thing you'll never turn down. My stomach growled ferociously as we sat down at a corner booth, and I glanced up at Malcolm, afraid that he'd heard the rumbling.
If he'd had, he ignored it, which won him some points in my book.
The diner was your typical greasy spoon; worse than some in the city, better than others. Here was the thing about Hollywood – parts of it were super nice and fancy like Obelisk was. But, if you went over a few blocks, you’d find crappy diners, tenement buildings, hookers and junkies both looking for their next score, and homeless people begging for anything they could get.
The diner we were sitting in wasn't so bad, but Malcolm looked incredibly out of place there in his designer jeans, dark blue dress shirt and black dinner jacket. His sandy blonde hair was moist with sweat and clung to his naturally tanned face. He looked up from the menu and caught me staring, blue eyes sparkling in the bright fluorescent lights of the diner.
I'd slipped into the restroom before we sat down to clean up the blood on my hands, but my shirt was stained with it. Patrons looked at me as I tried to cover up the mess with my arms, but then quickly looked away, unimpressed. Obviously, seeing a woman covered in blood wasn't anything new or particularly exciting.
“Here, take this,” Malcolm said, slipping his jacket off and passing it to me.
“I can't. I'd get blood all over it,” I muttered. “I'll be fine.”
“I insist,” he said.
When I didn't take the jacket, he stood up and walked around, and stood behind me. I glanced up into his baby blue eyes as he slipped the jacket over my shoulders and felt a warm current of energy gently roll through me.
“It looks expensive,” I said.
“Listen, you look cold and I'm not about to let you freeze,” he said. “Not if I can do something about it. Besides, we need to hide the blood on your shirt, so people don't think we just came from a murder scene. We don't want the cops hauling us in tonight.”
He sat back down across from me and grinned. He could obviously see my hesitance to slip his jacket on completely, fearful I might ruin it, so he added.
“Don't even think about how much it costs, Casey,” he said. “It doesn't matter. I've got a bunch more at home, and I'm sure the dry cleaners can get a little blood out of the material.”
“Have experience with that, do you?”
I'd made a joke. It caught me by surprise too. Malcolm laughed, his full, luscious lips spreading in an adorably crooked smile.
Dammit, Casey. Do not use the words luscious and adorable when talking about some rich guy you never, ever stand a chance with, I mentally scolded myself. He's only taking you to get some food because he feels sorry for you. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. Eat the food, laugh at his jokes, and go the hell home. “You're funny as well as beautiful,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Not that I can recall,” I mumbled.
“Well, they should have,” he replied. “You deserve to hear that more often.”
My heart skipped a beat. He'd said I was beautiful. My cheeks flushed and burned with heat as I stared down at the menu, trying to appear deep in thought about what I was going to order, rather than on the verge of a massive stroke because he'd complimented me.
The waitress came over a second later, glasses of water in hand. She wrote down our orders and before long, it was just me and the millionaire again, all by our lonesome, in an otherwise empty diner. I couldn't help but think that's why Malcolm chose this place. It was somewhere no one would recognize him, since he was slumming it by hanging out with the likes of me. Years of my father's torment and abuses came rushing back to me like a horde of evil ghosts from the past. They riddled me with anxiety and self-loathing as I played with a straw wrapper, doing my best to keep myself composed.
“So, Casey,” he asked, breaking the silence between us, “may I ask what happened back there at the club?”
“Sure, you may ask, but I don't have to answer.”
Malcolm sighed, making me to glance up at him. He studied me closely, as if trying to solve an intricate puzzle. His eyes were soft and thoughtful though, and I couldn't stop staring. Unlike with Greg or Tommy, or the countless other men who'd come into the club, Malcolm didn't look at me like I was a piece of meat. He wasn't undressing me with his eyes, and clearly, wasn't imagining me in some lewd sexual fantasy. It was different and interesting.
“What?” I asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Looking at you how?”
“Like you're trying to read my mind.”
“Would you rather I stare at your cleavage?”
“It'd be more familiar, ” I said, rolling my eyes. “You hide it better, but you're really just like the others, aren't you?”
“The others as in – who?” he asked. “I'm confused.”
“Greg. Tommy,” I said. “The other assholes who frequent the club. Rich guys who were born on third base and think they hit a triple. Guys who think they're entitled to whatever they put their hands on.”
He shrugged and reached for his glass of water, sipping it slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I'd like to think I'm not an asshole,” he said. “But, I guess it depends on who you ask. I gotta believe that Greg thinks I'm a pretty big asshole right about now. Tommy and Leon too.”
Our food came out, and I almost squealed with delight. Food, glorious food. I had a heaping plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon in front of me. I was practically salivating as the waitress set the plate down on the table, my stomach growling even louder than before. Malcolm got a massive burger and fries, which seemed rather odd. Then again, it's not like this place served lobster or filet mignon – or whatever rich guys like him were used to eating.
I dug into the food, stuffing heaping fork after heaping fork it into my mouth and relishing every single bite. Malcolm munched on a fry, clearly amused by the pace in which I was eating. When I noticed him watching, I slowed it down, and even forced myself to take a rest between bites. Stuffing my face probably wasn't the best look.
“Sorry,” I said, wiping my mouth with my napkin. “I'm just starving tonight.”
“Don't apologize,” he said. “I like a girl who can eat. Too many women in Hollywood think they have to starve themselves to nothing but skin and bones in order to be attractive. But, when I take someone out to dinner, I want them to enjoy it. I want them to actually eat.”
Considering the fact that Malcolm was in ridiculously good shape, I couldn't imagine he ate very unhealthily all that often. His girlfriend, or rather his ex-girlfriend, was a typical thin model type. Tall and waify – so, I'd just assumed that was his preference. Maybe I'd been wrong.
Or maybe he was just trying to be nice and placate me. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, though.
“So, Malcolm, did you just feel like slumming it tonight or what?” I asked. “Why hang out with me like this?”
“Why not?” he shrugged.
“Because you're like a super-hot – err I mean, rich – guy,” I said. “And I'm, well, a cocktail waitress. No one important. Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for dinner and all, but we don't exactly move in the same social or economic circles.”
He chuckled and finally took a bite from his burger, the juices dripping from his lips. Yes, I stared and licked my own lips, imagining what his might taste like. As if on command, Malcolm licked his lips, and even that movement was slow, seductive, and sexy. I felt a flutter in my belly, like the wings of a butterfly battering my insides, and a warmth down below took me by surprise.
I adjusted in my seat, trying to compose myself and ignore growing heat inside of me. I'm sure it was written all over my face though. I'm sure it was as obvious as a neon sign on my forehead or something, announcing that watching Malcolm Crane eat a cheeseburger was the epitome of sexiness.
I could only imagine what he'd look like eating something else,and my cheeks burned bright red at the thought.
“What?” he asked.
That crooked smile was back on his face and showcased a dimple in his cheek.
“Nothing – it's just –”
Think of something, Casey, I mentally demanded of myself. Say something that isn't stupid. Something that doesn't make you sound like a totally vapid bimbo.
“Well, it's just, I have no idea what to talk about with someone like you,” I said.
“Someone like me?” He cocked a thick, sandy brown eyebrow at me. “I'm not Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt or anything like that. I'm just a normal guy. What do you talk about with normal guys?”
Nah, you're hotter than both those men combined,I thought to myself. Instead, I shot him a look.
“Please, you? Normal?” I scoffed. “There's nothing about you that's even remotely normal.”
“Oh yeah?” he responded. “Well, what do you consider normal, Casey?”
I thought about that for a moment, and finally said, “Normal people have problems,” I said. “Not like – what car I'm going to drive today? Or, what exotic location I'm going to visit next? Like real problems. Things like, how am I going to pay the rent this month? Or, what the hell am I going to do now that I lost my job?”
“Is that what you’re worried about, how you’re going to pay your rent?” he asked, looking at me thoughtfully.
“You don’t think I can take care of myself?” I challenged.
He didn't answer me. Wisely. He probably knew there wasn't a right answer to that question that wasn't going to piss me off. He was obviously, a smart man. Malcolm seemed to read me better than other people. He knew how to avoid getting under my skin. Which meant, I was starting to like him.
Bad idea, Casey. Very bad idea, I thought.
Still, I found it hard to keep quiet. I opened my mouth and had a bad case of verbal and emotional diarrhea. I couldn't help it. Everything just flew out like the flaming pile of shit it was.
“Okay, fine, you got me,” I said. “Yeah, I'm freaked out because I just lost my job, and I'm not sure how I'll pay the bills this month.”
Malcolm looked at me with an inscrutable expression his face, and once I'd realized what I'd said, I felt the heat rising in my cheeks once more.
“I'm sorry,” I added quickly. “It's not your fault. And it's not like you want to hear about my struggles.”
“Talk to me, Casey,” he said, his voice soft and gentle. “I have all night and nowhere to go. Especially, since my former best friend hates me, and I don't have a girlfriend I need to check in with since she cheated on me and I kicked her to the curb.”
He smiled and tried to play it off like he was making a joke, but that last bit hit me like a truck and stuck with me. I gaped at him, my jaw nearly on the table. I was floored by the admission. “Your girlfriend cheated on you?” I asked in stunned disbelief.
“Hey, we're talking about you, not me.”
“Sure, it's none of my business, but seriously – what a bitch,” I said. “A really stupid bitch.”
I found it hard to believe someone would cheat on a guy like Malcolm. Maybe if he had the personality of Greg, okay. That would make sense. But, Malcolm was hot, successful, and from the little I knew of him, I thought he seemed to be a nice guy. What psychotic bitch would cheat on him?
Malcolm chuckled. “That she is,” he said. “But I'm here to talk to you. I want to find out what made you snap tonight.”
“Why? Are you a shrink?”
“No,” he scoffed. “It's just that I don't like seeing good people upset.”
“How do you know I'm a good person?”
A rueful smile touched his lips. “I'm good at reading people.”
“How very noble of you, Malcolm,” I said. “But, I don't need a white knight to come in and save the day. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“I know that, and it's one reason I enjoy talking to you,” he admitted and took a sip of his water, though his eyes remained glued to me. “You're so different from other women I've known.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because all women are just the same, and I'm the unicorn amongst them,” I said and laughed. “Come on, Malcolm, you can do better than that.”
“Fine,” he said. “I like that you aren't afraid to speak your mind and don't take crap from anyone. Including me.”
“Thank you. I think,” I said, a shy smile touching my lips.
“You're welcome,” he replied. “And yes, I meant it as a compliment.”
We finished with our meal, and I was a little embarrassed that I'd cleaned my plate off completely. Even more so, because Malcolm only ate about half his fries and a few bites of the burger. It made me think either he didn't care for the food or wasn't even hungry in the first place. “So, were you really looking at Tinder earlier?” I asked. “Because honestly, I find that hard to believe.”
“Not Tinder, no, but something similar,” he laughed. “Even I have standards.”
“Please, of course you do,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just the idea that you'd have to use a dating app to find a girl is crazy to me. I'd imagine that women throw themselves at you, Mr. Malcolm Crane, wealthy and attractive as you are.”
I meant it as sarcasm, but I realized too late that it came out more as a statement of fact. It was true though, even if I didn't mean to sound so smitten with the guy. Malcolm wasn't the type that would have any trouble getting a date.
“I'm not looking to date, actually,” he said as he frowned down at his empty water glass, swirling the ice around with the straw. “I'm not ready to date again. Not so soon, anyway.”
“Then why would you be on a dating app – unless –” my cheeks flushed and I didn't bother finishing my statement, since the answer was more than obvious. “Oh well, I guess there's other things you could be doing with women that doesn’t involve dating.”
He shook his head and gave me that crooked little grin of his. “Not looking for a hookup either,” he said. “In case you were wondering.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You're a really confusing man, Malcolm Crane,” I said. “I hope you know that.”
“Maybe I'm just a normal guy in a confusing situation,” he said, looking up at me.
His face was serious, his jaw tight. He wasn't smiling, nor happy about this conversation. That much was clear. Why, though? The contradictions and confusion about him left me reeling, and completely curious.
“I told you my predicament,” I said. “Now it's your turn.”
“I can't,” he said.
“Because then you'd have to kill me?”
He chuckled. “Something like that, yeah.”
The waitress cleared our table and didn't bother to refill our water glasses. There was no reason for us to stick around, but I could see that Malcolm wasn't in a hurry to leave. Neither was I. As rough a start as our evening got off to, I was enjoying spending a little time and getting to know Malcolm a little bit better. Which surprised me. A lot.
Plus, it helped take my mind off the fact that I now had no job and no idea what I was going to do. Anything that would help take my mind off the current clusterfuck that was my life was a welcome distraction.
“Would you like a ride home?” he asked.
“I'll be fine,” I said, a little disappointed that our evening was coming to an end. “The train takes me right down the street from my place.”
“No, no train for you tonight,” he said, putting a wad of cash in the little black book with the bill.
It was more cash than it possibly took to pay the damn bill and yet, he'd tossed it in without even thinking about it. I don't even know that he actually looked at the bill. Our waitress was getting one hell of a tip.
Not that I was going to complain about it. Someone who tipped well always got brownie points in my book. When you work in the service industry, you get it. Too many people don't. Especially those like Malcolm who were born into a life of luxury and who never had to work for anything in their lives. They never really saw people like me for the hard workers we were. They never took the time to appreciate us or understand how much a decent tip meant.
It sometimes literally did mean the difference between paying the light bill or putting food in the fridge. A generous tip sometimes allowed us to do both.
He smiled at me. “What is it?”
“Just – nothing,” I said.
“My car is parked at the club,” he said. “Think they'll let me retrieve it?”
A devious grin spread across his face.
“We might have to steal it,” I teased.
“Stealing back my own car,” he said. “Sounds exciting.”
“Life is always an adventure when you hang with me.”
I winked at him as we stood up. I couldn't help but smile as Malcolm continued chuckling. Most people don't appreciate my dry, sardonic sense of humor, but Malcolm was an exception.
He seemed to be an exception to a lot of things. He certainly wasn't the man I had thought he was.
As we walked out of the diner, I thought that for how shitty the night had started, it didn't turn out all that bad.
~ooo000ooo~
We didn't have to steal his car back, thankfully. The valet was happy to retrieve it for him. When a black luxury sedan pulled to a stop at the valet station, I groaned.
“You drive a BMW,” I said. “Why am I not surprised?”
Malcolm opened the car door for me, an amused smile on his face. “What do you have against BMW?”
“Just that every rich asshole seems to have one,” I said.
He closed the door and walked to the other side, climbing into the driver's seat. When he was buckled in, he looked at me with that mischievous little smirk on his face.
“Do you think I'm an asshole?” he asked.
I shot him a sideways look, my own smile pulling at my lips.
“The jury is still out on that one,” I answered. “I hardly know anything about you, to be honest. Except that you like punching pricks in the face as much as I do.”
“Oh look, something else we have in common,” he said. “Careful, we may end up best friends before I get you home.”
“That's probably all we have in common, you know,” I said. “We come from two entirely different worlds. I'm not even sure our worlds are in the same universe.”
Malcolm put the address I'd given to him in the GPS and eased out into the road, turning left out of the nightclub's parking lot at the automated voice's request.
“You might be surprised, Casey,” he said. “If you actually knew me, you'd know I come with my own share of problems, and that maybe, just maybe, I'm not the snooty prick you think I am.”
“You may not be a snooty prick,” I said. “But, you never have to worry about ending up on the street or without a job, I'm sure. You never have to worry about having to scrounge up money to feed your siblings and help keep the house afloat.”
“Wanna bet?”
We were stopped at a red light, and he looked over at me. He seriously seemed to believe we had similar problems in life. How – well – I would say cute, but I didn't exactly find it endearing that he didn't recognize his privileged life. Hhe actually thought he could relate to me. I didn't bother arguing with him though. It would have been utterly pointless. Sometimes, you just couldn't get through to guys like him, because he'd never had to go without before. He'd never wanted for anything. He'd never had to choose between paying rent and feeding the kids. He couldn't possibly understand my life and the idea that he thought it could pissed me off.
“Maybe it's not the same thing,” he continued, “but what if I told you I might lose everything in a few months if I don't complete an impossible task my father requires of me.”
“What? Like find some ancient, oriental rug to decorate one of your eight bedrooms with?”
“No, something that's actually impossible,” he said, pressing the accelerator and shooting through the intersection once the light changed from red to green. “It's something that isn't just up to me, but my entire future rests upon it. If I don't do as my father says, I lose everything. I'll have to find a regular job, get some shitty apartment somewhere, and actually live like those ‘normal people’ you talk about.”
“Oh, poor you.” I wiped away fake tears from my eyes. “I'm sure you'll still have a contingency plan, plus your Stanford education, to back you up. Most of us don't even have that.”
“You're right,” he sighed. “This entire time, I thought I had it bad. But, you're right. I was being a snooty prick. You've made me understand that I'll still be okay, even if I can't complete this ridiculous task. It's just – ”
He looked over at me, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to keep talking and trust me enough to open up to me. That, of course, only deepened my curiosity. What deep dark secrets could rich boy Malcolm Crane be locking away in the bowels of his heart? What horrendously impossible task could daddy dearest possibly be requiring of him?
Honestly, I was surprised he'd told me as much and opened up as far as he had. It seemed to be pretty personal information for him to just rattle on and on about. I wasn't going to lie though, I was fascinated.
With a small nod to himself, he continued speaking – much to my surprise.
“I've worked so hard my entire life. I did everything required of me as I got myself ready to take over my father's company. This has been my entire life's purpose for as long as I can remember, I'm not sure what I'd do without it,” he said. “But, it's more than that. I don't want to disappoint my father. This is his dying wish, and I don't want to fail him. I'm afraid that I'm going to though. I don't see any way to avoid it.”
“What's his wish?”
Malcolm tensed up, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands as he stared straight ahead. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. I was treading in some very dangerous, personal ground and I could feel Malcolm starting to withdraw.
“Oh, so now you're going to clam up on me? No fair,” I said.
I turned and looked out the window, watching the streets of Hollywood passing us by. The homeless people sleeping on the streets and in doorways. As bad as things sucked, at least I had a bed to go home to; for now anyway. “It's very personal,” he said.
“And telling me your lifelong dream and your desire to not let your father down isn't?” I said.
I turned back to him and could see the way his eyes were focused on the road. He was deep in thought. Even still, he looked so handsome and sexy. Malcolm had leading man good looks and could have been a star if he'd pursued acting. He looked almost too good to be real. I yearned to reach out and touch him, just to make sure this wasn't all a dream. But, I didn't. I just stared until he caught me looking – and then turned away, thankful the darkness of the car's interior hid the fact that my face was turning a shade of red not found in nature.
“It's just that – it's stupid and crazy, but I was thinking maybe you could help me with what I need to do,” he said. “I'm just not sure how to ask. It would be a win-win for both of us.”
“Us?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You just lost your job, and I'd be willing to pay for your help. I'd pay you very well, in fact.”
That piqued my interest, though there was a nervous flutter in my belly. What could he possibly be wanting to ask me to do that he would pay me “very well” for?
“Go on,” I said, my voice a little uneasy.
“Well, see – my father only has nine months to a year until his mind starts going. He'll be dead within two years, apparently,” he said. “And his last wish – his last requirement for me to receive my inheritance, actually, is –”
Malcolm hesitated as the GPS spoke up, telling us both that we were approaching our destination.
“You can park here,” I said. “My apartment is right over there.”
Malcolm pulled to the curb and stopped, shutting the engine off and started to get out of the car.
“No, you don't need to walk me in,” I said.
“I know I don't have to, but –”
“Seriously, no. You'll come back to find all your tires missing and your windows broken,” I said. “Just – trust me, okay?”
The real reason I didn't want Malcolm walking me in was my dad. I couldn't let Malcolm meet him. The humiliation of it would kill me, for sure. I stared down at my hands, hoping Malcolm would continue with what he was saying. But he fell silent, so I urged him along.
“So, anyway, what were you talking about before?” I asked. “About me helping you?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “That.”
I could tell he was nervous – which wasn't an emotion I'd commonly associate with him. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before continuing.
“There's really no easy way to put it,” he said. “But, basically, my father's last request was for me to give him a grandchild. My inheritance, and my stake in the company, rests on my ability to do that.”
I raised my eyebrows, not sure I liked where this was going. I had an idea what he was going to ask me, and it was starting to freak me out a bit.
Malcolm rushed through the next part. “And while I'm not looking for a relationship or anything,” he said. “I am looking for someone to – well – have my child. As in a surrogate.”
“And you want me to be your surrogate?”
I wanted to laugh, but a white-hot bolt of anger rushed through me. Malcolm nodded, and before I could stop myself, I reached back and slapped him across the face. Hard.
“This entire night, you've been nice to me because you want to buy me?” I asked, almost screaming at him. “You've been nice to me because you thought you could buy my body like – like I'm some whore.”
“No, it's not like that at all,” he stammered. “You've got it all wrong, Casey.”
I opened the car door and stepped out into the street, slamming it behind me hard enough to rattle the glass in the window. Sirens sounded in the distance, and someone's stereo was so loud, the bass thumping so hard, it practically shook the ground beneath my feet.
I hurried toward my apartment building, but Malcolm was on my tail. He grabbed my arm, spinning me around to face him in the middle of the street. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at him and I had to fight back the urge to smack him again. “Damn you, Malcolm. I actually thought better of you,” I said. “I thought you saw me as more than just a piece of meat or some poor downtrodden girl you thought you could use. Maybe it's not the same thing as wanting to fuck me, but you still wanted to use me.”
“Casey, just listen to me,” he said, his voice earnest. “I think you're an amazing woman. Witty, smart, strong, and you don't take shit from anyone. Those are all traits I admire. And as I've gotten to know you tonight, I realized that I want to help you.”
“You want to use me –”
“I don't want to use you,” he said. “I just think this is one of those situations we can both benefit from. I'd pay you whatever you asked for. I'd give you anything, I'd make sure you lived a comfortable life. I'd take care of you.”
I pulled my arm free from his grasp. “I don't need anyone to take care of me, Malcolm,” I snapped. “I thought I made that abundantly clear tonight.”
“Fine. Just thought you could use the money,” he said.
His eyes were deep, unending pools of blue fire that burned straight through me. Seeing him looking at me, knowing that he'd put on this charade tonight in the hopes that I'd bear his kid for him, just so he could claim his damn trust fund or whatever – it did more than piss me off. It hurt me. It cut me straight to the bone.
The fact that it hurt me so bad was surprising. But – it did. This whole evening, I'd thought we had a connection. I thought that I'd misjudged him and that he was a good guy. I'd thought there was more to Malcolm than met the eye. I thought he liked me for who I was, not for what I could do for him.
Clearly, I was wrong on all counts.
“There's more to life than money,” I spat. “Not that I'd expect you to understand that.”
I turned and walked away, pissed off, but unsure of what really bothered me more about all of it. Sure, the fact that he was using me – or more specifically, wanting to use my womb for his own benefit – was enough.
But, there was more to it than that. It bothered me in a lot of ways on a lot of different levels. Maybe I'd actually started to like the guy. My heart ached in my chest as I opened the gate to our small apartment complex, slamming it behind me.
I'd actually thought he was different. I’d thought that maybe he'd been interested in me for something more than my body. Boy, had I read that one wrong.
As I unlocked the front door to our place, I tip-toed into the apartment. I looked over my shoulder and out the door, toward the black BMW that was still parked in the street. I was a fool, but part of me hoped Malcolm might come after me. That hope was gone though, after I watched him start the car and drive away.
Shutting the door behind me, I locked it and saw my dad sleeping on the couch, as usual. Good. I didn't feel like dealing with him tonight anyway. I walked quietly through the living room and through the kitchen, stopping outside my siblings’ bedroom door first.
I pushed the door open a crack and glanced inside. I hated that they had to share a room. Teenage boys and girls both needed their own space, and the room was only about as large as a walk-in closet.
Their twin beds were pushed to opposite ends of the wall, but even still, they had to climb down to the bottom of the bed to get out – there wasn't enough room between the beds to form a decent walkway. Not all that long ago, they'd been forced to share a bed, but I'd found another twin mattress at Goodwill and bought it after a good night of tips.
Sharing a room with your teenage sibling – of the opposite gender, no less – was bad enough on its own. But, having to share a bed was too much. For their part though, they handled it with more grace than I probably could have mustered at their age. They were good kids and knew the score of things. They knew the situation we were in and didn't whine or complain about it very often.
Which somehow, seemed to break my heart a little more for the both of them.
I closed their bedroom door and walked to my room – the one I shared with our mother. Mom was fast asleep in her bed as I changed out of the bloody clothes. That's when I realized I still had Malcolm's jacket. I didn't know how I was going to get it back to him, but I'd find a way. I couldn't keep it.
I neatly folded it and placed it on top of the dresser before changing into a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. My body ached, and I was exhausted, but my mind wouldn't shut off. Mostly, what I kept thinking about Malcolm's offer. Money like his would do a lot for us. It could get us out of there. My mom, siblings, and I could start a new life somewhere else. We could move somewhere more affordable, maybe inland or even to another state. Strictly speaking, nothing was keeping us in California – especially not in Los Angeles.
That kind of money could mean an entirely new start for us. Except, for the fact that I'd have to carry a child inside of me for nine months, of course. After having given birth to the child, I'd then have to hand it over to Malcolm and his family at the end. That was something that could be a little tough to do.
Not that I could care for another child. I had enough on my plate as it was. But, the idea of going through pregnancy and labor was too much for me. One day, I wanted children, but not like that. Not that I could see myself ever being able to afford having children of my own. Not living like we were.
I fell into a restless sleep, tossing and turning and dreaming about being homeless with my siblings, on the streets of Hollywood, begging for food.
If I didn't find another job – and fast – that future actually might not be too far off.