“When is he working next?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Thanks.” I hang up and stare at the wall in horror.
What the fuck?
Barcelona
The Uber pulls to the curb. “Just let me out here,” I tell the driver.
I’ve never gotten on a plane so quickly. I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I had to come.
I have to see him.
I walk around the corner and see the old deserted house.
I’m brimming with emotion; how can such a beautiful kid have such a horrible life and never tell me a word about it? I thought we were best friends.
I don’t understand.
I see a flicker of movement, and I duck in to hide behind a bush. I watch as Eddie walks out of the house and up the street as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. So brave and stoic.
Poor fucking kid.
I wait until he disappears around the corner, and I make my way up to the deserted house. It’s dilapidated and barely standing. Two stories with a staircase running up the outside. The front doors and windows are boarded up, so I walk around the back and see an old broken door.
KEEP OUT
DANGEROUS CHEMICALS.
I tentatively push the door open, and it lets out a deep, loud creak. I peer in.
Darkness.
“Hello . . . ,” I call.
Silence.
“Is anyone there?”
Silence.
I turn on the flashlight on my phone and push the door back and walk in. The floors are broken, and it’s dark and musty. Holes are punched through the walls, and graffiti covers everything.
My stomach twists.
I shine the flashlight around. Where does he sleep?
I need to see.
I search all the rooms. It’s worse than I thought.
Much worse.
My vision blurs, and I wipe my eyes so that I can see. I get to a room in the back, and I peer in, and my heart breaks.
A lone mattress is on the floor with a sleeping bag.
I walk over and look around. All the postcards I sent to him are carefully pinned to the wall like trophies. A laminated photo of Hayden strategically pinned in the center.
“Eddie,” I whisper through tears. “My poor, poor Eddie.”
I imagine him sleeping here in the musty dark.
All alone.
Nobody to care for him and make him feel safe.
I screw up my face. The reality of his situation is so raw and real.
Devastatingly sad.
I unpin the photo of Hayden; she’s smiling and looks so happy and carefree; my heart constricts, and I sob out loud.
He misses her too.
“Who’s there?” Eddie’s voice barks.
I try to pull myself together and wipe my eyes. “It’s me,” I call.
“Who?”
“Christo.”
He pushes open the door, and his face falls, and I can’t help it: my face screws up in tears.
“Don’t . . . ,” he spits. “What are you doing here?”
“I came back for you.”