Read Online Never Wake by Gabrielle Goldsby - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gabrielle Goldsby
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up at the window for fear her heart would start that desperate longing again. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I won’t bother you again.” She swung the bag over her head and adjusted it as she started toward the corner where she had left Dite.
“Wait.”
Troy stopped almost too afraid to move.
“Don’t go.”
The voice was soft, frightened, and young. A kid maybe. Troy’s lower jaw cracked when she opened her mouth to answer. “I won’t leave, I promise.”
Troy was startled at how relieved she felt. There was someone else awake. This was not a hell built for her. Well, if it was, it was a shared hell. There was someone else in it with her. Troy swung her bag from her shoulder and sat down on the curb, her back to the window. Lack of sleep, rum, and relief made her eyelids feel weighted. She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around her legs, and squeezed as hard as she could; there was someone else up there. She was alone, too, and no doubt terrified of the demented chick out front, but she didn’t want to be alone any more than Troy did. Troy let hot tears drift down her cheeks and this time they tasted like a warm sea.
*
Emma had been sitting at the window seat for over an hour when she spotted the monstrosity of a bike at five minutes past six. She had expected her earlier, not because of anything spoken between them, but because that’s what time she had shown up the previous two days.
On that first day, Emma could do nothing but watch her sit on the curb and cry. Emma’s head had begun to throb and her own tears flowed as she was drawn into the stranger’s pain. She hated feeling so helpless. She was relieved to watch her get on that bike and ride away three hours later.
But the relief soon faded and fear settled in its place. She’s been sitting out there for two days already. What if she’s tired of waiting and doesn’t come back? What if she gets hurt again? What if she hurts herself? The what if’s shoved themselves into her waking moments and didn’t let up until she returned on the second day, embarrassed, but not as sad and a lot more talkative. Emma learned that her name was Troy, that she had no family, and that she made her living as a bicycle messenger.
Emma watched as Troy disappeared, probably propping her bike against the building, before reappearing on the sidewalk below her window. Winter clothes on that body would be a shame. Emma flushed. It had been a long time since she had had a thought like that. Not since Sharon. Not since that night.
Troy placed her hand on her forehead to block the glare. “Hey, are you up there?”
Emma wanted to answer, but her throat constricted and choked off her planned response. Her “yes,” when it came, was pathetic, but Troy must have heard because she grinned, sat down on the curb, and began rummaging in her messenger bag. She pulled out a yellow and green box and began to talk. Even hunched forward and with her back to the window Emma had no trouble hearing her in the absolute quiet. She watched the muscles flex in Troy’s back and she wished she were close enough to see what she was doing.
“I bet you went to college, huh?” Troy asked, without looking up.
Emma leaned so close to the blinds that her upper lip brushed against the faux-wood. She opened her mouth to answer, but Troy was already speaking.
“I tried going to college, but I dropped out after a couple months. They wanted me to take classes that I hated, like math and science and shit.” Troy’s body seemed to go into a frenzy of motion.
“I mean, what the hell does a fashion design major need advanced math for?”
Emma smiled. She could remember saying something very similar to her parents when she was trying to convince them to let her drop out of college. Emma found herself wanting to ask Troy to go into more detail.
“I think about going back. I used to anyway.” Troy stood up and moved to the side.
Emma’s lips brushed against her blinds again as she
“Wait.”
Troy stopped almost too afraid to move.
“Don’t go.”
The voice was soft, frightened, and young. A kid maybe. Troy’s lower jaw cracked when she opened her mouth to answer. “I won’t leave, I promise.”
Troy was startled at how relieved she felt. There was someone else awake. This was not a hell built for her. Well, if it was, it was a shared hell. There was someone else in it with her. Troy swung her bag from her shoulder and sat down on the curb, her back to the window. Lack of sleep, rum, and relief made her eyelids feel weighted. She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around her legs, and squeezed as hard as she could; there was someone else up there. She was alone, too, and no doubt terrified of the demented chick out front, but she didn’t want to be alone any more than Troy did. Troy let hot tears drift down her cheeks and this time they tasted like a warm sea.
*
Emma had been sitting at the window seat for over an hour when she spotted the monstrosity of a bike at five minutes past six. She had expected her earlier, not because of anything spoken between them, but because that’s what time she had shown up the previous two days.
On that first day, Emma could do nothing but watch her sit on the curb and cry. Emma’s head had begun to throb and her own tears flowed as she was drawn into the stranger’s pain. She hated feeling so helpless. She was relieved to watch her get on that bike and ride away three hours later.
But the relief soon faded and fear settled in its place. She’s been sitting out there for two days already. What if she’s tired of waiting and doesn’t come back? What if she gets hurt again? What if she hurts herself? The what if’s shoved themselves into her waking moments and didn’t let up until she returned on the second day, embarrassed, but not as sad and a lot more talkative. Emma learned that her name was Troy, that she had no family, and that she made her living as a bicycle messenger.
Emma watched as Troy disappeared, probably propping her bike against the building, before reappearing on the sidewalk below her window. Winter clothes on that body would be a shame. Emma flushed. It had been a long time since she had had a thought like that. Not since Sharon. Not since that night.
Troy placed her hand on her forehead to block the glare. “Hey, are you up there?”
Emma wanted to answer, but her throat constricted and choked off her planned response. Her “yes,” when it came, was pathetic, but Troy must have heard because she grinned, sat down on the curb, and began rummaging in her messenger bag. She pulled out a yellow and green box and began to talk. Even hunched forward and with her back to the window Emma had no trouble hearing her in the absolute quiet. She watched the muscles flex in Troy’s back and she wished she were close enough to see what she was doing.
“I bet you went to college, huh?” Troy asked, without looking up.
Emma leaned so close to the blinds that her upper lip brushed against the faux-wood. She opened her mouth to answer, but Troy was already speaking.
“I tried going to college, but I dropped out after a couple months. They wanted me to take classes that I hated, like math and science and shit.” Troy’s body seemed to go into a frenzy of motion.
“I mean, what the hell does a fashion design major need advanced math for?”
Emma smiled. She could remember saying something very similar to her parents when she was trying to convince them to let her drop out of college. Emma found herself wanting to ask Troy to go into more detail.
“I think about going back. I used to anyway.” Troy stood up and moved to the side.
Emma’s lips brushed against her blinds again as she
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