Chapter One

        

“I don't see why I have to come with you.” Nora protested as her mother drove them to the shelter.

“I only ask you to volunteer once a month. I could make you come every weekend, so quit your whining.”

“But Mom, it's so sad there, all the people without homes. And homeless people smell funny.”

“Not everyone there is homeless, some of them would rather not be at home.” Amy corrected her daughter. The rest of the ride continued in silence. When they got to Saint Mary's Sanctuary, Nora put on her sulkiest face to follow her mother inside.

“Aren't you a little old to pout at me like that?”

“I'm never too old to pout at you, dear mother.” Nora replied as they passed through the doors of Saint Mary's. Saint Mary's Sanctuary was just that – a safe haven for those who need it. They got a lot of teenage runaways and abused wives taking refuge. You can have a bed to sleep in and a hot shower, no questions asked. St. Mary's also gave three large meals a day from the kitchen, which was where he found her.

 

~

 

“What are you doing?” He asked me. D****t, why did anyone bother to come back here? It was only a storeroom.

“Nothing.” Came my answer.

“Oh really, that's an awful sharp knife to be doing nothing with.”

“I know, what's it to you?”

“I don't know. My name is James. James Shepherd.”

I didn't know what to make of that for a moment. Here was a reasonably attractive guy actually talking to me. I liked what I saw in him, short, but not too short, chestnut hair, deep blue eyes, and a modestly athletic build. I also know what he saw. A slightly round teenage girl sitting on the floor of the storeroom in a homeless shelter contemplating a paring knife. Flat, dull brown hair and lifeless gray eyes. Not even a pretty face. I looked up at him, closer this time. A gentle smile was playing at the lips of his moderately handsome face. Certainly not the kind of guy that would spend two seconds with me. He extended his hand. I hesitated only for a moment before letting him help me up.

“I'm Nora Bubell.” I volunteered.

“Well Nora Bubell, I'm honored to meet you.”

“Might I ask what you are doing here? I've never seen you here before, and I'm here once a month. I know all the regulars.”

“I'm just getting more napkins, the kitchen is running low. What might you be doing here?”

“I'm 'helping' my mom. She's down here every Saturday. Are you volunteering here too?”

“In the kitchen, yes.” James replied.

“Did your mom drag you along, too?”

“No, I offered to come.”

“Wow. You chose to volunteer. You really must need something to do.”

“Or maybe I had someplace to escape from.”

“Is there a story behind that statement?” I questioned as he delivered the napkins to the kitchen.

“I'll show you mine, if you'll show me yours first.” He said with a grin.

“Now that's a suggestive comment.”

“Not at all. Follow me if you're willing to talk. And I suggest returning that knife to its rightful place.”

Oh. Yeah. I 'd completely forgotten about the knife. I swiftly set it on the counter beside me as I followed James out of the kitchen and down the halls of Saint Mary's. The passageways wound away from the cafeteria, deeper into the dorms of the sanctuary. He lead me into one of the small rooms, 16 A, and sat down on the bed. He patted the quilt behind him.

“Have a seat. We can finally talk openly.”

“Whose room are we in?” I had to ask.

“Mine and my mom's. Yes, we live here, but only until we can afford to move out.”
“Why?”

“Your story first. What did I interrupt in the storeroom earlier?”

“Not much. Just the usual.”

“What would have happened if I hadn't come in?”

I stumbled for words. He's awful direct with his questions. “I don't know. It never got that far.”

“I'd take it you weren't just admiring that knife.” His statement was met with silence. I stared at my shoes.

“Do you have anyone you can talk to?”

“Yeah, my best friend, Serena Tang. And you now, I guess. It's just that Ser is happy in a relationship, and I think once you're with somebody, you kinda forget what it felt like to be alone once you're not.”

“I know what you mean.” He replied. “And luckily for you, I've never had a chance to forget that awful aloneness. I'll always be here to talk to, if you want.”

“Well, I hardly know you. I mean this in the kindest of ways, but I'm not entirely sure I can trust you.” I told him this, but I thought otherwise. I felt like I could tell him anything, except how much I trusted him.

“I understand completely. Actually, I was wondering how much I could trust you as well.”

“Just so you know, I've never told any of Ser's secrets, and Ser has a lot of secrets. Now, would you care to tell me why you and your mother are living here?”

“It's quite a long story.”

“I've got 4 hours and 23 minutes until Mom goes home. We only live a few blocks from here, and I can just walk home after that. I've got all the time in the world.”

“Nobody will ever come looking for you?”

“They're used to me defying them. They figure its natural teenage rebellion. They won't come looking until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest.”

“Ok then, I suppose I could share some of my story. I'm warning you, though, it's not a kind tale, and you probably won't much like it.” He relaxed upon the bed, leaning against the headboard. I rolled onto my stomach, ankles crossed in the air, ready to listen to whatever James had to say.

“For as long as I can remember, my father has been an alcoholic. He is quite the drunkard, let me tell you. I don't know what my mom ever saw in him. Maybe he was kind once, possibly quite the gentleman. He certainly has changed now.” He paused to look at me, his eyes shifting back into focus. “I have a hard time believing you would actually want to hear about any of this.”

“Actually, it's nice to hear about someone else's problems for a change.”

“Oh, we haven't gotten to the problems yet.” He replied with a sly grin. “Or better yet, how about I don't tell you. Like I said earlier-”

“I'll show you mine, if you show me yours first.”

“Hey, that's my line.” He complained.

“Fine. I'll tell you what's wrong with this line. What if one of the persons has nothing to show?”

“Do you have something to show? I know I sure do.”

“As do I. I was merely pointing out a flaw in your statement.”

“Well, thank you for that. Now the question is, who goes first?”

“Rock, Paper Scissors?” I proposed. Such a childish game for such a serious subject.

“Best two out of three.” He agreed.

My rock beat his scissors, and his paper beat my rock.

Reviews

[Samantha Ashley*]

I like it so far, its interesting can't wait for the other chapters