Free Love You to Death by Melissa March Page A

Porsche without saying anything. I waved
half-heartedly to Flor as we sped away.
    I looked out the windshield, staring but not
seeing. The little car purred down the busy street. I noticed we
were heading in the opposite direction of the shelter.
    “Where are we going?” I mumbled without
looking at him.
    “Home.”
    “Home is the other way.” I thumbed to my
right.
    “My home,” he replied.
    I closed my battered eyes. The swelling had
gone down, but my face still looked like a patchwork quilt. I
didn’t feel like arguing. I didn’t feel like doing anything. I just
sat beside him, watching the city disappear behind us.
    We drove for what seemed like forever, but in
reality it was only about a half hour. The neighborhood was old.
Most of the houses had that 1940’s baby-boom structure. Neat little
square houses sandwiched together on small patches of land. The
tiny yards were well tended and relatively clean, with the
exception of a few rundown houses here and there.
    Cass pulled into a driveway and parked under
a walled carport. His house was cream colored with burgundy
shutters. It was plain, no frills like flowers, or a decorative
welcome sign. It looked like what it was: a bachelor pad.
    The inside was the same. An undecorated
living room that opened into a dining room that led into the
kitchen.
    “I’ll show you to your room, let you get
settled,” he said, motioning for me to follow him down the hall. He
opened the first door on the left and stepped inside. A narrow bed
sat in the middle of the room, directly under the only window that
overlooked the backyard. I suspected he recently purchased the soft
butter-yellow comforter and sheets because they looked stiff. The
walls were painted pale lavender.
    He tossed the pack on the bed, turning to
look at me with raised eyebrows.
    “Is this alright?” he asked. “I didn’t know
your favorite color—”
    “It’s fine,” I interrupted. I didn’t care if
the room was painted black and only hosted an air mattress. This
was temporary. This wasn’t my home. I didn’t have a home. I didn’t
have anything.
    “Are you hungry? I could order a pizza.”
    “Stop hovering, Ward. The Beaver is fine,
just tired.”
    He shook his head, putting his hands on his
hips. “Now that’s way before your time.”
    “I used to watch Nickelodeon a lot,” I said,
crossing the room. A mirror hung over the dresser. I looked at my
reflection, trying to find the girl I used to be. All I saw were
two narrow slits between purple, yellow, and green bruises.
    “I’m ready for my close-up.” I smiled at the
ugly girl staring back at me. It was a brittle smile, meant to be
sarcastic more than anything. I disgusted myself. Turning away, I
caught Cass’s gaze. He looked torn between being angry and being
sympathetic. Whatever , I thought. I didn’t care.
    “You’ll be fine. The doctor said your face
wasn’t damaged. You’ll be good as new in a few weeks.” He smiled,
trying to encourage me.
    He thought I was worried about my looks. I
shrugged. Let him think what he wants. He didn’t have to know the
real reason I was depressed. I should be disfigured. I deserved it.
I let them kill Stewie.
    “Okay then, I’ll call for pizza. You like
pepperoni?” he called over his shoulder as he headed to the
kitchen.
    “Fine.”
    I went into the bathroom across the hall. I
turned on the spigot and sat on the toilet. I let myself cry for a
few minutes then splashed my face carefully with warm water.
    After dinner we sat in the living room,
watching TV. Cass was lounging in his leather recliner, wearing a
pair of black sweatpants and a sweatshirt with the Baltimore PD
logo on it. I was wearing my own new sweatpants and sweatshirt.
    Earlier, when he’d told me to get
comfortable, I told him I didn’t have any other clothes. He’d
smiled, leading me back into my new bedroom to the dresser, which
was full of newly purchased jeans, shirts, and sweaters. In the
smaller top drawers I found