Chapter 2: Maybe we can trust each other

Sophia's POV

Sunlight creeps through the broken blinds and hits my face. For a second, I don't know where I am. Then everything floods back. Vincent, running, this bloody stranger who saved me.

I sit up carefully and see Marco already awake on the couch, pulling on his socks. His leather jacket hangs over a chair, still stained with blood from last night. The apartment is quiet except for cars passing by outside.

"You sleep okay?" I ask. "That couch doesn't look comfortable."

"Better than places I've slept before." He pauses, looking at me. "What about you? Any nightmares?"

"No. That's weird, I thought I would..."

"You hungry? I don't have much, but there's eggs and bread."

I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Marco's being careful not to look directly at me, like he's trying to give me space. It's sweet, actually.

He could have done anything to me last night, but he chose to let me have the bed while he took the couch. Maybe there really are good people in the world.

I stand up and head toward the little kitchen. "Let me make breakfast. It's the least I can do."

"You don't owe me anything." He hesitates. "But if you want to, I won't say no. Nobody's ever made me breakfast before."

The admission makes my chest tight. I start looking through his cabinets, which are pretty much empty except for some eggs, stale bread, and instant coffee. Marco leans against the doorframe, watching me work.

His phone buzzes. He glances at it but doesn't answer.

"Last night on the phone..." I crack an egg into the pan. "Did you really kill someone?"

"You really want to know the answer to that?"

"I don't know. Maybe not."

"Then don't ask." He's quiet for a long moment. "But you need to know something. I'm with the Irish crew. You're Milano. Italian. Technically, we should be enemies."

I stop flipping the egg and turn to face him. "So are you gonna kill me now?"

"If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it last night."

The smell of eggs fills the small space between us. Marco's green eyes are serious, but not threatening.

"I think we're both people the world threw away," he says. "Maybe we can trust each other."

Relief washes over me. I turn back to the stove before he can see how much his words affect me.

After breakfast, Marco walks me partway to school but stops a few blocks away.

"Can't let people see us together," he explains. "Not yet."

I understand. In our neighborhoods, being seen with the wrong person can get you killed.

At school, my friend from English class corners me at my locker.

"Sophia, where were you last night? Your mom called looking for you."

Shit. I forgot about Mom. She probably came home to find Vincent bleeding and me gone.

"I stayed at a friend's house. There was drama at home."

"What kind of drama? Did she get another new boyfriend?"

"Something like that. She needed space, so I'm staying somewhere else for a while."

I can't tell anyone the truth. Vincent might still be looking for me, and Marco... I don't even know what he really does.

In math class, I can't concentrate. The teacher talks about equations, but all I can think about is Marco's green eyes and that bloody baseball bat. If he really killed someone, shouldn't I be scared?

But the weird thing is, I'm more worried about never seeing him again than I am about what he might have done.

"Milano, can you answer this question?"

"Sorry, I have a headache."

"Go see the nurse."

I walk down the empty hallway, realizing I'm already missing Marco. It's only been a few hours, but I want to go back to that little apartment where someone actually cares if I'm okay.

When I get back to Marco's place after school, I use the key he gave me. He's not home yet, so I wait on the couch, doing homework and trying not to think about where he might be or what he's doing.

The door opens and Marco walks in, hiding something behind his back.

"How was school?"

"Fine. Nobody asked too many questions."

"Good." He grins and pulls out a slightly wilted red rose. "Got you this. Passed by a flower shop and thought of you."

I look at this obviously stolen flower, my eyes actually starting to water. Nobody's ever given me flowers before.

"You stole this?"

"Technically, I borrowed it. I'll pay them back." He scratches his head, embarrassed. "I don't have money to buy anything nice, but I wanted... this is stupid."

"No, it's not. It's perfect."

When I reach for the rose, our fingers touch. Marco jerks his hand back like I burned him, his face turning red.

I notice fresh bruises on his neck and scratches on his knuckles.

"You're hurt again."

"Occupational hazard."

"Let me see."

I take his hand and lead him to the kitchen sink. He sits on a chair while I clean the cuts with a wet towel. He's so tense, watching every move I make like he's never had anyone take care of him before.

Maybe he hasn't.

We eat a simple dinner together. Canned soup and crackers, but Marco produces a bar of chocolate from somewhere.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Same place as the rose," he says with a straight face.

I laugh, and something in his expression shifts. Like he's seeing something he didn't know existed.

He finds an old black and white movie on his tiny TV. We sit on the couch, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the warmth from his body.

"This movie's ancient. We can change it."

"No, I like old movies. They feel safe."

"Safe?"

"Because you know the endings are usually good. Real life doesn't come with guarantees."

Marco thinks about this for a while. Then, very carefully, he puts his arm around my shoulders. He's so stiff, like he's not sure he's allowed to touch me.

"Sophia," he says quietly. "You know what? This is the first time..."

"First time what?"

"First time I've felt like someone was waiting for me to come home."

Me too. This tiny apartment, this dangerous boy. It feels more like home than anywhere I've ever lived.

I lean into him a little more, and I feel him relax.

Around midnight, I wake up to sounds from the couch. Marco is tossing and turning, burning with fever.

"Marco? You're burning up."

"It's nothing... just hot..."

His voice is weak and raspy. I find a wet towel and press it to his forehead. The apartment's medicine cabinet has nothing but expired aspirin. Marco's fever is so high he starts talking in his sleep.

"Mom... don't go... Dad, I'll be good..."

"I don't want to be alone... please don't leave me..."

My heart breaks listening to him. This tough guy who beats people with baseball bats is just a scared kid inside, terrified of being abandoned.

Just like me.

I stay up all night, changing cold towels, holding his hand when the fever spikes. In his delirium, he grips my fingers so tight I can't pull away. Not that I want to.

When dawn comes, Marco's fever breaks. He opens his eyes and sees me sleeping on the floor next to the couch, our hands still linked.

"You were here all night?"

"You were really sick. I was worried."

"Nobody's ever..." His voice cracks. "Nobody's ever taken care of me like this."

Marco struggles to sit up. He looks at me with those green eyes, and something passes between us. Something real.

He reaches out with shaking arms, and I don't hesitate. I hug him as tight as I can.

"I swear," he whispers against my hair. "I'll protect you. No matter what happens."

In his arms, I feel my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it.

The next afternoon at school, I notice two men in suits standing by the parking lot. They're watching the students, but not like parents or teachers. Their eyes are too sharp, too calculating.

My friend notices them too. "Those guys have been there since lunch. They don't look like faculty."

"Maybe they're new teachers?"

But I know they're not. There's something predatory about the way they're scanning faces.

Walking back to Marco's apartment, I keep feeling like someone's following me. Every time I turn around, the street looks normal, but that crawling sensation won't go away. I start walking faster.

When I get home, Marco takes one look at me and knows something's wrong.

"What happened? You look scared."

"Maybe I'm paranoid, but I think someone was following me. There were these two men at school in suits, just watching."

Marco's face goes hard. He moves to the window and peers through the blinds carefully.

"Fuck." He turns back to me. "From now on, you don't go to school alone."

"Why? Are they looking for you?"

"Maybe." He crosses the room and takes my hands. "But whoever they are, I won't let them hurt you."

The promise in his voice should make me feel better. Instead, I have the sinking feeling that our little bubble of happiness is about to burst.