Jagged Edge

He’s wet, too, I notice as my brain slowly starts to make sense of things. His sweater is heavy with water, his dark hair plastered to his head.

Of course he is. He gave me his jacket.

The thought cuts off my breath, so when he passes me the tall mug of steaming coffee, I just grab it, cradling it in my chilled hands, and nod.

Then he pushes a plate in front of me, and I stare at it, uncomprehending.

“Breakfast,” he says.

This morning my mind’s particularly sluggish, what with the cold and everything, but my body knows what to do. I leave the mug and grab the sandwich, stuffing half of it into my mouth in one go.

Fuck, it’s good.

So damn good. I think I just came in my pants, that’s how good this shit is. It has ham and tomato and some fancy cheese, not that I really care. I chew and swallow and bite more, before anyone takes it away from me.

I finis

h it in three swallows, and lick my fingers. Then check the plate in case anything was left.

My stomach cramps, full to bursting for the first time in so long, but I ignore it and sip at the coffee. As long as I don’t puke, I’m fine.

As long as I’m alive, I’m fine.

Have to be.

“Holy shit,” Raine mutters from across the table, and when I look up, he has a strange expression on his face. He looks shocked. Vaguely horrified.

Fuck me. Heat rises to my face, and I don’t think it’s the heating of this place. But fuck him, too. I mean, what? If he as much as comments on how I eat, the spoiled little brat, I’ll—

“Want another one?” he says, and my thoughts screech to a stop. He takes a sip from his coffee, nods at my empty plate.

Another what?

He pushes his own untouched sandwich toward me. “Here.”

I eye it and saliva pools in my mouth. I wanna ask him if he’s sure, but I’m reaching for it already, abandoning my half-drunk coffee.

“Just slow down,” he says, his voice a low background noise. His eyes are such a deep blue. Like denim, but darker. Layered. I’m torn between looking at them and the sandwich.

What the fuck, Jason? Get your shit together. And eat while there’s food.

You don’t have to tell me twice.

Maybe the last bite was too much. I feel like I’m gonna toss my cookies, so I lean back in the chair carefully and hope the food stays down. Throwing up now would totally suck.

At least Raine is giving me some space, sipping at his coffee, checking his phone. He’s quiet, the only noise the voices of customers sitting at nearby tables. The place isn’t as packed as I’d expected. Maybe it’s the time?

I’ve no idea what the time is. I need a phone. I always carry a cheap one with a prepaid card on me, but I lost it last week when one of Simon’s goons roughed me up. I ran, and it fell somewhere.

I often run. What else is there to do? Run from violence and problems. Run until I can’t breathe, until I can’t take another step.

And then I hide. Hiding is what I do best.

Raine shifts on his chair, puts the phone down, and his scent wafts over to me, a subtle thread under the heavy blanket of food and people smells: male musk, aftershave, and… apples?

His gaze meets mine, and I do my best not to drown in that sunny blue. “Better?” he asks.

That throws me off again. He keeps doing that today.