Broken Compass

“Okay.” George rubs his head again, and sighs. “You know it’s none of my business, but when I was your age, when I was twenty, I still lived with my parents. Couldn’t give up my mom’s cooking, see.”

He winks at me.

I swallow hard. Dunno what he expects me to say. Dunno what to think, how to hide.

“But I’m Greek. We Greeks are different. Big families. Big meals.” He opens his arms as if to embrace the world. “This country is so alien to me. Anyway.” He tries to pat me on the back, and I step out of his reach. “As long as you’re okay.”

He keeps trying that pat. I keep evading him. This country indeed. As if I don’t feel a size too big for my skin. Wandering in circles, never knowing where my path will land me. I’m different. Everything’s different. I don’t belong here, or anywhere.

Maybe I never will.

One day my luck will run out, and I’ll be done for. It’s a matter of time.

My mind is a black hole of depression when I unlock the apartment door, thoughts chasing one another, running through deep ruts, paranoia warring with sadness.

I stop in my tracks.

The living room isn’t dark and empty like it is every night when I come back from work. A lamp is on in a corner, casting yellow light on Nate’s dad sitting on the sofa together with two other guys.

And there’s Nate, a glass with amber liquid in his hand, his eyes going round when he sees me. A flush steals into his ashen cheeks, and his brows pull together under his floppy dark hair.

“What have we here?” one of the guys says, his voice slick like oil. His black shirt is unbuttoned halfway down his chest, a golden chain glinting around his thick neck. “Who is this?”

My voice is stuck in my throat. Holy fuck, I know this kind of man. I recognize the style, the arrogance, the entitlement, the danger.

Of all things to expect, this was the last on my list.

Not that I know what’s going on here, but still, the feeling of wrongness is so thick it coats the back of my tongue and makes breathing hard.

Nate’s dad puts down his whiskey glass on the low table and eyes me. He looks a lot like Nate, same eyes, same dark hair. “Good evening, Kash. It’s Kash, right? Our new tenant. Wanna come sit with us? We’re just having a late-night drink among friends.”

The other two guys stare at me, sipping their whiskey, saying nothing.

What the fuck is going on?

Nate is suddenly on his feet, glass clutched in bloodless fingers. “Kash can’t stay. And he can’t drink. He has a… a heart condition, just like West’s granddad. His meds… it could kill him. Any excitement could.”

I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a surprised grunt.

What the what? What is he doing?

“Heart condition?” His dad scowls at me. “Why didn’t you say so when you answered the ad, Mr. Graham?”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. “I forgot.”

“You don’t forget that sort of thing. I need to know about such… complications.”

What the fuck do I say to him? “I’m fine. Really. But I shouldn’t drink, so…” I’m slinking toward my room, my heart pounding hard behind my ribs. “Look, sorry I interrupted you. Good night.”

Yanking the door open, I flick the light switch on and close and lock behind me, then barely avoid falling over my feet as I back away from it.

Heart condition. What in the actual fuck? Damn if Nate’s lie won’t cost me a place to stay, an affordable room.

Though tonight was weird, I admit. I mean, he was drinking whiskey with his dad and those guys. Why? How could his own father let him? Nate’s not even eighteen. And why would he wanna be there in the first place, with those older creeps?

Plopping my ass on the narrow bed, letting my backpack drop to the floor, I stare up at the cracks in the ceiling as if it holds all the answers.

Why did he lie about me? I honestly don’t get it. I mean, it was dead obvious I didn’t wanna stay for a drink with his dad and his creepy friends, but—excitement could kill me? The hell.