Chapter Five

Elle

THE BEEF WAS a bad idea.

After collecting my dinner, I strolled toward Times Square where a few tables and chairs had been placed for milling pedestrians.

The table was filthy, the chair rickety, but I’d never eaten with such vibrancy as my entertainment before.

The tinfoil-wrapped burrito steamed with flavor as I opened it and inhaled. Determined to prove the greasy man wrong, I took a bite of the beef, chewed, and grinned.

~It’s not so bad.~

Then the heat began.

My tongue shriveled up.

The Mexican food kicked me hard. Quicker and hotter until my grin switched to a gasp, wheezing in spicy agony.

~Water!~

Oh, my God, I need water.~

My eyes streamed with tears as I grabbed both burritos, left my commandeered table, and bolted toward the convenience store blinking with billboards of ice-cold water and cola bottles.

Charging inside, I yanked open a glass-fronted fridge, grabbed a water, and tore off the cap. I downed it in three seconds. And ~still~, the fire burned my tongue and lips.

Gasping, I grabbed a chocolate milk.

Struggling with the cap, I finally got it open and took a few greedy sips. The full-fat milk helped temper some of the hateful rage. I exhaled a sigh of relief.

“I hope you’re going to pay for that.” A shop girl with pink hair raised an eyebrow.

Wiping my lips with the back of my hand (something I would never do in my real world), I nodded and collected another water bottle while somehow hugging my mostly untouched burritos. “Yes, sorry.

“The spice caught me unaware.”

She grinned. “Oh shit, did you piss off Pete?”

“Pete?” I placed the two water bottles (one full, one empty) and the half-drunk chocolate milk onto the conveyor belt.

The shopkeeper passed them over the scanner, ringing up the sale. “Yeah, the guy who owns the Mexican street meat.” She giggled. “He makes a mean taco, but man, he’s cruel on the hot sauce.”

I ran my tongue over my still-stinging lips. “I kind of asked for it.” Shrugging, I smiled. “I don’t get out much. I wasn’t aware not to antagonize food sellers.”

She bagged my purchases. “Yep, everyone knows that. Especially not to piss off the street kings.”

I dug into my wallet and pulled out a twenty. She took it, opened the register, then passed me my change. The fact she spoke to me with no tension or concern made me relax.

I was so used to talking to women from a boss-employee relationship. No one joked in my presence or told me what to do in case I fired them.

And those who did try to befriend me only did so for a promotion or raise.

I could taste fakery like a rotten apple.

We shared another smile before awkwardness crept in. I didn’t know how to end a friendly conversation or even when to leave after buying something.

The girl saved me from standing there like an idiot. “Well, you have a good night. And don’t piss off any more people, you hear?”

I nodded. “Got it. Thanks for your help.”

“No sweat.” She gave me a small wave before disappearing from the till to finish stocking a shelf with chips.

Making sure I had both burritos and my valuable liquids to get me through the fire-breathing dragon of Pete’s revenge, I left the shop and re-entered the manic world of shoppers and tourists.

I ducked and jived through the crowd, intending to sit back down and try the blander chicken burrito, only to find my table and chair had been nabbed by a family with three young children who blinked glassy-eyed with tiredness in the glow of the bright neon lights.

All the other tables were occupied.

~Oh, well.~

~I don’t mind. I can walk and eat.~

Laughter caught my ears. I glanced at a table two down from where I stood, where four teenage girls sat. My lips twitched to share in their joke as I looked at what they were laughing at.

Horror slammed into me instead.

They sneered and giggled at an elderly homeless man picking up aluminum cans in a trash bag.

I ached for him and the hopelessness of his situation. He was fully aware of the jokes and whispers, doing his best to ignore the girls as he chased a can caught in a puff of wind.

I’d been on the opposite end of homelessness all my life. I’d been born into a role that would ensure I’d never know the pain of cold and hunger. I’d been given so much, and what had I done?

I’d run away for the night like an unappreciative teenager.

~What was I thinking?~

Embarrassment coated my insides. I couldn’t look at the clothes I’d taken from Belle Elle or the food I’d bought with money grabbed from the till.

Things I had every right to use but somehow felt like I’d stolen and broken my father’s trust.

The girls continued to laugh as a can rolled out of the man’s trash bag through a tear in the bottom.

I wanted to slap them for their immaturity and lack of empathy.

I wanted to forget I’d ever thought I wanted to be a typical girl rather than who I truly was: a capable young woman who would never stand by while another was ridiculed.

Marching toward the homeless man who knocked on fifty (Dad’s age) with a scruffy gray beard and holey beanie, I stopped and picked up the can. “Here you go.”

He froze.

The way he watched with trepidation and suspicion lacerated my heart. His entire body waited for abuse, fearing what other misfortune I’d bring into his life.

“It’s okay.” I urged him to take the dinged-up can.

He did, reluctantly.

Once he’d tucked the can into his bag, I looked at the gauntness in his face and the way he licked his lips at my burritos.

My own hunger vanished.

“Here.” I pushed the plastic bag containing the water and chocolate milk, followed by the burritos, into his arms. “You have them. I’ve only taken one bite. I’m not contagious, I promise.”

His mouth fell open as he cradled the icy drinks and hot food.

Awkwardness fell and tears I didn’t understand itched my spine. The look in his eyes was full of shock and utter gratefulness.

He quickly stuffed the food into the baggy pockets of his jacket and swigged the half-empty chocolate milk until it was gone. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he murmured, “Thank you.”

I smiled. “You’re welcome.”

I knew it was time to leave. But I couldn’t walk away—not yet.

Pulling my wallet out, I took the twenties, minus eighty dollars for me (as emergency funds to get home), and placed them into his hand. “Please, have this as well.

“Eat and have a night in a hotel somewhere.”

He curled his fingers tightly around the money. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.” I stepped away. “Have a good night. And I’m sorry for those girls laughing at you. That’s terribly rude. We’re not all like that.”

He blinked as if coming out of a fugue.

“Goodbye.” I walked away feeling better and happier than I had in…well, forever.