Seph

"So, I don't know Malibu, at all," Kian tells me, then shrugs. "I saw more of Malibu that night that we drove around last weekend, than I'd ever seen."

  He is driving without a care in the world tonight. He looks so calm while he's driving, one hand on the wheel.  It's been maybe fifteen minutes and he has no destination. I really like that.

  "I've lived here my whole life," I tell him, running my fingers in circles on the door. "But I'm no expert. I spent most of my childhood inside that gym."

  Kian glances at me and looks confused for a split second until he remembers. "You liked it? Doing gymnastics ?" he asks.

  I didn't like it. It was my whole life. I loved it, breathed it, craved it. It was my addiction, long before these stupid addictions that I have now.

  "Yeah. It was... everything. I had put in so much work and gotten to the point where... I didn't really have anything without it. Maybe that was my mistake." I'm practically whispering this to him.

  Kian doesn't look at me and just keeps on driving, looking straight ahead. He doesn't really react to what I said, which makes me feel like I offended him in some way.

  I turn to look out the window. We pass by the big mall and a bakery that I used to go to when I was young, with my Grandmother. Tears sting behind my eyes all of a sudden, but I don't let them come. I rarely let myself cry these days.

  Everything about this town is triggering for me. I wish I could just leave and be someone new, somewhere else. God, that would be so much easier.

    "Sorry," Kian says finally.

   He doesn't even know how emotional I'm feeling in this moment, but he's apologizing. "I just can't really relate. I had... literally nothing when I was a kid. I grew up in a trailer until I was eight. My mom had a long string of horrible boyfriends, and we had no money. School was my safe place. Then she got pregnant with my brother. He was born when I was ten."

  "I didn't know you had a brother." I look back over at him.

 "He's back in Riverside, at my mom's shitty house with her even shittier boyfriend."

  Oh. Kian is very bitter about this. I can tell. There's definitely more to this story.

 "You used to live there?" I ask, honestly curious.

  He told me that he's been couch surfing for awhile but didn't tell me why. It feels like I'm about to learn a lot more about him, so I stay quiet.

  He's smoking now, too. He inhales and blows the smoke out the window. "My mom has kicked me out at least four times since I turned eighteen," he says casually. "This last time was, like, a month ago. I called a ton of people to find somewhere to go, but I had to sleep in my truck for a few nights."

  "Why'd you end up in Long Beach?" I ask, then take a drag of my own cigarette. My eyes are closed. I'm finally relaxed.

  Kian finishes his and tosses it out the window before answering. "I know a bunch of people there, and there was a couch available. But I'm overstaying my welcome. The bar I work at is in Santa Maria. My other job-"

  "How many jobs do you have?" I interrupt and add a laugh because I can't help it.

  He glances at me and keeps a straight face. "Four."

  He's serious. I'm a spoiled, rich brat who lives in a mansion and does nothing all day but destroy my body and he's out there working four jobs? Maybe we are too different. How can we ever really understand each other's lives?

  "I think I have to ask Frank if I can stay with him for a bit. I don't want to, though."

  I don't like the way Kian's voice changes when he admits this.

"He's your uncle. I'm sure he'd let you," I say, because I don't know what else to say.

"He barely tolerates me, Seph. His girlfriend hates me. He has me working for him because I owe him money."

  I swallow hard. This is getting deep. I don't know what to say now. I know Frank pretty well but only as my dad's best friend. He's around the house a lot. He's involved in the business, somehow. I obviously don't know him like Kian does.

   Maybe I should have just ignored his text tonight. Maybe I shouldn't be out here in the middle of the night with this guy I met not even a week ago. But instead of asking him to take me home, or making him talk about that any more, I reach across and slip my hand into his.

  It takes a second, but Kian relaxes his hand and wraps his fingers through mine. It's such an innocent gesture but it means a lot. It means I'm here.

   A few minutes later, he pulls into the drive-thru of a fast food place. He gets into the line, though there's only one car ahead of his truck. When it's just about his turn to order, he looks at me. Our hands are still together, between us.

  "What would you like?"

  It should be a simple question, but it's not. I can't eat now. My hearts starts racing and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  "I'm fine. I'm not hungry," I say quietly. "A water?"

  Kian stretches out his hand so my hand fall away. I pull it back into my own lap. He moves his truck up a few feet and the person working asks what he wants. He still has his eyes on me, but he doesn't say anything.

  To the speaker box, he says, "Hi, can I get a cheeseburger and fries, and a Coke. Also, a bottle of water."

  "Is that all?" the voice asks.

  Kian doesn't hesitate. "That's all, thanks."

    "Alright, ten-fifty-two. Drive up."

   It's only a few minutes later when Kian pays and gets the food, at the next window. He leaves the bag in his lap and puts the drinks between us, in the cup holders. Then he drives around the building and parks in a spot in the back parking lot. It's dark back here, so he pushes a button on the ceiling of the truck and a light comes on.

  I leave the water where it is, but he opens the bag and pulls out the burger. He doesn't look at me while he eats, but I'm staring at it. The smell is so strong and I just wish I was normal. Why can't I be normal? I can't take it anymore when he's half way done the burger, so I push open the door and get out of the truck. I walk along the side and then stop and lean against it, trying to take deep breaths.

  This is not Kian's fault. I'm the one with the problem. He didn't even question me when I said I didn't want anything. But I threw up an hour before Kian texted and my stomach is empty.

  Surprisingly, Kian doesn't immediately get out and come to see if I'm okay. It's at least five minutes and it feels like an eternity when he does push open his door and walk around the truck. Even then, he just leans on it with his hand and waits.

  "I have diagnosed bulimia," I spit out, because at this point he's already judging me. I know I can't hide it anymore.

   I don't look up because I don't want to see the look on his face as he decides what to do about this. I wanted him to know. I wanted to have this friend who I could trust and tell my secrets too, but it all just became too real.

  "My fourth job? After the bar, the scrap metal collecting, and working for Frank?" he says, and it sound like all sorts of questions. I look up and wait. "I'm a drug dealer."

  Shit. I wasn't expecting that.

 "Are we just going to pretend I didn't tell you that I am bulimic? You know what that means, right?" I say quickly, because I don't want to talk about him being a drug dealer.

  Kian leans his back against the truck and crosses his arms over his chest. "It means I'm an asshole and I just ordered fast food in front of you. I wish you'd told me before this."

   I shrug. "I almost did. But I didn't want tonight to be about my shit."

   He nods and licks his lips slightly. "Well now it's about both of our shit."

    "Why do you sell drugs?" I ask, shaking my head.

    "I need money. I need to get-"

   He stops himself mid-sentence. I know he's still hiding something but for now, I don't care.

  "I don't eat because I don't want to have to make myself sick. It's an impossible cycle to break," I admit, and then shove my hands into the front pocket of the sweater I'm wearing.

  Kian slides his body a bit closer to me and reaches out. His hand is touching my hip and I move in so I'm closer to him. He looks like he's trying to figure me out.

   "I fed you cake, at your party." He looks horrified by this realization.

  I smile up at him. "It was good. I didn't want you to know that I am... like this."

  "But you went into the house and threw it up?" he asks, and him saying it out loud makes it sounds like the most disgusting thing in the world.

  I nod, and don't answer with words.

  "I'm sorry." He looks embarrassed but he doesn't seem to be disgusted by me.

  He's sorry?

  I don't know what to say so I just lean in a bit more to him and when he pulls me close, against his body, I sigh. I can feel his heart beating, fast. Mine is, too. This moment is everything, because he's not questioning me or judging me, he's just holding me. He's just telling me that he's here. I don't know how he knew that's exactly what I needed tonight, but he did.