I can tell he likes the idea that he’s rescued me. It’s okay to let him believe he has. People can do so many horrible things to make themselves feel important, so if he feels important from being kind, he’s better than most. “Thanks, Ethan,” I say. “This is nice.”

“Do you think you’ll stay for a while?” He grabs the top of the doorframe and hangs on with both hands over his head.

“I don’t know,” I say. I’m still not sure what I’m doing. I’m too tired to keep mucking around on my own forever, but this is ridiculous. You don’t just move in with a guy you met on the street.

“I come off as needy, don’t I?” He swings on his arm and smiles.

“Sort of,” I say, smiling back, because the way he asked felt like when someone wants to know if they have spinach in their teeth.

“I guess I am needy. Ivan just left and I’m pulling girls off the street to keep me company. I’ll get better. It’ll get better.” There’s something fragile about him that breaks my heart—he can’t cover it up—he’s broken and leaking and he knows that about himself, and here he is trying anyway.

“Better than picking up girls in bars,” I say.

Ethan snorts when he laughs and it makes me laugh too. He leaves me to get settled. I lean my guitar case against the wall and plop down on the bed. The quilt is soft and worn and smells like finger paint.

I wake up and it’s dark. I don’t remember where I am. I’m in a bed, on top of the covers, but there’s an afghan tucked over my arms, all the way to my chin.

Someone stood over me, touched me while I was sleeping, and I didn’t wake up. I try to retrace my steps to here, but my thoughts are crowded out by the feeling of Ray’s fingers digging into my wrist. It’s not real. I know it’s not real, but that memory is too bright, too loud to let other thoughts through, like there wasn’t anything before it, or after.

I feel around on the floor until I hear the jangle of keys and dig through my bag for my buck knife.

Streetlights leave tree-branch shadows on the floor. I see the paint stains and remember where I am.

I wake up and it’s bright. I see the glow of sunlight through my eyelids and try to remember what room I’m in before I peek. Paint stains. Ethan in the doorway. He was nice. I remember he was nice. I open my eyes. My buck knife is on the pillow next to me. The afghan is knitted in clown colors. A crystal in the window casts rainbows on the floor.