I took only what I’d need for the night. Once there, I looked at her and she looked at me for a long time before I turned away and searched her windows. She didn’t ask any questions. I wanted to talk, to tell her everything. She said there was no rush. I wanted to say that boys named after their mothers are different, that it wasn’t for the money that they stabbed Metro; he had all his money on him when his body was found. It was for something else. When I tried to talk my lips started moving faster than the sounds, and I just cried, cried, cried.

Before the morgue’s cold darkness had sucked me in, I had seen the gashes like tracks all over Metro’s belly and chest. His open eyes were questions I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t say a word. The officer pulled the sheet all the way back and turned the body over where his ass had been slashed raw. I knew why he had been killed. I tried to scream but had no wind. I needed air. That’s when I must have hit the floor. I could still see those gashes. They opened everywhere, grooves of flesh and blood, lips slobbering with kisses.

Ruella put her arms around me. My stomach heaved. I bolted for the toilet and vomited until there was nothing left of the bathroom or me. I woke up in her bed. From then on I called her Rooms.

After that first night she said I could stay longer if I needed to. I told her that guys like me are different.

“Then why did you call me?” she asked.

“Because you were there.”

“But why me, Jesse?”

“We danced, that’s all.”

The second night Rooms touched me by accident. I didn’t move. The chilly, October night filled the bed space between us. Then her hand crept to mine and held it, caressing and easing out the chill. Slowly, I relaxed but couldn’t help remembering the men who had first made me warm. Metro’s name came up raw on my tongue. It needed air, more air. “Metro,” I said aloud. I kept still.

“Jesse? You all right?”

Rooms drew closer to me. We held each other tight against the dark.

“Jesse? You all right?” Her voice, hovering in the chill.