Chapter Sixteen

POV Najwa

I've never seen Mike study a day in his life. I study every day, regardless of how crazy things get around me. Like right now, having to leave the house and walk to the park just for peace and quiet.

How in the hell does he have a 3.5 average GPA? I wouldn't put it past him if he were paying off his professors.

"Hey."

I grip my keys, complete with pepper spray, and slowly turn around. Zain is walking up behind me with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his jeans. His dark hair is unkempt and hangs down his forehead, swooping into his eyes.

He pauses a few feet from me, waiting for me to give him permission to approach. He isn't smiling at me this time. At least he minds well.

"Hey," I say flatly. I drop my keys back on the table. "Did Mike send you to summon me?"

He walks to the picnic table and swings his leg over the bench and straddles it. He's facing me with his hands still in his pockets. I stare down at my textbooks and refuse to look at him. The mild crush I developed on him in class turned into what could have been a very serious shit storm after having lunch with him. I need to keep my distance, and looking at him makes me not want to keep my distance.

"I was just driving by. Saw you sitting here, thought I'd check on you."

"I'm fine," I say, returning my attention to the homework in front of me. I feel like maybe I should thank him for the heads up today. If he hadn't called, there's no telling how that situation would have turned out. But then again, he could have just been warning me to save his own ass.

But I know he wasn't. I could hear the concern in his voice before I hung up the phone. He was scared for me. He was scared for me, just like I was scared for him.

"Are you?" he asks skeptically. "Are you really fine?"

I glance up at him. He can't just leave things alone, can he?

I drop my pencil on the table and turn to face him. He's always pushing for more truth. Always wanting to know what the hell I'm thinking. If this is what he wants, we might as well get it over with. I take a deep breath and prepare to answer all the questions he's ever asked, and even ones he hasn't gotten around to asking yet.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm not great. I'm not terrible. I'm just fine. I'm fine because I have a roof over my head and a boyfriend who loves me, despite the fact that he makes bad choices. Do I wish he were a better person? Yes. If I had the means, would I leave him? Yes. Absolutely. Do I wish there wasn't so much constantly going on at my house that I could actually find a quiet place to do homework, or heaven forbid, get some sleep? Hell yes. Do I wish I could graduate sooner and get out of this mess? Yes. Am I embarrassed by the way Mike treats me? Yes. Do I wish you weren't a part of this? Yes. Do I wish you could be the guy I thought you were the first time I met you in class? Yes. Do I wish you could save me?"

I let out a short, defeated sigh and look down at my hands. "So much, Zain," I whisper. "I wish you could save me from all this shit so, so much. But you can't. I'm not in this life for myself. If I were, I would have left a long time ago."

How could he save me from this life? He's a part of this life. If I ran from Mike and into Zain's arms, it would be the exact same lifestyle...just a different pair of arms. And Zain has no idea that the only reason I'm still in this situation isn't even about me or what I used to feel for Mike.

I shake my head at this entire unfortunate situation we're in and try to blink back tears. "I left him once," I say to Zain. "In the beginning, when I found out how he was making his money. I didn't have anywhere to go, but I left him because I knew I deserved better." I pause, searching for the right words. When I look up at Zain the first thing I notice is the genuine concern in his eyes. It's a strange feeling to trust someone you barely know more than the person you share your own bed with.

"I had two younger brothers growing up. They were born when I was only two. Twins. My mother was an addict, so they were both born with complications. Drew died when he was ten. The other—Stephen—needs a lot of care. Care I can't provide on my own if I want to build a good life for us. When he turned sixteen, he was finally approved for a group facility where he'd be able to live and have twenty-four-hour care. And I could go to college and make a better life for us. Things were great until a few weeks after I decided to break up with Mike. Stephen's funding was pulled by the state and I had no place for us to live—no place to care for him. My only other option was paying the fee out of pocket, which is thousands of dollars a month. I couldn't afford it, but the last thing I wanted was for him to be forced to move back in with my mother. It's not safe for him there. When I realized the situation I had put us both in, I didn't know where else to turn. And when Mike showed up, begging to take me back with promises of paying for Stephen's care, I couldn't say no. I moved back in with him. Now I'm forced to pretend that he's enough for me. I pretend to turn a blind eye to the awful things he does. And in turn, he sends a check every month

to pay for Stephen's expenses. And that's why I'm still there, Zain. Because I have no other choice."

Zain stares at me, completely silent. For a moment I almost regret being so open with him. I've never told anyone that. As much as Mike doesn't deserve me, I'm still ashamed that I'm only with him because he helps me. It's embarrassing to admit the truth to someone.

Lunch with him today seems like it was a world away from right now. So much has happened between this morning and this moment. He looks different now. Not the playful Zain he was in class this morning. Not the apologetic Zain he was after our lunch today.

Right now he just looks...I don't know...like a different person altogether. Almost as if he's been pretending to be someone he's not and this is the first time he's looking at me with truth behind his eyes.

He glances away for a second and I see the slow roll of his throat as he swallows and then speaks. "I respect what you're doing for your brother, Najwa," he says. "But what good are you going to be to him if you end up dead? That house isn't safe for you. Mike isn't safe for you."

I sigh and wipe away a rogue tear. "I do what I'm able to do, Zain. I can't afford to worry about the what ifs."

His eyes follow the tear down my cheek and then he lifts a hand to my face and wipes it away.

Of all the tears I've cried to Mike, he's never once attempted to wipe them away.

"Come here," Zain says, taking hold of my hand. He pulls me toward him as he scoots closer to me. I look down at his hand, holding on to mine, and I attempt to pull it back. He squeezes it and grabs my elbow with his other hand. "Come here," he whispers soothingly, pulling me closer. He wraps his arms around me and guides my head to his shoulder. He squeezes

me tightly, cradling my head with one of his hands. He presses his warm cheek against the top of my head and he holds me.

That's all he does.

He doesn't make excuses. He doesn't lie and tell me everything will be okay, because we both know it won't. He doesn't make promises he won't be able to keep like Mike does. He just holds me out of nothing more than a simple desire to bring me comfort—and it's the first time I've ever felt this.

I scoot closer and relax against him, listening to the sound of his heart beating rapidly inside his chest. I close my eyes and try to imagine a time in my crazy, fucked up life that I've ever felt cared about, but I come up empty. I've been living on this earth for twenty years, and this is the first time I feel like someone actually gives a shit.

I clench his shirt in my fists and try again to scoot even closer to him, wanting to curl up inside of him and relish in this feeling forever. He lifts his cheek and lightly presses his lips against the top of my head.

We remain clasped together, holding on to each other as if the fate of the world depends on this embrace.

The thin layer of his shirt is damp from the tears that are pouring down my cheeks. I don't even know why I'm crying. Maybe it's because, until this moment, I had no idea what it felt like to be valued. What it felt like to be respected. Until this moment, I had no idea what it felt like to be cared for.

No one should have to experience a life never feeling truly cared for— not even by the parents who created them. Yet I've lived that for twenty years now.

Until this moment.