Chapter 2: Confessions in the Dark

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, cheeks a little pink. It was the first real color I'd seen on her face all day.

I double-checked. "Really?"

She looked me dead in the eyes. "Really."

There was a kind of stubborn honesty in her gaze, like she dared me to doubt her. I almost laughed at how serious she was.

"Alright, then come with me somewhere else."

I took her to a diner, ordered grilled catfish, popped open two bottles of Miller Lite, and dug in.

The place was half-empty, the kind of spot where the waitresses call you "hon" and the jukebox always plays something from the '80s. I slid into a booth, motioned for her to sit across from me, and ordered without asking what she wanted. Maybe I was testing her, or maybe I just didn't know what else to do.

She sat across from me, quietly watching as I ate.

She didn't touch the food, just sipped her water and kept her hands folded in her lap. Weird. Most people would've dug in. Every now and then, she'd glance at the window, like she was waiting for someone—or maybe just an excuse to bolt.

I started to panic, doubting myself—maybe this girl wasn't a hustler after all.

Because in my mind, by now she should've been angry, embarrassed, yelling at me, "Are you for real? Can't you just act normal?" and storming out.

I pictured the scene: her tossing down the napkin, calling me a creep, storming out into the night. But she didn't. She just sat there, quietly watching me, like my calm, uneventful life.

After two beers, I figured I might as well try to squeeze some inspiration out of the four rolls and bottle of water I'd spent on her.

Me: "Are you a student at a nearby college?"

Her: "No."

Her answer was flat, not defensive. She didn't offer any explanation, just let the silence hang there.

I took another drink. "A runaway?"

She shook her head.

I got annoyed. "Are you scamming me?"

The words slipped out harsher than I meant. She flinched, her fingers tightening around her water bottle.

Hearing the word "scam," she panicked and hurried to explain, "I'm not a scammer, I got tricked into coming here."

Her voice cracked a little, and she looked down at her lap. Damn. That stung. I felt a twinge of guilt for pushing her.

I pressed further, "Some kind of pyramid scheme?"

Most cons are just for money; only pyramid schemes lure people in.

She nodded. I didn't ask any more, paid the bill, and got up to leave.

I figured I'd pushed enough for one night. No sense in making her feel worse. I tossed some cash on the table and stood up, waiting to see if she'd follow.

She was still sitting there, not moving. I sighed and asked, "Do you have anywhere to stay?"

Her eyes went wide, on the verge of tears. She shook her head. "No."

Her voice was barely a whisper. The vulnerability in her eyes caught me off guard.

I waved her over. "Come on, crash at my place for a few days."

She seemed secretly relieved. As we walked, I suddenly felt a twinge of regret. My shoebox apartment—how was I supposed to sleep with another girl there?

The thought made me nervous, and I tried to play it cool. My place wasn't exactly the Ritz. The couch was lumpy, and the bathroom door didn't quite close all the way.

No way was I impressing anyone with this place. The couch had a weird spring, and I still hadn't fixed the leaky faucet. I tried to laugh it off.

Well... maybe a little.

When we got to my apartment, she stood awkwardly in the gap between the bed and the wall. I pointed to the edge of the bed. "Sit down."

She shook her head. "I'm dirty."

Her jeans were covered in dust, her hair oily and tangled.

I realized she didn't have any clean clothes.

The water heater said 82 degrees—it needed time to heat up.

I grabbed my wallet. "Let's go get you some clothes."

At the Target nearby, after buying two sets of clothes and a pair of sneakers, she still stood there, refusing to leave.

She hovered near the entrance, looking lost. I could tell she felt out of place, like she was waiting for permission to exist. I sighed, trying to be patient.

I was getting impatient. No wonder she got caught in a scam—so timid!

Her face flushed. She pointed at the rack of underwear. "I need to get these too."

Awkwardly, I handed her the money. No way I was picking those out. That was all her.

I turned away, pretending to browse the candy aisle, my ears burning. Target had never felt so awkward.

Back at my place, she went to shower.

Hearing the water running, my mind wandered.

I forced myself to open a Word doc and typed the first line:

"I don't know how to start this story. Today I met a girl. She ate four dinner rolls."

The steam from the bathroom drifted out, mixed with the scent of body wash. The air felt sweet and heavy.

It was oddly comforting, that little cloud of warmth. It made the place feel less empty, more lived-in. For a moment, I just sat there, listening to the water, letting myself breathe.

She came out, hair dripping wet. The new T-shirt was obviously too big—maybe she'd lost weight during the scam ordeal.

She looked almost childlike, sleeves hanging past her wrists. The shirt had a faded print of some beach town, and she kept tugging at the hem, trying to hide her knees.

I pointed at a tote bag hanging on the wall. "The hair dryer is in there."

The hair dryer roared. I irritably closed my laptop and watched her dry her hair.