“Why does it have to be so fucking cold?” I muttered through chattering teeth.

“Hey, kiddo! Manners!” Barry slapped the back of my head, nearly knocking the bonnet off my skull.

Damn it. If that thing slipped off my hair, my ears would freeze solid in the spam of a second.

“You’re the only homeless person in the entire world who cares about cursing,” I grunted, bracing myself under the battered coat.

“And if it wasn’t for my manners, you’d actually be freezing to death. Or did you forget who gave you that coat?” He raised an eyebrow, his grizzled beard streaked with more gray than black, his tight-lipped expression adding to his weathered look.

“What the hell do your manners have to do with stealing a coat, Barry?!” I asked, utterly baffled.

“You never know, kid. If I hadn’t asked nicely, maybe she wouldn’t have given it to me.” His smile was almost charming—if you could ignore the missing teeth, the stench of old onions, and his tattered clothes. If he cleaned up, he might pass for one of those old men plastered on downtown billboards.

Out here, in the freezing cold of a damp alley, he just looked like a damn beggar. And I wasn’t much better off.

“Thanks, man,” I muttered. No point in ignoring my blessings, and Barry was one of them. Maybe the only one. Still, I’d prefer not to get slapped every time I dropped an f-bomb.

“Ah, no worries, kiddo. We help each other out, right?” He smiled again, patting me on the back before standing up. He rummaged through his battered shopping cart and pulled out an old sheet that looked more like a cleaning rag. As he did, a small knife tumbled from the cart, landing near my feet.

He was quick to grab the knife and toss it back into the shopping cart. Then, he balled up the sheet and threw it at me.

“Here, for the cold,” he grunted, sitting back down beside me. “You hungry?”

“Nah,” I lied, knowing full well he’d try to fetch something for me if I said yes. I didn’t want to give him any more trouble. My stomach growled anyway, but thankfully I was bundled up enough for him not to hear.

“A beautiful night, this one.” He looked up at the sky, and I noticed for the first time how full of stars it was. On nights as cold as this, clouds usually sprawled across the sky, making it seem like it was draped in a dark curtain. Not tonight.

“Mm-hmm,” I murmured, leaning further against the wall, letting my eyes get lost in the night sky.

“You should go back to the shelter, kiddo,” he finally said the words I’d known were coming.

“Again with this—” He glared at me with piercing eyes, and I bit my lip to keep from cursing. “I told you already. I’m safer here with you.”

He scoffed, and I chose to stay silent. How could he understand? The mere thought of going back—of feeling that all over again—I couldn’t take it.

“I can give you that knife you saw. Maybe they won’t hurt you if you show them you can draw blood,” he said nonchalantly, still gazing at the sky. “A twelve-year-old boy shouldn’t be running from fights.”

“I’m ten,” I corrected, “and if you give me that knife, there’s a good chance I’ll end up in jail. Out here, at least I’ve got a chance. Maybe my mother will find me.” The words felt stupid as soon as they left my mouth. When he looked at me with pity in his eyes, I wanted to disappear. She wasn’t coming back. I knew it.

“All right, kiddo. I’ve got something to figure out. I’ll be back later.” He heaved himself up, grunting with pain as he did. Living on the streets wasn’t doing the old man’s back any favors.

When he was a few steps away, I called out to him.

“Aren’t you taking the knife with you?” I could see the blade glistening through the small holes in the shopping cart, and it didn’t feel right for it to be left there.

“I won’t need it. Can you take care of it for me? And all the other stuff too, you know?”

“Sure,” I replied, but the old man was already turning the corner of the alley.

I watched him walk away, my eyes lingering on the street ahead for a long time. Cars passed in one direction or the other, each taking care not to slide on the snow. None of them stopped to ask if I needed anything, to offer me shelter or an old loaf of bread.

Not that I expected any of them to. I’d found Barry, and he wasn’t creepy. He helped me and didn’t expect anything in return. Why? I asked myself, the small word echoing in my mind alongside a mental image of Barry. But, just like every other time that small, insignificant word appeared, another set of bigger, heavier words followed.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Why did she leave me?

I wanted to punch the walls, the ground, anything. Instead, I closed my eyes, letting the hot tears trail down my cheeks. I stayed like that for a while. Until I wasn’t thinking about her anymore. Until I had memorized the position of every brick on the walls of the two buildings surrounding me. Until I had counted the stars seven times. Until my stomach told a long, winding story about a boy dreaming of an impossible reunion.

Until I slept.

----------------------------------------

“Where’s my coat!?” a voice bellowed. It was so distant that, in the haze of waking, I almost didn’t catch the words.

“I sold it, ma’am. I’m sorry. I can repay you.” Barry’s voice followed, trembling with fear.

“Bullshit. Where is it?” the angry voice snapped again. Then I heard a punch, followed by a grunt. The sound jolted me awake.

“Tell him, motherfucker, or we’ll kill you,” another voice growled.

“It’s—it’s in my shopping cart. I’ll get it for you,” Barry’s desperate voice stammered again.

“What’s it then, you piece of shit? You sold it, or is it in your shopping cart?” A third voice joined in, high-pitched and feminine but meaner than the others.

I heaved myself up and moved toward the shopping cart. With trembling hands, I grabbed the knife and stuffed it into my coat pocket. Then I started moving toward the sound. That day, I discovered fear didn’t paralyze me—not the way people said it did. For me, fear made me move. It made me want to fight.

The voices stopped, their sounds muffled by the occasional cars passing on the street. No one stopped.

I decided I’d get closer, see what was happening. Maybe I could help him. Maybe I could scare them with the knife.

As I got closer, I realized their silence had a more sinister meaning. They were kicking and punching Barry, but the sound was dampened by the heavy coat he wore. He wasn’t even screaming. He looked ten times older, his mouth hanging open, his eyes locking onto mine through the haze of pain. He tried to mouth something, but no words came out.

“Where’s my coat?” the woman asked between kicks, and I finally saw her. She was skinny, with just a few locks of hair clinging to her skull. Her skin was mottled with purple bruises, and she wore a threadbare T-shirt—not remotely warm enough for the weather.

The other two men were as gaunt as her, but at least they had proper winter clothes. Still, they were too absorbed in their manic beating to notice me.

The woman seemed to catch Barry’s gaze and followed it until her eyes landed on me. Before I could react, she was staring straight at me. Her eyes widened when she saw the coat, and her yellowed teeth stretched into a mad grin.

“Stop, boys,” she commanded, and they halted immediately, though not without some grumbling. “We found what we were searching for. And look, there’s a gift wrapped in it. It’s a Christmas miracle!” She spread her arms dramatically toward the sky, and I noticed on her the strange, funny look adults sometimes have on their faces. Mom always looked like that when she drunk.

“Please,” Barry mouthed, but the woman rushed forward and kicked him square in the face. I heard the sickening crack of teeth and watched as Barry’s face fell limp against the ground, one eye barely fighting to stay open.

“You thought you could keep all the fun to yourself? Hiding him? Giving him little presents?” she hissed before turning toward me. She tried to put on a loving expression, but all she managed was to look like a monster. “I’ll take care of you, kid. What do you boys think? The guys on 19th Street will like him, don’t you think?”

The men grunted their agreement and started moving toward me. Slowly, I stepped out of the corridor and onto the sidewalk. They were only a few steps away now, and a little further ahead, Barry lay nearly lifeless.

“I can do this,” the woman said, her words meant to reassure her friends but sounding more like a threat. They stepped back, and thankfully, they stopped kicking Barry.

I took a step back, but for every step I took, she closed the gap with two.

“Don’t hurt him, please,” I begged, realizing only then that I’d been crying the entire time.

“We won’t hurt him. We found what we were looking for, didn’t we?” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Come on, I promise I’ll take care of you. I was a mother once, you know?”

I took a deep breath as she approached. My body shook from head to toe, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. For a moment, I thought I was the kind to get frozen in place.

Then she got close enough. Her facade dropped, and she hissed, “Come here, little bastard.” Her hands gripped my shoulder.

I didn’t think—I just acted.

My hand shot to her thigh faster than I thought possible. The knife slid into her scrawny leg as easily as the disgusting jelly they used to serve at the shelter.

I yanked the knife out as she collapsed onto her back, screaming. My legs moved on their own, retreating without a single command.

“Shit, shit, shit!” she hissed through clenched teeth as her friends finally realized what had happened. “The piece of shit stabbed me! He stabbed me!”

The two men advanced toward me, their faces masks of confusion. They passed the woman on the ground and kept coming, while I kept retreating.

“Luis? Kyle? Something’s wrong,” the woman’s voice rang out through the night. I heard it above the cars, above the sound of footsteps, above Barry’s faint grunts.

The urgency in her voice made the two men stop and turn. She said something to them, but I couldn’t hear it.

“Run, Zach! Run! You need to go!” Barry screamed with every ounce of strength he had left, his voice echoing through the empty street. Even then, not a single car stopped.

Another cry of despair shattered the air.

“I think it hit an artery!” one of the men shouted, panic in his voice. “There’s too much blood! Do something! She’s going to die!”

I ran until my lungs burned, until my feet were raw, until I couldn’t think about anything else.

I never stopped running, only to fight.