13. Johnny

Kurt gives me a tour through the gleaming kitchen filled with top-of-the-line appliances and the large open space that serves as a living room and dining area, and then we go up to the third story.

"This is mine," he says, gesturing toward one room, "and this is the guest bedroom. Sorry it's kind of cluttered; I use it as an office when I work from home." There's a large computer desk in front of a window and a full-size bed in the corner, plus an easel and art supplies neatly stacked on a table. "I hope you'll be comfortable in here."

"I ain't gonna kick you out of your office."

He puts a hand on his hip, and I receive his message loud and clear. "Let's get our bags," he says.

"Do you have everything you need?" Kurt asks once we're upstairs again and I'm rolling my tiny suitcase into the guest bedroom. "Clothes, toiletries?"

I'm wearing my favorite jeans. I was planning on being buried in them. I didn't bring much else—a few things for while I was in Vegas, along with workout wear.

I shrug. "I'll get by."

He huffs. "Don't want you just ‘getting by' when I can do something about it. After we have a bite to eat, let's go shopping."

"Hate shopping."

"What about a place like Boot Barn?"

I shrug reluctantly, because he's right that I need more than I'm standing up in, and I'm beat down by his kindness. "Yeah, okay. Fine. Dress me up. But if you call me Cinderella, we may have to have words."

Kurt smiles. "I'm good with being your fairy godfather." He gestures. "Feel free to use the closet," he says, "and there's a laundry bin in the corner."

"Hate to be a burden, but I gotta return my tux." I open my bag, and an envelope slips to the floor.

"Of course we can return your tux." He looks at the envelope addressed to Mama. "Was that meant to go to her … after?"

I nod.

"Can I have it?" He holds out his hand.

I don't really want to give it to him, but I'm also not sure I should have it on me. I stare at it for a moment, pick it up, and shove it at him. "What are y'all gonna do with my gun?"

"For now? Lock it up. I have a few locking cabinets in the garage. Later, when you're stable, we can decide if you want to sell it or whatever."

"Not a fan of being without it."

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Big, strong man like you can protect yourself without it, and you've got to be kidding if you think I'm gonna let you have a weapon." He presses his lips together and shakes his head. Without another word, he leaves me, taking the plastic laundry bag with my gun in it and heading back down the stairs.

A few minutes later, he reappears. "Don't go looking for it."

I sigh, knowing when I'm beat. I mean, sure, I could ransack his house for the keys, but I don't have the energy for it—and it's starting to dawn on me that I might be depressed.

Maybe that should have been obvious, but I'm in territory so foreign I can barely describe it. How do I feel? Numb, yes. Hopeless, yes. Listless, sometimes. Confused, often. But I ain't never been depressed before—unless I've been that way for so long I don't know any different.

Well, damn.

I thought I was just pissed and hopeless on account of my mama. But maybe I'm pissed and hopeless for myself.

Because shouldn't I be over-the-moon happy? My mama's going to get help. I don't know how Kurt's going to make that happen, but I'm starting to believe him when he says he will. I've got a safe place to stay, and Kurt's got plans to fix all sorts of things.

Things I don't deserve.

My brain's still messing with me. I rub my wrists, reminding myself that I'm not trapped. I can move. Kurt's not gonna hurt me.

I tell myself all that, but I start breathing fast and my knees give out. I plop down onto the bed, and to my surprise, a second later, Kurt is crouching in front of me on the floor, his hands on my thighs. Seeing his pretty face helps calm my breathing. Some.

"Look, Johnny," he says. "I know you're uncomfortable about staying here with me. I heard you when you said it felt like"—he shrugs—"I don't know. Like you're relying on someone else's benevolence. But that's not how I see the situation. I mean, yes, I want you to stay so we can get you help. That's not all there is to it, though. It's tough to explain how much I'm into you. I really, really fucking like you. I'm attracted to you—you, not the guy I used to watch on my screen. I'm hoping maybe if you get to know me, you'll like me, too."

He's so sweet, and somewhere in my foggy brain, a wave of lightness flows through me at how he makes me feel. "I do. Like you, I mean. And I wanna get to know you, too."

Kurt's face brightens. "Excellent." He stands and claps his hands once. "Are you hungry? You must be hungry—I'm ravenous. And if you tell me where you rented that tux, I can have Wendy, my assistant, return it for you, so that'll be one less thing for us to worry about."

I am kinda hungry, given that we hadn't stopped for lunch.

I follow him back into the kitchen and realize how badly I've been taking care of myself when I see his fully stocked refrigerator.

Kurt pulls out bread and sandwich fixings, then puts them together on plates with some chips and apple slices. It kinda makes me feel like I'm in preschool, but I also kinda like him taking care of me. No one's really done that, even when I was little. Ever since I can remember, I was always trying to take care of my mama.

"What do you want to drink? Seltzer? Coke? Gatorade?"

I clench my fists. "Don't drink Gatorade." Absolutely never. "Water's fine."

As we eat, Kurt clears his throat. "So, like we talked about, I think you should start therapy. Maybe some medication, if the doctors think that's a good idea."

I don't like the sound of any of that, but I'm not sure there's another choice. At this point, I'm basically going along with whatever he says. I know when I'm beat.

"While we were driving, I went online and made you a tentative appointment for tomorrow. It's a therapist who's highly recommended. Do you want to go?"

I nod, because I know that's what I'm supposed to do. Then I scold myself, since I was the one who insisted on honesty. So I shake my head, and he gives me a gentle smile.

That smile makes me breathless.

"You know what they say," he says. "The only way out is through. And I'll help you through."

"That sounds like some wisdom to me. Thanks." I don't mean thanks for the appointment, but thanks for taking me under his wing.

After we clean up the kitchen and Kurt's assistant picks up my tux, we go to a nearby western wear store, where Kurt buys me a week's worth of clothes. The whole nine yards: T-shirts, jeans, boxers, socks, a few flannel shirts, and a jacket. I feel lower than an earthworm letting him spend a bunch of money on me, but I don't waste energy I haven't got arguing. I take the receipt and mentally add it to my tab. I'll pay him back with interest.

I'll admit I'm glad to have more than one pair of jeans. It'll be nice to be able to change my clothes. I talked him out of getting me new boots, though. The ones I have'll serve me fine.

When we get back, it's past sunset, and after a light dinner, we sit awkwardly on the couch watching the local news.

The awkwardness isn't like me. For one thing, I'm used to touching people I barely know. For another, he and I weren't awkward last night. We kissed and cuddled, and we slept in the same bed together. It all felt completely natural.

I'm drawn to him.

I find myself wanting to curl into him, but I don't know if I should. I'm not in a sexual mood. Until The Incident, sex was as natural for me as breathing. These days, not so much.

I want to touch him, though. Not just to feel the warmth of another human being, but to feel him.

I can't explain why I'm hesitant. Maybe it's just my messed-up brain.

He looks at me a few times, and it seems like he might be leaning in to kiss me. But he doesn't.

So when it gets late, I say good night, stand up, and aim for the bed upstairs in his office, praying that sleep will find me soon.

I don't get far, though, before Kurt hops up off the couch and follows me. He sighs and pinches his nose. "I'm sorry, I know this is weird. Now that I've thought about it, I'm not really comfortable having you be by yourself all night. It's not that I don't trust you?—"

"I ain't done the right things to earn your trust."

Kurt gives me a sheepish smile. "Well, maybe. I just want to ensure you're okay. Would you consider sleeping in my bed? We don't have to do anything," he adds quickly. "I wanna keep you close, but I wouldn't, y'know, expect more."

While part of me is annoyed that I ain't adult enough to be left alone for a few hours, the greater part of me is getting all soft and melty, because he cares. And spending another night sleeping next to him won't rightly be a hardship.

Instead of saying anything—or arguing—I nod and, after I grab the bag of my new clothes to bring with me, follow him into his big bedroom.

It's nicely decorated, with black furniture, framed black-and-white photographs and colorful art, and midcentury modern lamps. It also has what I think is a view of the ocean.

"Um," I say, scratching my belly. "I'm going to take a shower before bed, if you don't mind. Is there a bathroom you prefer I use?" I'm not grimy from the drive or anything, but I want a moment to myself.

"Of course I don't mind, and use mine." He walks me in there to show me how to use the complicated handles and pauses. "Johnny, I'll give you the space to do that, but would you … would you please not lock the door? Again, it's not that I don't trust you." He shuffles his feet, then looks me in the eye. "Okay, I don't trust you when it's your own safety at stake. You had a lot of scary plans just a few hours ago, and I'd rather be safe than sorry."

While I don't like hearing that, I don't blame him. And again, maybe the depression(?) is making me not want to fight. I nod. "Sounds like a deal to me."

"I'm not going to come in," he says in a rush. "I want to be sure you're safe when I'm not watching you."

Something about the way he's insisting on caring for me penetrates my frozen heart. "It's fine, precious," I say, taking a step toward him before stopping.

Even though he smiles at me, I don't give in to the desire to kiss him, though I'm pretty sure I'm seeing the same want in his eyes.

Before leaving the bathroom, Kurt opens a drawer and removes a package of disposable razors, which he takes with him. "Do I need to lock up the kitchen knives?"

I wince. I hate that he has to ask. "No. I'm not … I'm squeamish about blood." I touch his wrist. "I promise I would not consider using those to hurt myself. Not after knowing about Andrei. I'd never do that to you. Swear on my mama."

Kurt studies me a long moment. "I believe you."

He turns to go, and I follow him into the bedroom, take my toiletry kit out of my suitcase, and return to his bathroom. I turn on the water, then brush my teeth and step into the shower.

While I lather up, I think about the past twenty-four hours. What a mess I've made. I'm like a rhino in a rose garden, leaving destruction everywhere.

I've ruined Kurt's chances at the ballot box.

I've endangered my mom's life.

I've blown up my life.

I don't see how things can get any worse, and yet I'm afraid they will.

But something Kurt said to me repeats in my brain over and over again as the hot water sluices down my back.

"The only way out is through."

There's a hint there. A promise that, if I can just hang in there long enough, I might be able to get better.

Do I want to?