Don't Hurt Me

Chapter 18

The door is answered by an old man.

I frown, and he frowns, and I wonder if I've got the wrong damn building. "Uh, hi," I murmur. "Sorry, I think I have the wrong - "

"Who is it, Gramps?" Just then, I hear a different voice, a familiar voice. Josh appears by the old man's side, wearing deep blue jeans and a black T-shirt that hugs his shoulders and chest. His green eyes go wide at the sight of me. "Clare. You're here."

I crack a smile. "I guess I am."

"Your friend, Joshua?" the old man asks, turning curious eyes to his ... grandson? Must be. Josh nods, and the old man gestures for me to enter.

"Come in, come in. I'm Joshua's grandfather. You can call me Mr. Grier. That there is Joshua's grandmother." He points to an old lady reading in the corner. She looks at me for a moment, then hoists herself up.

"Hello," she chirps. Her round cheeks flush warm and pink, and her eyes are bright. She is happy to have me, and the unfamiliarity of being so welcomed strikes me.

"Hi," I reply politely. "I'm Clare. Josh's friend from school."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Clare. Would you like something to eat?"

"Oh, no, that's OK. I really just came to talk to - "

"You know what? I have a tone of cake in the fridge. You can help me finish it."

"Well, I - "

"You will help me finish it," she decides before I can argue. "Would you like something to drink with that?"

I pause, looking over at Josh. He's standing near a faded purple couch, arms over his chest as he watches us. I get the feeling I've fallen into some kind of test, and he wants to see how I'll do. "OK," I relent.

Mrs. Grier scuttles off, and Mr. Grier hobbles over to the couch. He sits down before a half-finished puzzle, mulling to himself. I can't help noticing that the TV over by the wall isn't on, which seems to make this place way too quiet. Or maybe it just feels quiet compared to how things are at my house these days.

I notice Josh walking towards me. He clears his throat. "So. Now, you've met my family."

"Where are your parents?"

"Dad walked out when I was really little. My mom died a couple of years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry." It comes out fast, the only thing you'd be able to think of to say. It doesn't mean nearly enough, I know.

Josh smiles. "It's OK. It's been a while." Gently, he grasps my wrist. "Maybe we should talk in my room."

Oh my God. I'm going to see Josh's bedroom?

I let him lead the way to a door down the hall. He opens it, leaning against the frame to let me enter. The lights are off, but I can see a little by the moonlight falling in through the sheer white curtains. A narrow bed sits facing me, covered in messy, plain blankets in a shade of olive green. The walls are plastered with band and movie posters, and inked doodles of everything from buxom women to nightmarish monsters. There are two desks, one with an old-looking computer that looks ready to come apart, and another piled high with mounds of books and papers. A red plaid shirt hugs a chair. A watch lies dead, stopped at three thirty. I see a dartboard on the wall next to me, several tiny holes beside it telling of bad aim.

Josh picks up a pair of jeans lying on the floor, self-consciously tossing them into a corner. "Sorry. You know me. A slob."

I lift my shoulders cluelessly. I'm not sure what to do with myself, where to stand in this place so intense with his doings, his presence.