Chapter 8

I hesitated for a few seconds then entered into the apartment. This was it. I choose to trust this man with my life and my child's. Trust him not to be a serial killer, a paedophile or a baby stealer. As I entered the apartment, I looked around at its layout. The room gave away his bachelorhood. The walls were painted in dark greyish blue. The furniture was rustic and dark, and the couch sprinkled liberally with vibrant burgundy and white cushions. There were a few abstract paintings on the wall which contrast its colours. I heard as he closed the door behind him and came to stand by me. "Come on, and you shouldn't be standing on your feet so much." Without touching me, he showed me the way to the couch and instructed me to sit down, and when I did, King came and sat right at my feet. I smiled down at the friendly dog but lifted my head at the voice of his master. "Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?" I nod my head. I hadn't eaten since six this evening and walking around earlier had taken away all my energy. "Yes, please." "Is there anything that you don't eat or is not supposed to eat?" he questioned with concern in his voice. "Uncooked meats and eggs, cheese, milk, tin foods, raw fish. I think that's about it." He nodded and smiled. "Perfect, I hope you don't mind leftovers." Mind leftovers? I'm homeless for christ sake; I love leftovers. They were better than not having anything at all to eat. "My mother cooked curry chicken yesterday, and she brought some for me." He moved away and started walking in a direction; my eyes followed him to his kitchen." She still treats me like a child, so she brings dinner for me at least twice a week. She's afraid that I will forget to eat." he rants on as he took out the dish from the fridge. He shared the food in a smaller container then moved over, he lifted his head and looked at me, "Is it okay to warm food in a microwave?" I nod, "I think so." I have been buying food from restaurants for the last six months, and I had no idea what the restaurants did behind those counters, but I couldn't be picky because I didn't have a choice. So I ate whatever I bought from the restaurant and whatever persons on the street were kind enough to give. Some persons in the world are going through much worse, so why should I worry and complain when I'm getting something to eat? One thing living on the streets have taught me was to be grateful. Grateful for life, thankful for family and most importantly, grateful for love because when you lose those three things to too damn hard to get back. I listened as he pressed a few buttons on the microwave. He looked over the partition then back at me, "What do you like to drink?" For the past six months, when I heard that question directed at me, I respond 'water' because I didn't have enough money to buy juice. "I'll take anything you have." "I don't have soda and because I think it's unhealthy but I do have cranberry juice, grape juice, apple juice and orange juice. Which one do you prefer?" I couldn't remember the last time I had so many options in my life. Oh, yeah, I can't because I never did. My mother only gave me orange juice, and it usually was the one she got at the diner. "Grape," I answered uncertainly of what to choose. Grape was my favourite fruit, so maybe I'll like grape juice. He nods then disappeared behind the partition. I took the time to look around the apartment more. It was simple and pleasant for a single male. Single male? I looked in the direction of the kitchen realising that I never asked him if he was available or not. I looked around the room, but I saw no picture of him except ones where he was hugging an older woman, or she was hugging him. I assume the woman in the photo was his mother. She looked so happy, and her blue eyes shined with love. I smile at the intimate image, wishing I had my mother with me. Wiping the small tears that were forming, I continued looking around at the other pictures. On a table beside the window, there was a wedding picture of his mother wearing a wedding dress standing beside him and an older man. All three in the photo was smiling, and they all looked happy. I felt a tug on my heart. I wished I had a family to love and care for me as they did. A few tears fall from my eyes as I remember my mother and the loved she showed me when growing up. How could I betray her by doing the one thing she didn't want me to do? How could I have gotten pregnant in high school? How could I have been so blind not to see that Will was using me? How could I be so stupid? "Hey, don't cry." Mr. Dakoda rushed out of the kitchen and came to sit beside me. "I know what you've been through is not easy, but I'm begging you, please don't cry." He suddenly pulls me into his arms for a hug. I stiffen at the contact as first but then gave in and let the tears fall harder. My mother was the last person to hug me, and when she did, it was so warm that I didn't want to let go. Mr Dakoda patted my back and kept whispering in my ear reassuring words. "Whoever hurt you or whatever happened to you was awful, I get that, and there is no way I could ever understand the emotional pain you're going through right now, but I'm telling you now that it's okay. You'll get through this, and one day you'll look back and smile. Knowing that you successfully conquered that part of your life?"