As I stand, huddled against the doorway of an abandoned building, hands stuffed in my pockets, warily eyeing the hustlers and their marks on the other corner, I know I am smiling. I did it. I made a difference. I helped.

As soon as I saw Kip walk into Woody’s, I knew it was a sign or something. ‘Cause I’d been wracking my brain for the past two days trying to come up with something I could do to help Brian, and my best efforts had only resulted in almost killing him with Gramma’s famous hangover recipe. So yeah, when he walked in, something just clicked. The plan formulated almost immediately.

And I didn’t hesitate. I knew I could pull it off.

I squashed the little niggling doubt at the back of my head. The one that was speaking in Brian’s voice, and kept repeating the rules. Always know who you’re going with. Always stay where help is readily available. Always stay in control. And of course the two biggies: Never get into someone else’s car. Never go to “his place.”

Brian seemed to conveniently forget that the first time I met him, I got in his car and went to his place.

As Kip’s car door clinked shut behind me, I had this brief image of my body stuffed in his garbage chute. Disgusting.

I took a deep breath and trusted my instincts. I refused to be frightened of a simpering little liar with a name like Kip. Especially one who talked like a cross between Dirty Harry and Snake Plissken. Who could take that seriously? I’m surprised Brian fucked him, to be honest.

So we got to his place and I put my plan into action. It didn’t take long, and the hardest part was trying not to squirm in revulsion as Kip’s tongue licked across my stomach. He caved almost as soon as I mentioned my dad and the police. It’s amazing the number of people who don’t know that 16 is the age of consent. Well, Kip’s stupidity is Brian’s gain.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t figured on just how pissed off Kip would be. I mean, I knew he’d be ticked. But I figured I’d at least get a ride back to Liberty. Which in retrospect was pretty fucking stupid, I guess. And I really should have made sure I had taxi fare on me before going with him. But no, instead I get back in his car and we’ve gone blocks before I realize where we are, and then he pulls up by the train tracks and just opens the door and makes me get out.

Guess he figured I couldn’t sic the cops or dad on him for that.

I had about thirty-seven cents on me. And a condom. But after walking a few blocks and getting past the row of factories, I was finally able to get reception on my cell phone.

There’s a light drizzle coming down and the shelter of the doorway is minimal at best. I’ve pulled my hoodie up but I’m still getting drenched. And the rent boys across the street as starting to give me the evil eye, even though it’s totally not my fault that several of their clients have cruised over to me instead. I’m just trying to keep my eyes down and my face expressionless.

When the next car pulls up, I square my shoulders and prepare to mutter another “Not interested”. But I glance up and… it’s rescue. Thank fucking God.

“Get in,” Brian leans across the seat and barks at me through the passenger door. I scramble to comply. Yes, sir. Anything you say, sir. Fuck, I’ll dance the meringue on the roof of his car if he wants me to, I’m just ready to get the fuck out of here.

“Thanks,” I say as I slide my hoodie off and buckle up. Brian doesn’t say anything.

We drive a few blocks in silence. I keep glancing over at Brian, but he’s staring out the windshield and gripping the wheel so tight it looks like it might be causing joint damage. Finally I can’t stand the quiet. “Brian--”

“I don’t want to know.”

Well, okay. I press my lips together, and nod, and stare out my own window. And try to ignore the churning in my gut. Funny how this whole thing didn’t freak me out until Brian got here. Yeah. Funny.

More silence. And then he starts muttering. Something about “princess” and “immature” and “moron”. The muttering is way worse than the quiet. So I try again. “Brian--”

I’m thankful that I’m wearing my seatbelt when he slams on the brakes in the middle of the street and whirls toward me.

And Christ, he’s fucking scary. I mean, I’ve seen him angry before, and upset and shit, but I’ve never seen him almost trembling with rage.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t try to make up some lame fucking shit about how you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I wasn’t--”

“I’m not going to be the one who has to explain to your mother why your dead body ended up stuffed in a dumpster. So don’t fucking mess with me.”

I take a good look at him for the first time since getting in the jeep. Hair sticking up, eyes kind of wild. He’s... he was scared. And even though I still feel a bit freaked out, I also feel pretty damned good. He totally cares about me. Worries about me, even.