The Stranger, Mark Ayre [microsoft ebook reader .TXT] 📗

the floor, Travis grabbed the foot of the bed and dragged himself to feet. Still pale, still in pain, he was now taking deep breaths to try and calm himself.

“Bitch,” he said to Clarissa. “You’re shit in bed. You’re a waste of space. You’re—“

Michael punched Travis in the face, causing the ringleader to stumble.

Ignoring the scuffle, Abbie replaced the purse in the bag, kept the phone in her hand, and unfolded the piece of card as Travis turned on Michael, only for Clarissa to punch him in the throat.

While Travis gagged, Abbie turned the unfolded card towards the three teens.

“I think we know what Francis wanted.”

Three sets of eyes turned her way. Travis looked stunned. Clarissa gasped.

Michael said, “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” said Abbie. “I think that about sums it up.”

Twenty-One

With both great satisfaction and Clarissa’s blessing, Abbie dragged Travis downstairs and hurled him out the front door.

Immediately, he was standing, his face contorted in rage. He took two steps towards the house and stopped dead when Abbie stepped out the front door.

“I know you were busy fleeing like a coward, stealing my stuff,” said Abbie, “but you must have taken note of at least some of my fight with Ronson and Kline. Did you stay long enough to see me knock them both out cold? How much trouble do you think a weedy little teen like you will pose when I’ve already proven I can take out those two muscle-for-hires?”

For a few seconds, Travis was trapped. As a teenager who craved being the centre of attention and needed to be seen as a big deal, humiliation frightened him far more than did the threat of pain. To be seen running from a girl was humiliating. But was it more or less humiliating than trying to take the woman on and losing in an embarrassing amount of time? That was the decision Travis was trying to make.

To help him, Abbie took a step forward.

Travis bolted.

Abbie returned to the house. Clarissa and Michael were at the bottom of the stairs. Still sobbing, Clarissa moved to Michael as Abbie entered.

“I’m so sorry, Mike,” she said. “I shouldn’t have let him in. I should never have chosen him. I—“

Clarissa had taken Michael’s arm. He shook her off as Travis had earlier shaken her off. Without a word, he walked out the door and didn’t look back.

As though she had to be clinging to something or she would surely fall, Clarissa grabbed the end post of the bannister at the foot of the stairs. Abbie watched her cling to it and tried not to hate the girl. After all, had Abbie not once upon a time been a little like that?

“Travis will return,” Abbie said. “He needs to be adored, and despite the texts and all that abuse you hurled, he’ll see you as an easy target. I hope you prove him wrong.”

“I will,” said Clarissa. “I promise I will.”

“Make the promise to yourself, not me.”

“Yes. Okay. Yes.”

Abbie turned, ready to walk out the door and close it behind her. Before she reached the front step, Clarissa called her back.

“Do you think Michael will ever forgive me? What can I do to make him not hate me?”

Abbie paused in the doorway. Considered walking away. Something made her turn back, walk across the hall, and lay her hands on Clarissa’s.

Those big, doe eyes looked into Abbie’s face.

“Forget about Michael,” said Abbie. “Know what the best thing you can do for yourself is?”

Clarissa shook her head. Abbie wrapped her hands around Clarissa’s hands and gently lifted them from the bannister post. When she released the girl, Clarissa wobbled like Bambi taking his first steps.

“Learn to stand on your own two feet,” said Abbie. “Learn how to enjoy your own company. You don’t have to be a loner. In fact, you shouldn’t be a loner. But if you can learn to feel comfortable in your own company and learn to like yourself as a person, you’ll find it much easier to discern which people are worth your time as friends and lovers, and you’ll better understand why you deserve to be liked or loved in the first place. Got it?”

Having found surer footing, Clarissa nodded. Maybe she meant it, perhaps she didn’t. Abbie didn’t have the time to hang around.

“Good luck,” she said; and left Clarissa with the one person she most struggled to be alone with. Herself.

Back outside Michael’s house, Abbie tried to meet the boy’s eye.

“I’m keeping the bag. You might want to give it to Francis. Might even be thinking if you claim to have stolen it from Travis, he’ll give you the whole twenty grand, and you’ll be able to clear almost your mother’s entire debt.”

Michael said nothing. His expression revealed the truth in Abbie’s guess.

“That might happen,” said Abbie. “More likely, Francis is furious and embarrassed that his plan backfired. He’ll feel stupid for being robbed by a teen. Rather than show gratitude, he is far more likely to shoot the messenger. He may even assume you were involved and only brought the bag back after getting cold feet.”

Michael was looking at his hands. More than anything, he wanted to save his mother. For the money to pay off her debts, there were few lengths to which he would not go. Abbie thought of Ben again, of his rejection of Abbie’s pleas for money to help Michael, and felt fury flash through her.

To Michael, she said, “You have to trust me. I’m going to sort this bag issue, and I’ll try and get you some help with your debts.”

Pulling his eyes from his feet, Michael looked at Abbie again. There was gratitude there. Tears, also. If Abbie had been a more emotionally available person, she might have hugged the kid. Having already kissed Bobby, Abbie had nothing left to give in terms of physical affection of the platonic or romantic kind.

“You trust me?” she said.

He nodded.

“Good. Now get lost. I’ve got things to do.”

After Michael slid from the car, Abbie remained