The Breakers - Chapter 2

~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~

Chapter 2

EPOV

Once I get done with my tirade, I huff and look at Wayne. He has a shit-eating smirk on his face and leans back in his yard sale chair.

He stares at me for untold moments, scrutinizing me, his face completely undecipherable. My skin crawls from the action but I hold his gaze without flinching. If he's sizing me up to see if I'll say uncle first, he's got another damn thing coming. After seven years of the same kind of shit, I'm used to the routine of being stared at, and had men a hell of a lot scarier than him try to intimidate me. I didn't give into them so I'm damn sure not giving into him, no matter that he can make my life a living hell if he wants to. Backing down … showing fear … I don't do either of those things. Ever.

Finally, it seems like I pass some silent test. The chair squeaks back into its upright position and he slaps his hands on the top of the desk. "All right, kid, I'm hungrier than hell. Let me show you where you'll be staying for the time being and then you can get cleaned up." He points at my chest. "I can't imagine you want to stay in that prison-issue getup any longer than you need to."

Grabbing my box, I follow him, still reeling from everything he's told me since I walked through the front door. My mind wanders as I try to decide what this place is as we walk through a hallway and then up the stairs.

"I run a halfway house, in case you're wondering," he says conversationally like he can tell what I'm thinking and we continue to trudge up the creaky stairs. "Right now, everyone that stays here is working. I'll go over the rules with you when you've cleaned up and before everyone gets back."

The word rules automatically gets my hackles up but then I take a deep breath. Realizing that at least I can walk around without someone poking and prodding at me or telling me where to go, I suppose I should be grateful. Following a few rules is a hell of a lot better than being behind bars. I am grateful, I amend, as we reach the top of the stairs and he turns and stops in front of a closed door.

"This is where you'll stay until we can get you on your way to Corea," he tells me as he opens the door.

Instantly my eyes sweep the room. There's a bare, hardwood floor darkened by age and use. A simple desk with a lamp that looks older than I do sits beside a twin bed that I know is way too fucking small for me. A plain, timeworn, tan comforter covers the bed and I try not to roll my eyes when I spy the lumpy pillow. The corners of the comforter are tucked under perfectly and it's stretched so that there isn't a wrinkle to be found. I can tell the previous occupant had the same teacher as me in the art of making a bed. It's the way we were taught at Old Colony on day one. I glance to the left and notice a utilitarian three-drawer dresser as well as a small closet that's empty but for a few lonely wire hangers. The stark beige wall is devoid of pictures - no hint of any life or color can be found anywhere in the room. I notice there's no television either, though there is a small radio on top of the dresser. A lone window beside the bed is covered with a flimsy white curtain.

To anyone else the room probably barely passes for livable, but to me it's the fucking Presidential Suite of the best five star hotel in the country.

I smile, I can't help it, and Wayne notices. "I take it you approve?" he asks with a sly grin.

I don't answer but walk in and set my pitiful box on the top of the desk. My eyes haven't stopped moving and they keep going back to the bed. It might be small as hell and the pillow looks like it's filled with rocks - but I don't care. I can't wait to fall into it and go to sleep. "There are a few new t-shirts in the top drawer of the dresser as well as some toiletries in the bathroom," he says as he points to the room across the hall.

I practically drool at the thought of a t-shirt. If I never have to wear a long-sleeved, denim shirt again it'll be too fucking soon, and that thought instantly makes my body twitch to feel the soft cotton. He grins at me again and I know he understands what I'm thinking but then he turns serious in a flash. "Look, Masen. I know this is all a bit disconcerting and unsettling, but I'll explain everything over some dinner. I planned it so you'll have a little bit of time to adjust before you have to be around anyone else. Take a shower, change out of that damn shirt, and come find me in the kitchen when you're done. Dinner will be in an hour. Don't be late or you don't eat," he growls and then walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I stare at the door for a few seconds … maybe minutes, thinking that he's going to come barreling back through the door and tell me to get the hell out - that this has all been some kind of crazy mistake. When a few more minutes go by and nothing happens, I take a deep breath and the knot I didn't even realize was there loosens just a bit. My eyes immediately track to the envelope and letter sticking out of the box and I close my eyes, wait a few seconds, and then open them again. Yep, I'm still standing in the middle of the room, the letter and unexpected check are still there … and I'm still out of prison.

"Holy mother of fuck," I mutter nonsensically and then have the most ridiculous urge to laugh.

I manage to tamp that down by running my hands through my hair and then pinching the bridge of my nose … really hard.

Get it together, Masen, I think and stare at the window.

A fucking window. I can't help but smile. A big, stupid smile at that. Whoever would've thought that a window would make me as happy as a fat kid standing in front of a never-ending pizza buffet? But it really did. Seven years without being able to look out a window without bars has a way of doing that to a person. My fingers twitch with the desire to open it and feel the spring breeze engulf me for a moment, but I resist. I turn and look at the dresser, striding over to it. Yanking it open I can see there are three plain gray t-shirts folded neatly, the tags still hanging off the arm.

Suddenly, I want to take a shower. The need to remove the stench of prison is overwhelming. I shake as I think about taking my first shower in seven years without having a guard watch my every move.

I kick off my shoes and out of habit, set them neatly beside the bed. Turning, I grab a t-shirt out of the drawer and my fingers clutch it tightly like it's a long-lost treasure I've been searching for and have finally found. Looking around the room, I grab my box and shove it under the bed. I have no idea who any of the men are that live here and I don't trust any of them as far as I can throw them. After plucking the envelope off the top, I put it in my back pocket … and seriously think about shoving it down my pants. There's no way I'm letting my ticket to freedom out of my fucking sight. Once the box is stowed I cross the hallway to the bathroom and quickly shut the door behind me. I undress and turn the water on, letting it heat up and watch as the small bathroom fills with steam. Depressing the button, I groan in anticipation as I step over the edge of the tub. My groan becomes louder and it echoes off the tiled walls as the shower rains down on me.

Tipping my head back, I let the water sluice through my hair and then turn around, hanging my head so the water beats against the back of my neck and shoulders. Minutes pass and I don't move; I just let the water flow over my body. It's the best damn shower I've had in seven years, and I can't help but grin as I reach for the soap and a washcloth and begin to run my hands over my body. The feel of the water, the realization that I'm finally out of that hell-hole swamps me and my mind starts going into overdrive as I imagine all the things I can do now. It doesn't come as a surprise that one of the first things I imagine is the feel of a woman with soft skin, hair… lips. It's more of a vague sensation than a clear picture and when I get to my dick, it's already hard. I don't waste any time taking care of business. After so long behind bars, I've gotten quite used to finding my release quickly and quietly.

The things you learn when you're locked up.

Once I make sure the evidence disappears down the drain, I can tell I feel less tense than before and I finish washing the rest of my body. Still unsure of what tomorrow will bring or if I'll have a chance for another shower, I wait until the last possible moment to turn the water off. Stepping out of the tub, I dry off and quickly dress. I know Wayne told me there won't be anyone in the house except the two of us, but I'm not taking any chances. I've had enough of being naked around other men and watching my back to last me a fucking lifetime. On goes my plain, white underwear and the same pants … and I sure as hell double-check to make sure the envelope's still there. When I pull the cotton t-shirt over my head, I let out a low moan of appreciation as the soft material touches my freshly-washed skin. Christ it feels good. I take a moment to hang up the towel - I might have been an inmate for the last seven years but I've never been a slob - and hurry back into my room. As I step into the hallway, I smell the aroma of grilled meat, burgers if the way my mouth is watering is any indication, wafting up the staircase and my stomach immediately growls.

I close the door behind me and my eyes dart around the room, checking to make sure nothing's out of place. It's another habit I know will take a long time to break and I take a deep breath. I have to remind myself I'm not in prison anymore. With an obscene amount of pleasure, I ball up the chambray shirt I'm holding and promptly throw it in the trashcan beside the desk, resisting the urge to set the damn thing on fire so it's nothing but ash. Three pairs of new white socks are in the dresser drawer along with the t-shirts. Sliding my shoes on after putting on a pair, I take a deep breath to calm the nerves that suddenly erupt and head downstairs. I know that what Wayne is about to tell me is going to change the rest of my life.

I hover in the entrance of the kitchen, not sure what I should be doing.

"You gonna stand there all damn day or do you want to come help?" Wayne asks me without even turning around.

"Um, yeah … what can I do?" I ask and quickly look around the kitchen.

The house is old, you can tell by the way the wallpaper has faded and the color of the refrigerator. It's surprisingly clean and the food smells fucking delicious so I really don't care if the room is painted in olive green and tangerine polka dots. I notice the table has six chairs, but is only set with two place mats and I shoot him a questioning look.

"The others will be here shortly, but I figured for your first night, it would be best for it to be just me and you. This conversation needs to be kept between us anyway, so let's eat, and then we'll talk." The words make my stomach clench but I don't have time to really think about them before he orders, "Grab the salad dressing out of the fridge, two beers, and come sit and eat while it's hot." My stomach unclenches and growls again as he slides the burgers onto a plate and sets it on the table.

I stare at him from where I stand with my hand on the door. Beer - I swear to God he just said the word beer – and I keep staring at him with my mouth hanging down to the floor.

"Masen," he says sharply and I blink … then flinch. "Open the damn door, get the salad dressing, and yes, get two," he holds up two fingers and turns them back and forth, "beers and let's eat. I'm fucking hungry and I get cranky when I don't eat."

I do as I'm told and take everything to the table. I'm salivating so badly it would take a sponge, a really fucking big one, to sop up all the drool I'm sure is dripping down the side of my mouth. There are burgers, french fries, a salad and there, looking like manna from heaven, are the two bottles of beer. It's been more than seven years since I've had a beer. I realize with a start that the last time I did, I wasn't even legal.

Holy shit …

We both fill our plates and I hover protectively around mine - a habit I've picked up during my time inside. I start to inhale my food, another reflex, until I look up and see Wayne smirking at me.

"You don't have to worry, kid, I have plenty of my own food. I don't need to take yours, too."

I have to fight the embarrassment that threatens to crawl across my face. The tone could be teasing, but it isn't. It's obvious he's spent plenty of time around people like me and he could be an ass about it, but again, he isn't. I sigh and sit up, making a conscious effort to slow down and stop looking from my left to my right like my food is all of a sudden going to disappear.

The last fourteen months at the Pre-Release center have gone a ways to lowering my guard every minute of every day, but I never forgot that I was still inside of a cement fortress behind iron bars, surrounded by razor wire, men with guns … and more often than not, a superiority complex. I'm not sure I'll ever stop tensing whenever someone looks at me, or that I'll always feel like someone is just waiting for an opening … to do something.

"It gets easier," Wayne says as he looks at me while tipping his beer bottle to his mouth.

He stares at me and I feel like there are things he's not telling me. I'm not quite sure how to take that. I'm not all that crazy about it the more I think about it, but I know better than to let him know it.

I make some sort of noncommittal groan/grunt sound, which then turns into a moan when I take the first sip of my beer. Closing my eyes, I take another and let the bitter tang of the cold brew fill my mouth before I swallow.

Hell, it's better than I remember.

We finish eating and though I want nothing more than to chug my beer, I savor every drop, taking a few small sips here and there. I have no idea when I'll get another one so I'm milking this one for all it's worth.

Wayne has long since finished his, and a glass of iced tea on top of that. He stares at me for another few moments and I try really fucking hard not to fidget in my chair. I still have no idea what's going on. Now that my stomach is full, it's kind of starting to freak me out and piss me off in equal measure.

I lift my now mostly empty bottle of beer and kind of frown when I tip it to my lips. I don't want this to be the last beer I have for God knows how long. As soon as I feel the liquid in my mouth I hear Wayne say, "You can probably be ready to go to Corea in a few days."

Well that gets my attention and in the process I choke on the last swallow of my beer. Coughing, I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and stare at him.

"What do you mean a few days?" I question as my mind races to figure out how he can manage something like that so fast.

There's obviously a lot more going on behind the scenes than I even imagine and it makes my heart thump wildly in my chest and my skin prickle. None of this has been normal, and what he's just told me reinforces that fact even more. There's no way I should be allowed to leave so soon, and to another state at that. Having him as my P.O., being allowed to stay here, the money - all of it - leaves me wondering what the fuck is going on. Hell, even I know that it's not normal to have a beer with your P.O. a few hours after having been released. There's nothing in my parole that says I can't have alcohol, but I know for a fact that drinking in a halfway house is something that isn't normally done.

"Just what I said, Masen, a few days." He does that staring/sizing me up thing again. This time I don't even try to hide my annoyance.

When he hears me huff at him, he sits up straight and looks me in the eye. "Look, kid," he starts off and I can't help but bristle at the word. I haven't been anyone's kid in a long fucking time and it's not a reminder I need every time he says something to me.

He must see something in my face because he starts again, "Edward, I know you probably have a lot of questions, so let me tell you what's going on and then we'll see where you are when I'm done. Okay?"

I nod my head at him, figuring he doesn't need anything else but that to get started and he doesn't.

"You're a smart guy so I'm sure you've been able to figure out that your release and your placement here with me is anything but ordinary. A lot of strings have been pulled, a lot of favors have been called in, all on your behalf," he begins and though I have a feeling that something like that has to have happened, it throws me to hear him admit it.

For the life of me I can't figure out why he … or anyone else for that matter … wants to help me. I don't know him; up until Ryan dropped me off I'd never even heard the name Wayne Harris, and I'm sure my confusion is clear on my face.

"Look, I know you got a bum rap and got caught up in a web you had no chance of getting out of. You were lucky Masterson got you the deal he did, even though I'm sure it hasn't always looked that way. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong guy and you tried to do the right thing. For that, you're being given a second chance. You did your time. Hopefully you'll learn to pick your 'friends' better," he says with a pointed look at the word friends because he and I both know with friends like who he is referring to, I sure as hell don't need enemies.

His eyes get even more intense as he looks at me. He leans forward to get even closer. The move leaves me uncomfortable but I don't move.

"What you did made an impression on a lot of people, me included. It takes a hell of a lot to impress me and it doesn't happen often. Very few people would have done what you did, Edward," he tells me and this time I can't help but squirm under his knowing gaze.

I shrug my shoulders not ready to talk about the night I was caught up in a clusterfuck. I know at some point I'm going to need to talk about it to someone, though who that'll be I have no idea, but I know it's not Wayne and it's certainly not right now.

The moment of awkwardness passes after he stares at me for another second or two. He leans back in his chair again and I feel myself relax just a bit.

"Every now and then a case comes up that deserves special attention and this time it's yours. Luckily for you, the right people know the right people and you wound up with me. Now I'm going to help you use that second chance you've been given and get you on your way," and with that, I can tell, I'm not getting any other answers for now.

"Now, tell me. I'm sure someone like you, who's passed the bar and all, was smart enough to get, or have your case manager get, all your paperwork in order so we can get you your driver's license so that you can have ID?" He phrases it as a question and cocks one eyebrow at me.

I run a hand through my hair in a nervous gesture, though I'm not sure why, especially because I can tell him yes … thank God.

"Yeah," I tell him and sit back in my chair, crossing my arms. "I've got a copy of my birth certificate upstairs and my Social Security card was in my wallet when I was arrested, so I'm covered there, too. For the past few weeks I've been reading over the DMV manual so I'd be ready to take the written test for my driver's license," I finish and can't help but smile, just a bit, as he nods at me.

I have no idea why, but the fact that he's pleased with my answers makes me sit up taller.

"Good, that's good. What about transportation?" he asks me and this time, my stomach flips, but in excitement. The possibilities are endless considering I can buy just about anything I want, but I tamp down that irrational urge as fast as it appears.

Like I said, I'm not an idiot. I know that money won't last forever.

I close my eyes and think for a minute and then I feel a smile spread across my face as a clear picture of what I want fills my mind. It's probably not the most practical thing considering where I'm planning on going, but I want it.

Bad.

"A 1953 Harley Davidson Panhead," I tell him as I open my eyes and smirk when I see his eyes widen in shock. A look of satisfaction settles on his face, not that he lets it linger for long of course.

"Nice," he tells me with a nod. "Why?"

This one's easy to answer. "My granddad. He was a Harley guy through and through and the Pan was his favorite bike."

He says nothing for a moment and then slaps his hands on the table. "I can't imagine it'll be too hard to find a Pan and it shouldn't cost you too much either. We'll head to a few of the bike shops in town tomorrow after we go to the bank and the DMV and see what we can do. The sooner you have transportation, the sooner you can get the hell out of here and become someone else's problem," he says with a grunt.

I cough and try to hide my smirk because he's really not as badass as he likes to think, but I'm not letting him know that. I just got out of jail; I'd kind of like to enjoy my freedom for at least twenty-four hours.

I see him check his watch and I know we need to wrap up our conversation before the other residents arrive. I'm planning on keeping to myself as much as possible for however long I have to stay here, so as soon as we're done, I'm going to my room for the rest of the night.

"Okay, well, we have the ID and transportation out of the way. We'll go to the bank tomorrow and get the money situation worked out. All that's left is to figure out what you're going to do when you get to Corea," he tells me and again his tone of voice implies he knows a hell of a lot more than what he's saying.

I lean back in my chair again and stretch my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankles. I'm having a hard time with the fact that I don't have any control over any of these decisions but I'll be damned if I'll let him know that. After seven years of having every decision made for me, from what to eat at night, to what to watch on TV during my limited free time, to what time to go to bed, letting him … or someone else … decide where I'm going to sleep every night and what I'm going to do for a living is more than a little agitating.

Wayne can obviously tell I'm getting antsy because he sighs and then leans his elbows on the table. "Masen, you're just going to have to trust me, okay? I'm not stupid enough to think you're just going to follow along and not have any questions, but we only have a short amount of time to get you out of here. If you want to go to Corea, you're just going to have to let me get things done the only way I know how."

It goes against every instinct I've built up over the past seven years, hell even long before that, but I know what he's saying is right. I don't have the first damn clue as to why all of this is happening, but I know enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Second chances don't come along often and they certainly don't come along for me. Gritting my teeth and clenching my jaw I nod at him - once, and watch as he relaxes just a bit.

"I have a friend in Corea," he begins and immediately I think 'of course you do' but I keep my mouth closed. "I've already asked if you can stay with him; he runs a boarding house so it'll work out well. He's put some feelers out about a job and I hope to hear from him about that tomorrow. You were right when you said there probably aren't a lot of jobs available in Corea, but if this works out, you should be set. My friend, Carlisle, is going to arrange to be your liaison between your P.O. up there and me." I snort in disbelief because none of this makes any fucking sense.

"Edward, Carlisle is one of the best men I know. When I asked for a favor, he granted it - no questions asked. There are good people in the world, and he's one of the best. We go back a long way, have a long history, and there's no one you could ask for help from that's more honorable than him. Just … trust me."

It's my turn to stare again and I do, holding his gaze without wavering. He stares back the same way and waits as he lets me decide my own fate. I can be a jackass about this, I can demand answers, I can question everything that's happening, or I can go with my gut and give in and follow his lead. I want a new life, I want a new beginning, and I want to be someone my grandparents would be proud of.

"Fine."

It's the only thing I tell him and then I stand up. I need to be alone and I want to go to my room. Looking at the table I know I should stay and help clean up but Wayne waves me off and I bolt up the stairs. I rest my head against the back of the door when I close it behind me and hope I haven't just made the biggest mistake of my life.

~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~

Waking up in the morning, I stay completely still as I slowly open my eyes. A part of me still feels like I'm living in some sort of alternative reality, but smelling frying bacon and hearing footsteps in the hall, I know I'm not. Everything's slowly sinking in and my heart races as I think about the fact that, in a few short days, I'll be on my way to my new life.

Breakfast isn't as awkward as I assumed it'd be because the other men that live in the house all have jobs they need to be at. I get a few questioning looks when I don't move to leave when they get up.

I could take the time to explain but I figure why bother. Once I leave I won't see any of them ever again and I'd rather not exchange personal information with guys that just got out of the same place I did.

Wayne walks in and hands me a plastic bag. "I'll meet you back here in thirty minutes and take you to the bank. Change into that," he says with a point of his chin. "We need to go to the DMV first and get your license so that you have identification for the bank. Make sure you have all your paperwork with you. I should hear from my friend up in Corea before the day is out. If all goes according to plan, your ass will be headed up North before the end of the week."

I bristle at the way he's just ordering me around and I clench my fingers into tight fists. It doesn't help that I'm still uneasy about his motivations because there are a few things that I just can't wrap my mind around, but I decide to just follow his lead. Things certainly could be a lot worse and I'm smart enough to realize that.

Meeting him back in the kitchen before the thirty minutes are up, I'm already pulling at the collar around my neck and wiping my hands nervously down the legs of my pants. I feel like a damn fool in the dress pants and shirt he's given me to wear, but I know I have to suck it up and deal. Having my picture taken while looking like a stuffed shirt isn't exactly the image I want on my license but I know that I'm already going to be fighting preconceived notions about me when I walk into the bank; not looking like a degenerate can only help matters.

My stomach kind of drops and my breathing picks up when I think about all that money. I've only known about it for less than twenty-four hours but it's become my lifeline, my safety net … my ticket to a new life. A new life I want more than anything.

When we walk outside he leads me to a gorgeous midnight blue 1970 Chevy Chevelle. There are two white racing stripes down the hood and I can't help the way my mouth opens in shock.

He chuckles beside me as I hear the beep to unlock the doors and once I'm settled in my seat complete with seat belt, we're off. I try not to think about how long it's been since I've rode in a car, barring the short ride with Ryan yesterday, or interacted with people that aren't criminals or guards, how long it's been since I was able to do anything … go anywhere.

Luckily for me, I don't have much time to dwell because as soon as we start heading toward downtown Boston, Wayne starts talking. We make small talk. Well, he asks questions and I answer. What kind of jobs I had during my incarceration, did I pass the bar exam on my first try; I am happy to answer that one with a proud hell yes. If I had any cellmates, what kind of books I liked to read - just normal shoot the shit kind of talk.

During a break in the conversation, I decide to turn the tables and ask him something I've been dying to ask since dinner last night. "Tell me about this Carlisle guy you're sending me to. What's he like? How do you know him?"

I watch as Wayne shifts in his seat a bit, like he's trying to get comfortable because this might take a while.

"I've known Carlisle Cullen for almost thirty years now. We met our freshman year in college. We were both on the rowing team and got paired as roommates. We are about as different as night and day, which you'll notice immediately the first time you meet him, but we just clicked. He and his wife, Esme, married during college. I was best man at their wedding," he finishes with a smile and it's obvious how much he cares about this Carlisle and Esme.

For a moment I wonder what it would be like to be have a friend for that long. Hell, I wonder what it would be like to have a friend like that at all. Seven years ago I thought I had a friend; it turned out to be the worst mistake I've ever made.

To keep myself from lingering on that unpleasant thought too much, I look at him and ask the question I wanted to ask last night, but didn't. "Why is he helping me?"

I watch as a flash of pain contorts his face but as soon as it appears, it's gone. It's so fast, no longer than a blink of an eye, but I see it. Pain so raw and fierce it takes my breath away but instinctively I know I can't ask what's caused it.

I do see his fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white and hear as he breathes out through his nose. Once he's loosened his death grip he says, "Like I told you last night - because I asked him to. Carlisle has spent his whole life helping people, some who've deserved it more than others, and now he's going to help you because you do deserve it."

I don't say anything and when he pulls up in the DMV parking lot he turns the car off but he doesn't move. Neither do I.

"Edward," he begins and stares out the window. His voice sounds far away and I can tell he's thinking of whatever it is that's caused that pain on his face from just a moment ago. "I hardly know you, but I can tell you're a good man. I've talked to Masterson, I've read over your case file from prison, I've seen the DA's file, and I've read the notes from your arrest. It isn't often in my line of work that I see people change their lives for the better, but I believe that I will with you. Carlisle and I can only do so much … you have the hard part. Helping you find a place to live, get a job, get on your feet is the easy part. Learning how to adjust, to become a member of society again, that's where the hard work comes in."

His words settle heavily in the car. There's a roar in my mind as I think about everything he's just said. My heart pounds as hard and fast as a jackhammer and I can't hear anything else. It's been so long since anyone has talked to me like I was anything more than a number, and to hear it from this man, who, from the very first moment I met him, I could tell is a good man, means more than I can ever tell him.

Somehow, I know he wouldn't want me to tell him, so I say nothing. I just nod my head to let him know I've heard what he's said and we both make our way into the DMV.

A few excruciating hours later, because, really, is there anything more painful than the DMV, I have a temporary license in my hand. Armed with identification our next stop is the bank.

Walking in, it feels like every set of eyes in the place are watching me suspiciously … like they all know there's an ex-con in their midst and they're trying to decide whether or not I'm safe. I roll my shoulders to try to relieve it of the tension I can feel building - as if the knot at the back of my neck isn't enough indication.

Rationally I know there isn't one person, save for Wayne and more than likely the bank officer we'll be meeting with, that knows I've recently been an inmate, but I can't help what I feel. I wonder if it'll always feel this way. A part of me is terrified to think that it might.

After filling out a mountain of paperwork, I walk out of the bank feeling a mixture of fear and excitement boiling just beneath the surface. Fear because I'm carrying a backpack full of cash and excitement because, with said cash, I can get the hell out of here and on my way to Corea.

By the time we make it back to the halfway house, I'm the proud owner of a 1953 Harley Davidson Panhead as well as a new wardrobe. Dumping my bags on the bed, I can't help but let out what has to sound like a maniacal cackle. I look around for the men in white coats to come take me away because the last twenty-four hours feels like I've been plopped into Wonderland and I'm about have tea with the Mad Hatter. Looking at the backpack and seeing the green bills inside of it, I know I'm right where I'm supposed to be.

Taking a deep breath, I let out one more soft chuckle. I strip out of my clothes and I climb into bed with my arms securely wrapped around the backpack that's the key to my future.

~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~

"You have everything?" Wayne asks me five days later as we stand on the front porch.

I nod at him and tighten the straps on the backpack. "Yep, I'm all set."

My bike was delivered the day before. Everything has been arranged with Carlisle, including my new job as a deckhand on a lobster boat. It isn't the job I was expecting, but there's a tingle of excitement that races up my spine when I think about it. I've never done anything like it before. Nothing in my life has prepared me for working on a boat, but since Wayne told me Carlisle had found me a job working as a fisherman, I want it.

Desperately.

The open water, hard work, being a part of … something … it's more than I could have asked for and I'm grateful beyond belief for the way things are turning out.

"You're not rid of me yet, kid, just so you know. I'll be checking on you from time to time and Carlisle will tell me everything," he warns and I know from the tone of his voice, he's serious.

I don't expect anything less and though I'll never tell him, the fact that he cares enough to check on me means a whole fucking lot.

He slaps me on the back. "Get out of here. It'll be dark soon and you'll want to be at Carlisle and Esme's in time for dinner. Don't forget, he'll help you get in contact with your P.O. up there. Take care of yourself, Edward," he tells me gruffly, then disappears inside.

I stand there for a second when I hear the door click and then walk to my bike, making sure my things are stowed securely. I double-check to make sure my backpack is fastened as tight as it can be. When the bike rumbles to life beneath me, I can't help but shiver for a moment when I realize I'm … free.

Staring at the house for another moment, I take a deep breath then walk the bike backward to the street. I give the house one last look. I silently thank the man inside for everything he's done for me before revving the engine and leaving him and my old life behind.

A few short hours later as I drive through Gouldsboro I pass a sign that says:

Corea - 20 miles

I hit the gas … I can't wait to get there.

~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~