Lost Boy

Chapter 3

Edward POV

Four months earlier

All the money was gone. I only left home a little over a week ago, and I already had nothing to my name. To be fair, my father only had a few hundred dollars in his wallet when I'd swiped it, and the bastard cancelled his credit cards on day one. But not before I could buy a train ticket to California. I was never going back to Chicago, ever.

But now that I was here, I realized I didn't really have a plan, or any idea of how to live on my own. I was nearly eighteen, never left home aside from the fucking boarding school my parents sent me to. Guess I pulled one too many pranks, got kicked out of one too many schools for my father's liking. I didn't blame him really. I was a fuck up, he said so himself. Too interested in having fun and playing pranks. All I could see was my father's face seething with anger, his enraged voice ringing in my ears...

-Breaking into the headmaster's office to give every student in the school an F? You only have half a year left and you get kicked out again! And for what? Asinine, idiotic, downright criminal behavior!

You're so dumb, Edward. Trust my kid sister Alice to add her two cents to my misery.

You'll never amount to anything, Edward. You're a fuck up. You take every opportunity handed to you and just piss it away. Do you have anything to say for yourself? No? That's it then. You've left us with no choice. We're enlisting you in military school to finish your senior year. See how well your privileged ass will do there - they'll break your rebellious streak, that's for sure.-

I knew as well as he did that I would not fare well in military school, so that night, when everyone was asleep, I swiped the old man's wallet and left Chicago behind forever. Of course, I was extremely short-sighted in my rush to get away, and I didn't bring so much as a change of clothes with me. Once I got off the train at Union Station, I realized how dumb I'd been, so I went into a department store to buy some new duds, and it was at the register I realized dear old Dad had cut off the credit cards. I'd never been so embarrassed in my life when the check-out girl told me the card was declined, and I hightailed it out of there, my face beet-red.

Now, two days had passed since my train arrived in downtown Los Angeles. With no money, I couldn't stay anywhere or eat anything. I'd luckily found a half-drunk water bottle on the top of a full trash bin, and I drank it down, careful not to let the rim of the bottle touch my lips, hoping to God it actually was water. At least I wouldn't die of dehydration - it was hot as hell here in Southern California. My clothes were sweaty and filthy from sleeping in the park for the last two nights, if you could call it sleeping. I basically rested with one eye open, afraid to let down my guard. Any street dweller could approach me and do anything they wanted with me; I was so hungry that my body was weak— there would be no chance of me winning any kind of fight. Luckily, I wasn't disturbed by anyone. When I walked by a store window and caught my reflection, I realized why— I looked like the other bums, like I belonged on the street. My face was dirty, my hair greasy, huge dark circles surrounding my eyes.

A burning sensation pricked behind my eyes, and I knew I wouldn't be able to hold back the tears. I ducked into an alleyway so no one would see me cry and hunkered down next to a dumpster that reeked like rotten fish. The smell was atrocious, but I felt confident no one would venture down this way if they could avoid it. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I hid my face in my pillowed arms and let the sobs come.

What had I done? What had I gotten myself into? How would I get back home? Did I really want to go back home? Because I wouldn't really be going home. I'd be going to military school.

I was pulled from my wallowing by the sound of footsteps approaching. My sense of flight skyrocketed— here I was in an alley, my face tear-streaked, my stomach empty, and nothing in my wallet to offer this likely thief approaching me. The hulking figure was standing in front of me before my addled brain could tell my body to move. I was trapped now— whatever was going to happen was going to happen. Trying to keep the fear from my eyes, I lifted my head to look at the man. His height and muscles were imposing, but his face was angular, yet boyish, his eyes soft, his short brown hair with not-too-tight curls framing his face. Despite the large stature, he seemed kind, and concerned. He squatted down so he could meet me at my eye level.

"Hey, man. Are you alright?"

I just blinked and he shook his head.

"No, of course you're not. Look at you. Have you eaten anything today?"

My stomach rumbled loudly at the mere thought of food and I shook my head.

"Do you want to?"

I sniffled and nodded, looking down, ashamed.

The man sighed. "Why don't you come back to my place. You can shower and have a bite."

Suspicious of his intentions, I bit my lip before asking, "W-why are you doing this?"

He sighed again, his brow furrowing. "You don't look like you belong out here. You look like someone who needs help. I get you being nervous to trust me. All I can do is promise I won't hurt you. The choice is yours."

I looked into the burly man's soft, brown eyes. I thought I sensed sincerity in them, and honestly, my hunger was clouding my decisions. I took a deep breath and put my hand in his out-stretched one, allowing him to haul me to my feet.

Against my better judgement, I followed him out of the alley, trying not to think about the possibility he could be leading me to certain death. He seemed genuine enough, but isn't that what they always say about serial killers? No matter, where else was I going to go? Whatever happened, at least I wouldn't die starving next to a fish market dumpster.

Emmett POV

I don't have a fucking pimp. Sure, they've approached me, but I flat-out refused to work for anybody. They always threatened me with some type of bodily harm after I'd say no, but they never followed through on any of the threats. I mean, I'm still walking around, aren't I?

I was in control of my own destiny. I didn't need to answer to anyone, or share my income with anyone, for that matter. It was all for me, and it damn well should be with all the things I do. I did have to rotate the spots where I picked up my customers so there wasn't a risk of crossing into what they claim is their territory. I hated giving even an inch to the pimps, but I have to survive on these streets so I can get the money to pay for the rent and electric and food...it all adds up, and fast.

Now that The Kid was here, he could help me pay for that shit and maybe we could even have a little extra to have fun, like go to a movie, or the arcade. He seemed like a nice kid, scared and nervous, but nice. I could clean him up and recruit him to work with me. He was pretty and slim, sort of a twink. His dance card would never be empty. Anyway, he kind of owed me. He was huddled next to a dumpster in the alleyway around the corner from my apartment, covered in filth, penniless, and starving. The Kid was a sorry sight, and then he looked up and our eyes met and I saw so much fear and sadness in him. I felt like I needed to help him somehow. He just looked kind of innocent, like he didn't belong on the mean streets of L.A.

The Kid was uncomfortable, standing there in my living room, scratching his forearm and biting his lip. He didn't raise his eyes to look at me. I wondered what his story was, but I didn't want to push him to tell me anything yet.

"Uh, do you want a drink or something?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Um, no thanks." The way he was chewing his lip, I thought he might bite through it.

"Okay."

We just stood there for a few awkward moments, his eyes darting around before landing on the ashtray on my coffee table.

"Uh, do you have an extra cigarette?" he asked with hope in his voice.

He seemed a little young to be a smoker, but hey, what did I know. "Sure, man. Menthol okay?" I asked, tossing him the pack from my back pocket.

He caught it, nodding gratefully, and slid one out of the box. He sat on the couch, grabbed the matches from the table, and lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply and looking like he was in absolute heaven. On the exhale, he gave a little sigh of contentment that made me want one too. I lit my own cigarette, and took a seat on the faded old armchair across from the table. We just sat staring at each other while we smoked, wondering what the other was thinking. When he'd finished and stubbed out the butt, I broke the weird silence.

"So, I thought maybe you could take a shower. You can borrow some of my clothes, but they'll be too big on you. While you're in there, I'll make us some grub, ok?"

He smiled then, and met my eyes. "Thanks, man."

"Emmett," I said, going in for a handshake.

He grasped my hand and shook it. "Edward," he said, still smiling at me. I showed him to the bathroom and left some clothes that I'd outgrown outside the door, along with an extra toothbrush for him. Going back to the kitchen, I searched for something to eat. The fridge was pretty empty. I had the flu last week, so I couldn't work. The funds were a little short, and rent was due in two days. I had enough to cover it, but not enough extra to really buy food just yet.

Pulling out the eggs and bread, I fired up the stove and thought about Edward. By the way he acted, it seemed like he felt lucky I plucked him off the street. I wondered how lucky he'll think he is when he finds out I fuck men for money, and that I think he should do it too. I mean, the thought probably never crossed Edward's mind before. The kid looked like a teenage runaway, but from a rich family. Under all that grime, he looked sort of...I guess polished is the best word.

He returned just as I set the dishes on the card table that served as my dining table. I was right, he cleaned up real nice. Edward was totally out of his element and swimming in my clothes. But he looked so grateful, bashful even, like he was embarrassed I'd found him in that state. Typical rich kid, worried about appearances.

"Thanks for making food. I love eggs and toast," he said as he sat down.

"Yeah, sorry it's kind of lame, but I haven't been to the grocery store in a while."

"No, no! It's cool. Like I said, I love any breakfast foods. Waffles, bacon, coffee, sausage, eggs, toast. Breakfast for dinner, man, that's where it's at."

I watched as he stuffed a forkful of the eggs in his mouth. That was the most he'd spoken to me since I took him in, and I was kinda shell-shocked. He seemed like he was someone I might actually get along with.

I smiled at him. "Yeah, I love it too."

We were quiet again as we ate, neither of us knowing what to say to the other. So, I decided to address the elephant in the room.

"Look, Edward. Obviously, you've been through some shit. I don't need to know your story. As long as harboring you isn't gonna get me killed, you can stay here for as long as you want."

He smiled a little at that and nodded. "Wow, thank you."

"Only…" I hesitated a moment. "I need help with the rent. So, you'll have to work so you can pay half."

There he went, worrying his lip again. "Oh, er, okay, but…" He looked down at his plate. "Well, I've never had a job before. I don't know where to start."

Wow, so dead on about the rich kid thing. Could I read people or what. Time to break the news. Better he find out now than later. "You can do what I do. I could train you. It's pretty lucrative."

He glanced around my apartment, which was a mix of things I bought and things I found on a curbside and brought home. Then, he looked down at the eggs and toast on his plate, then back up at me with his eyebrow raised.

"No, seriously. I was sick last week, so I couldn't work."

He gave me a disbelieving look. "Okay. So, what do you do, then?"

I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. "I'm a hustler."

"Like, drugs?" he asked, his eyes wide with horror.

I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped. Tamping down my amusement, I said in a serious tone, "No, not drugs. Sex."

Edward looked so taken aback, I thought he might faint for a minute. When he recovered from his surprise, he wanted confirmation. "Women pay you to sleep with them?"

I chuckled again. "No, that's a gigolo. Men pay to sleep with a hustler."

He looked even more shocked, if that were possible. He actually recoiled a little. He seemed to realize that he was being really obvious about how he felt, and struggled to compose himself.

"Uh, er, you didn't strike me as gay."

"I'm not."

He paused, trying to process that. "You're straight, but you let men fuck you?"

"Yup," I replied, popping the P.

Shaking his head, it took him a second to gather himself before he wondered, "Why?"

I shrugged. "It pays better. Men are willing to pay more, and men are repeat customers. Women don't have as high a sex drive. It's men who buy hookers most of the time. I've gotten as much as seventy-five bucks for blowing a dude." Edward's mouth fell open. "Yeah, I thought that was pretty good. I usually charge fifty—gotta stay competitive out there."

Edward realized his mouth was open and snapped it shut.

Pushing my empty plate away, I crossed my arms in front of me on the table. "So, I take it you're not gay either." Edward shook his head. "Well, it's not so bad, once you get over the fact that you're with another man. I mean, you have a cock, so you know what to do with one. It's easy to give hand jobs and blow jobs. You create your own rules. You don't have to let them cum in your mouth. You could even make them wear a condom, but you'll get paid a lot less. Oh, and men know the right way to touch you too, so it's enjoyable if you let yourself enjoy it. I always use condoms for sex though."

He scoffed at that, his head shaking again. "Yeah, well, maybe I could get over the mental block for hand and blow jobs, but I never had anything in my ass before, and I'm not about to start."

"You don't have to offer sex. Blow jobs would make you enough. You'd probably have to do a few each night though." Edward shifted in his seat, looking highly uncomfortable. I wasn't here to force him into what I was doing, I just wanted him to bring home some cash. Hustling was just an easy way to do that, but I didn't want him to think he had to. "Look, you don't have to do it, but you do have to get some kind of job, like flipping burgers or something."

He seemed relieved I let him off the hook. He met my eyes and smiled a little. "Well, I'll think about it."

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A while later, after we watched a lame movie with too many commercials on TV, I made up the couch as a bed for him.

"Now don't go stealing anything," I teased.

He laughed. "Please, for all I know, you lured me here to kill me in my sleep."

I laughed with him, but thought that was kind of a twisted thing to say. Maybe he's been through more than I gave him credit for. Still, I'd wait for him to tell me. In the meantime, it was nice to have some company. He'd just better get cracking on that job hunt.

A/N: Please let me know what you thought! A new chapter next week 😊