"Why didn't you just tell her? I know it's your stepfather. You live in the same house; he can't be that good at hiding it." I don't look at him. I get into his car and sigh at the warmth inside, shivering at the cold covering me from the inside out. He gets in and starts the car, turning on the heater for me even though he looks like he's roasting.

"I didn't tell her, because my stepfather doesn't do drugs--he drinks--and if he sells them, then, yes, he is very good at keeping it hidden." I break out in a sweat because of the heater and am instantly even colder. So cold.

"I don't believe you." Adam hands me his jacket from the back of the car and I slip it on, grateful, while knowing that it won't do a thing to warm me up. He's headed for the house until he pulls into a tiny little coffee shop and cafe on the corner of Franklin and Otter. I haven't a clue what he's up to.

"What are you doing?" I ask, pulling my hands all the way into the sleeves of my jacket and shivering some more.

"Treating you." He smiles and beckons for me to get out and follow him. I do so slowly and hesitate when he opens the door for me, but walk in eventually.

"To what? And--why?" I see people look at me from the corner of my eye. They have on curious expressions, wondering why I am shivering and wearing a fuzzy raincoat in the middle of an 85-degree day. They sip on their fancy frappuccinos and iced coffees, wearing tank tops and short shorts like it's the middle of July and not the beginning of May.

"To some hot coffee and a scone, because warming you up from the outside in doesn't seem to be working." He flashes a smile at the barista and doesn't touch me, but keeps a steady arm near in case I need it. I don't.

"Hello, my name is Candy. What can we get started for you?" Candy. What kind of deceiving name is that? What if she isn't sweet as candy, hm?

Adam nudges me gently and I recite from memory, "A grande, double-shot, white chocolate mocha with skim milk, please."

My eyes bug out and I stammer "W-wait, cancel that. I'll just have a grande chai tea latte, please." I motion that I'm going to find a seat and Adam nods, asking Candy for a plain black coffee, same size as mine. I find a seat near the windows, away from the dark corners and the chatting people. Away from where me and Evangeline used to sit.

He brings a tray to the table with my chai latte and his coffee on it, but it also holds a muffin and a couple scones. A chocolate muffin. Oh, I haven't had chocolate since...

"Go ahead and have it. I don't like chocolate." I jump guiltily, realizing I've been staring at the darned muffin for the past minute or so. I didn't even thank him.

I grab it up and take a nibble off, chewing and swallowing, and smile. Truly, genuinely smile. I don't remember the last time I did that. Probably the last time I had chocolate. Setting the gihugic muffin down, I sip off my chai latte, then look up at Adam.

"Thank you. It's been a long while since I've been to this little place." He nods and sips off of his own coffee, but, I notice, leaving the scones alone as well. When I raise my eyebrows at him, he just shrugs. For me as well? I can't finish all of it.

My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I'm actually starving. Well, I suppose I can. I pluck a piece off the muffin and savor it, eyes closed and smile wide.

"So... your stepfather's a drunk, huh?" His voice is soft, but I don't look up. I keep snacking on the muffin and sipping off my latte. I must admit, it has helped warm me up--even on the inside. I quietly scoff at his term. 'Drunk' just doesn't cut it.

"What is he then if not a drunk? An alcoholic? C'mon, Philena, tell me something." The worst part about Adam is that he honestly cares--and he shows it in everything. He shows it in the inflections in his voice. He shows it in his eyes, in his expression, in his body language. I want to tell him so badly that it hurts, but every time I open my mouth, nothing comes out and I cover it with taking a bite of the muffin or one of the scones. By the end of my I'm-going-to-tell-him, no-I'm-not cycle, I have finished off the scones and the muffin is almost gone too. I am halfway through my latte by the time I answer him.

"Yeah, he's an alcoholic, okay?" I nibble at the muffin, but don't taste it anymore. He looks at my wrists, bandaged up. One of them is a little stained--red. I put the muffin down and hide my arms in my lap, looking out the window at the people as they pass by. Most of them have smiles on their faces and are laughing at something or other. The ones who aren't are yelling into a phone, angry. I wonder how angry they get. Do they get angry enough to hurt? Angry enough to kill?

I look back at Adam and he has his Cop Look on. I scowl.

"Don't give me that look." His voice is cool and calm, no longer gentle and warm. I don't put the scowl away and he finally just ignores it and continues. "What's he like when he's drunk? Is he aggressive? Abusive?" My face shows nothing, but I answer him.

"He--When he's drunk--He's just angry. He yells and threatens, then falls asleep and by the time he wakes back up, I'm back from school the next day." Lies. It's all lies. Why can't I just tell the truth?

"Just angry? What does he threaten to do?" I ignore him for a second to check the time on the cafe's cute little coffee cup clock and fear skitters through me--it's past five o'clock. I was supposed to be home fifteen minutes ago to make dinner for Stepmonster. Adam glances at the clock and nods his head. The Cop Look disappears.

"Want a ride home?" As if he has to ask. I nod though, and dump whatever's left in the trash, and he takes me home.