Page 143 of Terms of Exposure
"Get up."
I prowled closer, vision tunneling.
"You wanted to go. So let's go."
He lurched to his feet and bolted down the hallway toward the elevator, blood dripping.
This was the edge—the place men like my father never stopped.
Is that me?
I shook my head.
I'm not him. Not him.
He jabbed the elevator button. Once. Twice. Three times.
I pulled out my phone as I walked.
"911, state your emergency."
"I'd like to report a trespasser."
My voice stayed calm. Pleasant. Polished.
"Man showed up at my friend's apartment. Harassing her. Refusing to leave. He has a history of domestic violence against her."
Garrett's head whipped around—panic slicing through bravado.
"Yes, he's still here," I continued. "Bleeding, actually. He took a swing at me. I defended myself."
The elevator dinged. Doors slid open.
He stepped in.
So did I.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed.
"Making sure you leave."
"I'm leaving."
"Good." I leaned against the back wall, arms crossed. "Then this won't take long."
I gave the dispatcher the address. She confirmed the officer's arrival.
The slammed door heard in the hall had triggered an earlier call.
The elevator doors slid shut.
"You think you're some kind of hero?" he spat. "Swooping in to save her?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"I'm the guy who's going to make your life very difficult if you ever come near her again."
