Page 44 of Blades Out
"Oh." The word slipped out flat. Dead. "Okay."
Something shifted in her expression—recognition, maybe, or pity. "We do have a discount program if you're a student, or?—"
"No. I'm not." I stepped back, face burning. "Thanks anyway."
"Sure thing. If you change your mind?—"
I was already out the door.
The cold air hit, sharp enough to sting my eyes. Or maybe that was something else entirely.
Of course you can't afford it. Of course you can't have this one thing that might actually help. Of course.
I walked fast, head down, shoving my hands deep in my pockets so nobody would see them shaking.
Three blocks back to the stadium. Back to work. Back to pretending I had any control over my own life.
The spark guttered out completely.
My feet slowed without permission, dragging against concrete like my body knew better than to rush back into the noise and chaos waiting at the stadium.
The street stretched quiet around me—midday lull between lunch and rush hour, storefronts dark or half-empty. Normal people living normal lives while mine threatened to collapse again.
Marsha's voice played on loop through my head. Your father is being released.
Five words. That was all it took to shatter everything I'd built.
I pressed my arms tighter across my stomach, trying to hold the pieces together through sheer will.
What would I even say if he showed up? If he found me walking down this street, or leaving work, or fumbling with my apartment keys in the dark?
The scenarios built themselves without my consent—vivid and terrible.
You ruined my life.
No. Too weak. He'd laugh. Tell me I was always dramatic, always making things about myself.
Stay away from me or I'll call the cops.
Except cops hadn't stopped him before. A restraining order was just paper. Easy to ignore when you'd already decided consequences didn't apply to you.
I'm not afraid of you anymore.
The lie caught in my throat even imagining it. Because I was terrified. Had been terrified my whole childhood. Still woke gasping some nights from dreams where his hands found my mother's throat again, or mine, or?—
My breath stuttered. Stopped.
The world narrowed to the sudden absence of air in my lungs, the vice grip around my ribs, the dizzy static creeping into my vision.
Not here.
Not now.
I forced myself to stop walking. Lean against the nearest brick wall. Count.
Five in. Hold. Five out.
Five in. Hold. Five out.
