“Holy shit, Erin!”
Tiffany’s standing there when I open the door, her phone in her hand. Her eyes lift from her screen, widening slightly when they land on me.
“Oh my God! Are you okay?”
My gut tightens. She should be at work at the bar. Dammit. I was hoping to get in and out with no complications.
Why is she here? My mind flashes to Misha, to his obsession, to the way he always seems to be two steps ahead. Did he send her? Is she here to keep tabs on me?
I shove the paranoia down, forcing myself to breathe. My fingers loosen their grip on the doorknob.
“Hey!” I try my best to sound chipper, like I’m totally happy to see her. “Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be? What’s up, girlie?”
I catch my reflection when I follow her gaze toward the hallway mirror. The slap from earlier still burns, a faint red mark across my cheek, stark against my pale skin.
Tiffany sets her phone down on the coffee table. “Oh my God,” she repeats. Her eyes are locked on my face. “What the hell happened?”
I let out a breath, the weight of the evening pressing down on me. The truth is acid in my mouth, but there’s no point in hiding it.
“Misha sent someone after me.”
Her eyes flash. “Are you fucking serious?”
“One of Misha’s goons tried to take me to him. He crept up on me when I was walking to the subway. When I refused to go with him, he slapped me.” I glance at her, trying to gauge her reaction. “My new boss took care of it.”
Tiffany’s eyes widen again, her lips parting slightly. Shock registers on her face, clear and raw. For a second, she just stares at me, the color draining from her cheeks. “He hit you?”
“Yeah. It’s fine now. Like I said, my new boss took care of it.”
I head straight to the bedroom, my steps heavy, my mind a blur. The walls of our tiny, shared space seem to close in on me, suffocating. I reach under the bed and grab my duffel bag. As I unzip it, I glance around the room. I need to cram my whole life into this bag and I have no idea where to start.
I begin by throwing random clothes in—shirts, jeans, a couple of hoodies, underthings. My movements are quick and mechanical. I don’t have much, but suddenly it feels like a lot.
“What’s happening?” she asks, watching me as I pack. “Misha sends some asshole to hurt you, your boss takes care of it, whatever that means, and now you’re packing a bag. Erin, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”
I take a deep breath before turning around. Tiffany leans in the doorway, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“I’m going away for a while,” I say, my tone clipped. “If you guys need a new roommate, go ahead. I’ll figure something out later.”
She gasps. “You’re moving out? Just like that?”
Tiffany and I aren’t that close, but I should tell her the truth. “I know this sounds insane, but I’m going to stay with Samuel until Misha cools off.”
“Your boss. Seriously? You’re going to stay with him? Like, at his place?”
“Like I said, I know it sounds insane. But I’d hoped Misha was done with me. Apparently, he’s not. So, I either have to leave town or stay with Samuel until this all blows over.”
Tiffany sits down next to me. “You’re right, this does sound insane. But you do have to get somewhere safe.”
Samuel’s still a big question mark, but right now he’s my safest bet. “Exactly. Anyway, listen, he’s waiting for me outside, so I need to go.”
She springs up and rushes to the window in the living room.
I sling the duffel bag over my shoulder and head to the bathroom. I grab my toiletries and personal effects and toss them into a smaller bag.
“Holy shit, nice ride. He’d better not idle it there for too long in this neighborhood, though. I bet every pair of eyes on the block is on it right now.”
I laugh to myself at the idea of some punk coming up on Samuel, getting a swift punch to the face—if they’re lucky. I shove the rest of my stuff in the bag and head back to the bedroom.
My social work books are there, practically staring at me. I know it’s stupid, I know I don’t have the room. All the same, I rush over and scoop them up, cramming them into the last bit of free space in my duffel bag.
Tiffany is standing at the door again. Her face is glum. Something’s wrong.
“What is it?”
She sighs, biting her lip. “Okay, don’t be mad at me. I should’ve told you this earlier. But Misha’s been showing up in the dressing room at work every night. He’s been asking Erica and Kailee where you are. Threatening them. He really wants to find you.”
I pause for just a second, the weight of her words crashing over me. My jaw clenches until my teeth ache. The thought of Misha lurking around, intimidating the other girls, makes my blood boil.
He doesn’t own me. He never did.
My voice is tight and cold as I say, “Tell him I left town.”
I shoulder past Tiffany, the walls of the apartment closing in like a vice. I can’t breathe in here anymore. I have to get out.
I stop, my eyes drifting toward the kitchen. A few of my things are scattered on the counter—a chipped coffee mug, a box of cereal, a half-empty jar of peanut butter. Stupid, insignificant objects that make up the routine of a life I’m leaving behind. None of it matters.
Behind me, Tiffany’s voice quivers. “I’m scared, Erin. For you. For us. What if Misha or his guys show up here?”
The weight of her words hits me hard. This isn’t just my problem anymore; it’s bled into their lives too. I’m dragging them into my mess, putting them in danger just by existing. But she’s right. It’s not just about me now.
“Maybe you should find somewhere else to go as well.”
Tiffany’s shoulders sag, her arms wrapping tighter around her midsection like she’s trying to hold herself together. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t have some rich guy’s apartment to run to,” she whispers. She glances at the clock on the wall. “Anyway, I have to get to work.”
Her words hang in the air, heavy and hopeless. But I know she does have somewhere to go. Her mom lives just thirty minutes away in Queens. They’re still close, despite everything. She’s clinging to this life out of habit, out of fear of change. I get it. I’ve been doing the same thing.
“Go stay with your mom, Tiff. Get a new job. This isn’t worth it.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine, uncertainty clouding her expression. She doesn’t answer, but I can see the idea sinking in, the thought of escape finally taking root.
“It’s just… I made such a big deal about moving out on my own. Mom lost her mind when I told her I was going to move to freaking West Central. But I was like, no way, I can totally do it. Having to crawl back is going to be tough.”
I step over to Tiffany and place my hand on her upper arm, giving it a squeeze. “I know it’s a shitty situation and I’m sorry. But we knew what we were getting into when Misha started roping us into his bullshit.”
She looks down at the floor and nods. “Yeah. Good money but bad people. Guess it was only a matter of time before one of us got in too deep.” She looks at my bag again. “Where are you going?”
“Huh? To Samuel’s. Like I said.”
“No, I mean where specifically. Like, where in the city.”
My gut twists. Is she asking out of concern or is she trying to get information for Misha? The thought stabs through me. I don’t want to believe it, but I can’t afford to take chances. Misha has a way of making people talk, whether it’s through money or pain.
“Somewhere outside Denver, out in the sticks,” I say. “He didn’t tell me the exact address.”
“Sounds a little scary.”
“I trust him,” I say, and I mean it. “I need to go. I’ve spent too much time here already. I’ll call you when I’m safe,” I say quickly, my fingers tightening on the zipper of my duffel bag. I yank it closed with a sharp, final motion. No more time for questions, no more time for doubt.
Tiffany rushes over, throwing her arms around me. I hug her back.
“Just be safe,” she says. “And text me when you get there, alright? I don’t want to worry about you.”
I smile. Tiffany can be a little much, but she cares.
“Yeah. You too. Stay in touch.”
I head for the door, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The cold night air hits me as I rush down the stairs, sharp and bracing. Samuel is waiting, leaning against his SUV with quiet confidence, making my chest ache. He sees me and straightens, opening the back without a word. He takes the bags from my hands and sets them inside.
“I was starting to get worried,” he says. “Thought Misha might’ve been up there waiting for you.”
“Sorry, just roommate stuff.”
“All good?”
“As good as it can be, I guess.”
I climb into the passenger seat. Before Samuel closes the door, I glance up at my place one last time. Tiffany is standing on the tiny fire escape, arms wrapped around herself, her face a pale blur in the dark.
I lift my hand in a small wave, the gesture feeling hollow and empty.
She doesn’t wave back.
Samuel closes the door then walks around and gets in. I don’t know if I’m leaving danger behind or if it’s following me, but one thing is clear: there’s no turning back now.
