She loosened her grip, letting me turn—only to wrap herself around me again, even tighter than before.
"Seriously? What are you doing? Stop being such a brat," I snapped.
Nathalie's fingers curled into fists, grabbing the thin cotton of my shirt.
No matter how many times I tried to pull away, she wouldn't let go.
Her body pressed against mine, warm enough for her heartbeat to pound through my ribs.
"You're lying." She mumbled.
"You said you will protect me forever. Even if no one else did. Even if it killed you." she bit down hard on her lip.
Of course I remembered that day. But that was a different version of me—back when I still had hope.
"Please... just live your life. Find someone who can give you something better. Someone who can pull you out of this hellhole. I'm a coward—a screw-up. Whatever you saw in me... it was never real."
She didn't move. The silence between us stretched, broken only by the sound of her breath.
"I don't care about those things."
Without warning, she stepped forward and kissed me.
"Nathalie, just stop!" I pushed her back.
If this went any further, I would start thinking dangerous thoughts—things that could get us both killed.
"Fine." She wiped her chin with the back of her hand and left without looking back.
I didn't move until her footsteps faded down the stairs.
Then I locked the door.
I sank down, slow like syrup, until my lower back touched the floor.
Each breath burned. Maybe the floor was too cold. Or maybe I just didn't know how to breathe right anymore.
Fuck!
I wanted to punch a hole in the wall and crawl inside it. Somewhere dark. Somewhere no one could ever find me.
But there was no hope left for me.
Staggering to the bed, I grabbed the painkillers off the desk and nearly dropped them. Dry-swallowed two.
The moment I laid down, heat crept under my skin again.
I breathed through my mouth, counting the thuds in my chest. The painkillers started to kick in, slow and heavy, like someone dragging fog across my insides.
Ring ring ring.
My phone buzzed under a pile of shirts.
A message from one of Robert's thugs: meet at the market stalls tonight.
Some store owners refused to pay the 20% monthly interest. We were going to deal with it.
Fuck. People like him... No—people like us were the cancer.
Loan sharks fed on desperation, offering a way out that only led to a deeper hole.
Still, I had to go. If not, they'd beat me again. Worse, they'd come after Nathalie.
I remembered what Robert said—that threat to hurt her if I ever tried anything. Even if I took her and ran, he'd still find us.
That couldn't happen. I wasn't like my parents. I didn't run from family.
With that thought, I closed my eyes and rested.
---
A few hours later.
The phone buzzed again.
I opened my eyes slowly. Fumbled through the mess until I found it.
(We're outside. Don't make us wait.)
Click!
I forced myself up. Threw on a black hoodie. Pocketed a knife. Didn't look in the mirror.
Outside, the white van waited—same as always.
Inside smelled like sweat, smoke, and something sour.
Three of Robert's guys were already there.
Niko drove. Scar on his lip. Grin like a wolf.
Leon sat in the front, chewing a toothpick like it owed him money.
In the back with me was Dre. Youngest. Twitchy. Loudmouth.
"Bro, we're gonna beat those guys. That's what they get for not paying," Dre laughed.
I remembered the story. He got kicked out of high school for punching a teacher.
He was strong—for a teenager. But I'd seen him fight. Sloppy hands, no defense. If we ever threw down, two clean hits would end it.
I said nothing. Just kept my eyes on the road.
Dre didn't care. "Tonight's gonna be fun. Boss wants us to make it loud. Send a message."
Leon laughed. "Can't fix stupid, but you can scare the rest."
They talked like it was a game.
By the time we got to the market, it was slowing down.
Some stalls were still open. Vendors packing crates, counting coins under dying lights.
Others were covering up their stuff, whispering to each other.
Everything went quiet when they saw us. They knew who we were. Or who we worked for.
Tarps came down. Heads turned away. Nobody wanted to make eye contact.
We walked down the center. Shutters closed behind us like falling dominos.
One shop at the far end still had lights on.
That was the one.
Niko banged on the glass. Twice. Then kicked it.
A man stood inside. Apron still on. Pale face. Hollow eyes. Somewhere between forty and sixty.
His son stood behind him. Couldn't have been older than twenty. Skinny. Baseball cap too big for his head.
"Mr. Soria," Leon stepped in. "You missed your payment."
"I—I know. I just need one more week, please," the man said, shaking. "Business has been slow. I'm not running—"
Leon shoved him back inside. "Maybe we take your son as interest."
The kid froze. His dad moved fast, arms up, trying to shield him.
"No—don't touch him. I just need time. I swear I'll pay—"
Leon slammed the old man into the wall. One hand on his throat. The other pulling out a knife to scare him.
Dre grabbed the son by the collar and threw him into a stack of boxes.
The kid tried to fight back. Big mistake.
Dre stomped his ribs.
Leon punched the father. Hard. Dropped him to his knees.
I Stood in the doorway, doing nothing—just playing lookout for these bastards.
Told myself it wasn't my problem. I warned them last week. They didn't listen.
Still, it left a bad taste in my mouth.