The mattress is a crime scene all on its own—the springs loud, the padding thin, its surface covered over with highly suspect stains. I flip it and find more stains on the bottom than on the top.
Swallowing, I lift the pillow, bare of any cover, and sniff. It smells like…I toss it back down. I don’t think I want to know.
Until my stint with the Titans, I’ve never lived with even the smallest of luxuries. I lived in a trailer with a hole in the foundation, peeling Formica countertops, and water that was cold when it was running. But this… Everything necessary for survival is here, if they bring food. But none of what surrounds me is humane by even the barest of standards.
On top of the crate sits a tape recorder. It’s not digital, not modern, but one of the old analog ones—the kind with the plastic buttons that punch down with a small, satisfying bite, and a little window where reels should be but aren’t. Someone took the reel covers off, or they were never there. I can see the black tape like a thin tongue waiting for me to pull it out.
The recorder has been here the whole time, which is somehow worse than if it had appeared mid-panic like a magic trick. Whoever brought me here wanted this moment. Wanted me to press PLAY.
I hover my hand over the button. I don’t want to listen to whatever it is—obviously I’m playing right into their hands, whoever ‘they’ are—but at the same time…
Curiosity is a siren song. I have to know why I’m here. How I’m going to get myself out.
And I have nothing better to do.
A slick of sweat slides down my spine. I sit in the metal chair, adjust my ankle chain so it doesn’t bite, and press PLAY.
Static scratches. The tape whines. And then my father’s voice fills the container, echoing off the metal walls and shattering the rest of my composure into smithereens.
“Hey, Nix… it’s Dad.” A shaky breath rides the tape.
“I don’t— I don’t deserve the peace that is gonna come from you listening to this. But I need you to hear it from me, not from some asshole who… Nix, I did something I can’t undo.”
A pause. Paper rustles, or maybe he’s just twisting his fingers the way he does when he lies.
“I got in deep. Deeper than I told you. Wasn’t a friendly marker, not something a good week could fix. There’s a man who calls himself the Broker—he’s not a rumor. He’s real. And he…he doesn’t take money the way banks do. He takes leverage. He takes what you’ll bleed to get back.”
The tape whirs. He swallows.
“I thought I could outplay him. One night. One hand. I told myself I was due for a change in luck. Due for a win. You know how I am.” A hollow laugh; it breaks into a cough.
Silence stretches until I hear the tremor in his breath.
“I signed a paper I didn’t read. I signed because I was losing and I had ta do it. I told myself it was just collateral—just something to hold the debt until I won it back.”
Another breath, ragged now. A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe it away. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it, but for some reason it hurts worse now. I don’t know why. Maybe being in this box makes it worse?
“I’m so sorry, Nixie,” he sobs. “I thought I would be able to win it all back. But then he made me sign the contract. I’m so sorry, my little girl. I had to give himyou.”
A choked sound, like he’s trying not to cry and failing.
“I failed, baby. I failed you in a way I can’t fix. He gave me seven days. Seven. I begged him for a buyback. He said there’s always a price. But now you gotta pay up.”
A click—maybe from him shifting in a chair; I picture him in the kitchen, light off, talking to a red voicemail eye.
His breath hitches.
“I should’ve protected you from men like me. I should’ve been the wall, not the reason you needed one. Your mother would’ve known what to do. I loved her, even when I lost every other good thing. I love you more.”
A long silence. I hear the soft clink of glass. When he speaks again, his voice is steady in the way people get when they’ve decided something.
“I can’t let him put hands on you because I was weak. I can’t let him call you a debt.” A shaky inhale. “I’m going to make this right the only way I can. By the time you hear this, maybe I’ll… maybe I’ll be brave enough to do it.”
He forces a breath that wants to be a sob.
“Listen to me, Phoenix. You are not what I did. You need to find someone who loves you right, and you let them help, even if you hate needing it.”
A beat.
