I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror, buttoning up my shirt with slow, clumsy fingers. The fabric feels stiff and heavy, like it knows I’m hesitating.
I don’t understand this—any of it.
I don’t understand why I’m standing here, why I’m waiting for a car that shouldn’t be coming for me. I don’t know why I agreed. Why didn’t I say no? It isn’t the money. God, it should be the money. Five grand every week is enough to survive. More than enough to stop worrying about my next rent payment, about how many shifts I can squeeze in before my body gives up. It’s enough to breathe for a while. It’s still so good to be true.
But that’s not why I said yes.
It’s him.
It’s the way his voice, his eyes, his aura, and dominance in the way he speaks and moves. His eyes cut into me like they’re trying to understand something I don’t even know about myself…it compels me. I should hate it. I should fight it. I can’t. I don’t. And that terrifies me. I’ve always been in control. My life, my choices, my voice. And with him… I feel off balance, untethered. Everything about Alexander is dangerous. I know it. I should stay away, stay safe, stay sane. But I can’t.
I know that it’s not about the money, it never was.
A sharp knock at the door makes me flinch. I turn, finding Tyler leaning against the frame, his arms crossed, his face pulled tight with worry. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t have to. The question is written all over him.
“Are you really going?” he asks, arms folding around his chest
I give him a quick nod.
He watches me for a moment, then sighs.
“You’re sure?”
I nod again, avoiding his eyes, and throw on a sweater vest over my shirt. I don’t want to see the concern there. I don’t want to answer the questions I can’t even ask myself.
“It’s a lot of money,” Tyler says slowly, his brow furrowing deeper. “Just to teach him sign language for four days a week?”
I shrug. What else can I say? That I’m doing this because I can’t stop thinking about Alexander? About how he is the only person I have been talking to with my voice? I should tell Tyler about it, but I can’t. I feel guilty. How can I speak almost freely with someone I barely know, someone I should barely trust… and yet I haven’t had the courage to speak a full sentence to my best friend in almost five years?
Tyler doesn’t let it go. “It doesn’t feel right.”
I reach for my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.
“I didn’t quit my job,” I sign to him, my hands quick and defensive. “I asked for the rest of the week off.”
Tyler’s mouth presses into a thin line. “And they easily let you off?”
I nod. “I said it was for sick leave.”
The lie sat like a lump in my stomach when I told my manager. He gave me a look—the kind that said he didn’t believe me, but didn’t care to ask.
Before Tyler can say anything further, my phone vibrates. The screen lights up with a number I don’t recognize, but I already know who it is. I hesitate before answering.
The voice of Alexander’s driver is calm and professional. He tells me he’s waiting outside my apartment building. I swallow and hang up, sliding the phone into my pocket. My heartbeat is loud in my ears, a steady thrum that drowns out Tyler’s silence.
“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to go’’ he says as he follows me towards the doorway. “I know you really need the money, but…”
I pause, hand gripping the doorknob like it’s the only thing keeping me steady. How do I explain that this isn’t about money? That I want to go because… I want to see Alexander again. I want to understand why his eyes cut through me like he can read something I don’t even understand about myself.
“I’ll be fine,” I sign instead.
Tyler looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he follows me downstairs, quiet, tense. I can feel his worry behind me, pressing against my back like a shadow I can’t shake.
The Range Rover waits at the curb. The driver stands by the door, face neutral, sunglasses hiding everything. He was the one who picked me up from the café that day.
Tyler stops beside me, jaw tight, and signs this time, “Are you sure?”
I am.
