Fuck.Fuck.
I pull on my jeans, hopping on one foot, almost falling over. Another buzz.
$500 minimum order. You got Venmo?
I don't have five hundred dollars. I don't have Venmo. I don't have time.
I'm yanking a t-shirt over my head when the third response comes through.
What area?
My fingers fly across the screen. I send my general location—not the exact address, I'm not stupid, but close enough.
Three dots. Someone typing.
I shove socks into the side pocket of my duffel. Grab my toothbrush from the bathroom. Check my phone again.
Can meet tomorrow night. 10 PM. $300 for a month's supply. Pharmaceutical grade. Cash only.
Tomorrow night. That's—that's more than twelve hours away. I can't wait that long. I can't spend another day in this house, dodging their eyes, pretending nothing happened.
Any chance you can do tonight?I type back, fingers shaking. I can pay extra.
The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
I hold my breath.
Tonight's tight. Got another pickup at 11.
I can be there by 10:30, I type immediately.Please. I really need this.
A long pause. Too long. I'm about to send another message when the response comes through.
Fine. 10:30. Same price. Don't be late.
Relief floods through me so hard my knees nearly buckle.
I'll be there, I type back.Send me the address.
The response comes almost immediately—an intersection on the edge of the city. Not a great neighborhood, but not the worst either. Public enough that I shouldn't get jumped.Probably.
I save the address. Screenshot it just in case.
Then I'm back to packing. Moving on autopilot now, grabbing anything I might need. A jacket. My laptop. My notebook. The emergency credit card Margot gave me "for textbooks" that I've never used.
Margot.
Her face flashes through my mind—the confusion, the hurt when I screamed at her to leave me alone. She was just trying to help. She'salwaysjust trying to help, and I keep pushing her away, keep ruining everything she's trying to build.
She doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve a stepson who's been letting her husband's sons finger him to orgasm in the room down the hall.
I shove that thought down. Can't think about it. Can't think about any of it.
I zip the bag closed and sling it over my shoulder.
I have to go.
I can’t stay.
