Her hands lifted again, small and shaky this time. She put two of her index fingers next to each other. Eleven.
“Then we’ll stay until eleven.”
The words left my mouth before I could think about them. And what killed me wasn’t that she argued. It was that she didn’t. She didn’t lift her hands to push me away. She just…stayed quiet. Small. Like the thought of us leaving terrified her more than keeping us here. And that—that split me in half.
She doesn’t like me. She’s made that clear enough. Half the time, she won’t even look me in the eye, and when she does, it’s usually timid. She thinks I hate her. Maybe she’s right.
But tonight? She didn’t stop me. Didn’t stopus.
Before I could think twice, I pulled my phone out and leaned over, placing it in her lap. Her head jerked up like I’d just thrown her a grenade.
“Pin’s 0-8-0-8,” I muttered.
Her eyes widened, confusion flickering there. I didn’t explain. I didn’t need to. August eighth. My birthday. If she remembered later, fine. If not, whatever. It was probably a one-time thing, anyway.
“Use it. Scroll. Whatever. Use it as a distraction.”
For a second, she didn’t move. Just stared down at the black screen, her hand hovering like she was afraid to touch it. Then, finally, her trembling fingers pressed against the glass, slow, careful, like it might shatter under her skin.
The numbers lit up. Wrong once. Then right.
Unlocked.
She exhaled, so soft I barely caught it and started scrolling. Aimless. Just flicking through my apps like the motion itself was enough to calm her.
Her shoulders dropped, just a fraction. The way her hands still shook, but not as violently now that she had something to hold on to.
The way her eyes stayed glued to the screen, refusing to look out at the men in the crowd as if she did, it’d all cave in again. She wasn’t bored. She was surviving. And my phone, my stupid, replaceable phone, was the rope she was clinging to. So I let her.
And while Alex and I talked about nothing, I kept glancing over, watching her small frame sink into the couch, watching her chest rise and fall like she was finally catching her breath.
It made something tighten in my chest. Because it shouldn’t take me handing over my life in a device to make her feel safe. She should’ve been safe the second she walked into this place. But she wasn’t. Not until now.
—
It hit 10:54 p.m., and I told Alex we were leaving. He didn’t argue, probably because he was already a couple of drinks in, a lazy grin plastered on his face. I drove. Didn’t touch a drop all night. Didn’t need to. Not when the whole point of tonight wasn’t drinking. It was her.
The bill was disgusting. Thousands on shots I didn’t even sip, bottles Alex barely touched. But I’d ordered them anyway. An excuse. A cover. A way to tip her what she deserved without making it obvious. So I signed the slip, scrawled the tip line: 100 per cent. Cash.
Thousands more. Straight into her pocket. And that was after what I paid the manager to keep her upstairs. After the buyout, just to make sure no one else got to put their hands on her.
After all of it, I still felt like it wasn’t enough. She deserved more. Way more than cash. More than numbers written on slips of paper. But it was all I could give her tonight.
When I glanced back before leaving, I glimpsed her heading toward the back, shoulders tense as she disappeared into staff corridors.
Alex said something as we walked out, some half-assed comment about the night, but I barely heard him. My head was still in that upstairs booth, watching her tug my jacket over her lap, hands trembling while she tried to breathe.
My battery was down to nothing; she’d been on it for hours. And on the screen? New icons I didn’t recognise.
Games. Little colouring apps. Puzzle blocks. Kids’ shit, bright colours and soft music. She’d downloaded five of them. Five. And I pictured her, shoulders shaking, hands trembling, clinging to my phone like it was a lifeline, opening these stupid, mindless games just to keep herself grounded.
I should’ve deleted them. They weren’t mine. But instead, I pressed down, dragged them into a folder, typed in her name.Aurora. A small, glowing box on my screen. Her space.
This is all I could give her after being an asshole. After breaking her down. A folder with her name. A night of money thrown like armour around her. It wasn’t enough. Not even close. But it was all I had.
Chapter Sixteen
Aurora
