Whereas I know Dana will show back up on my doorstep in a matter of months with a similar story and a desperate need for money.
My heart thumps heavily in my chest, resentment roiling in my blood.
I won’t do it.
I’m tired of being her last parachute. I want to let her fall.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the wad of cash, leaving some on the table for the meal before sliding the rest of it over to Dana.
"It’s all I’ve got." My voice is raw to my own ears.
No matter what I tell myself, I can’t leave Dana to hang out to dry. She has it so much worse than me. It’s amazing such a frail sensitive woman has survived this long, and I don’t want to be that last straw that breaks her.
That or I’m just a sucker and she knows it.
Dana’s lower lip trembles before she fully dissolves into tears, burying her head in her hands.
"Thank you, Evie. Oh, praise Jesus for your sweet soul. Without you, I would be on the streets."
From across the table, I try to calm her with shushes. "It’s okay, it’s okay," I soothe, my hands poised to reach for her, but they never do.
She shakes her head, still covering her face. "I know I don’t deserve you. I know I don’t, but I am so grateful for you." Her words are wet and sloppy from the tears and snot running down her face in a torrent.
Other people in the diner are staring while I sit there, feeling my stomach knot over and over again.
I pull a bunch of napkins from the dispenser on the table and hand them over so she can clean up her face. Finally, Dana gets a hold of herself, and takes the money with a shaking hand.
We part outside the diner with a hug she holds for longer than I want, and I head to the bus stop.
Guess I’ll go to the library after all.
The loss of the sweater stays with me, but I try to let go of the resentment there. Things could be worse. I could be Dana, shackled to Mark.
Then I think of still stretching my funds to buy a heart for Shadow. Am I really all that different? Desperate and bound to a monster who doesn’t love me, though I am irrevocably devoted to him.
Maybe that’s why I have so much compassion for Dana.
Even as I settle on the cracked bus seat under a blasting heater, I know I’ll likely ration my groceries so I can buy Shadow a pig’s heart. Pressing my forehead against the frigid glass, I shut my eyes.
I’m an idiot. Just like Dana.
Kill For Me
Miguel and I sit on the couch in his apartment, watching a movie. It’s just as small as mine, but cleaner. He doesn’t have much furniture, but what he has is in good condition. It smells like lemon cleaner and fresh laundry here. Plus, no cockroaches running around.The movie is an amusing comedy, but my nerves start knotting when I worry I’m not laughing as much as Miguel.
He laughs like nothing bad has ever touched him. I want that. I want to borrow that lightness, just for a second.
It feels like someone has hit the mute button on my humor, and I can’t fully access it.
Do I even have a sense of humor anymore? Can I ever laugh like Miguel—like I don’t have a world of weight pressing down on me?
I think of Snarp dancing for me on the edge of my bed, flapping his wings in a silly way.
Even with the darkness coiled around Snarp like a warning, I wasn’t scared or put off. I remember the feeling of the near crushing weight lifting from my chest as I bobbed my head back and forth in time with the flaps of Snarp’s wings. I had to cover up my giggles.
Shadow made me laugh.
Miguel nearly rolls off the couch, and a genuine smile pulls at my lips. I love how sincere he is. No secrets—his humor, his interest is all out there on his sleeve, so I’m never left guessing.
