I push harder. I... I can’t lose my bag. Ican’t. But he’s too far gone.
All my things—all the evidence.Everything.It’s in someone else’s hands.
I lean against a wall and press my trembling hand to my mouth to muffle my sob. I can’t get home. I can’t call anyone. I can’t pay for anything.
It’s all gone.
If Leo didn’t know the truth before, there’s a chance he could now.
“This one?” OfficerI can’t remember his nameasks, slowing down in front of my apartment.
I try to blink the blurriness out of my eyes to look out the window of the cruiser. “Um.” I didn’t even notice we made it onto my street. “Yeah.”
The window is dotted from the light drizzle of rain falling from the gray clouds above. It makes it appear like we’re almost upon dusk, rather than entering into the late afternoon.
A woman who witnessed my bag getting snatched approached me a few seconds before I started hysterically crying. She was kind enough to drop me off at the closest police station and gave them her number in case they wanted a statement from her.
Then I sat on their brutal plastic chair for hours, waiting for someone to talk to me about what happened. When they did, they remarked that bag snatching is an increasingly common occurrence, and I should feelluckyhe didn’t take it further than that.
It didn’t make me feel any better.
The police must have taken pity on my train-wreck state because the detective offered to have an officer bring me home when I started crying that there was no one I could call.
Because there wasn’t.
Joyce is out of state. Mom would only make it worse. Dad would be working and would involve Mom. I could ask Sabrina, but I don’t exactly have her phone number memorized, and the risk of her learning my true identity is too great.
When I agreed to the detective’s offer, I didn’t realize it would take just as long for an officer to be freed up to take me home, and he shot me unsettling glances the entire ride. I could tell he thought I was being dramatic over a petty crime.
It’s not just the stolen bag, though. It’s the past year and how there’s alwaysone more thing,and I’m also not about to admit that it’s because I might go down for something else.
When it rains, it pours. Death by a thousand paper cuts.
The cruiser comes to a stop, and the officer opens the door for me. I take a deep breath before pulling myself out onto my feet.
Droplets of rain drizzle down on me, catching onto my hair and dotting my glasses.
I usually love the smell of petrichor. There’s something warm about it, like it’s a free pass to stay in bed, protected while everything outside is miserable. The melancholy of it feels comfortable. More friend than foe.
Right now, it’s another paper cut. An assault on my already oversensitive senses. It’s cloying and sticky, another layer of grime, dirt over my grave.
There’s nothing welcoming about coming home to an empty apartment where my fear will haunt the space. Despite the hours I spent sitting and waiting, I’m no closer to figuring out what to do next.
I have a list of tasks a mile long and no idea where to start. I just want to sleep and forget any of this happened.
I swipe my sleeve over my glasses to get rid of the droplets covering the lenses. It smears the water into a blurry mess that I try to ignore as I mutter my thanks to the cop and drag my feet up the drive.
My brows furrow. The front door is ajar.
Joyce left for her cousin’s birthday before I woke up this morning, and she won’t be home until tonight. Did I...? I rack my brain to try to remember whether I locked it this morning.
The answer is yes.
If I didn’t at least lock it, then I sure as fuck would have closed it. This isn’t the best neighborhood, and it isn’t the worst,but I’m not going to be dumb enough to leave the door open. I forget a lot of things, but never that. Unless...
My legs start moving before my head can catch up.
Every single possibility flashes through my mind, and the moment I shove the door wide, my worst fears prove true.
