Page 223 of Don’t Say Mafia

By the time I reached the apartment complex and started up the cracked concrete steps toward our place, I’d already replayed the conversation a dozen different ways in my head.

But the music hit me before I even reached the door.

Bass pounded through the thin walls, rattling the door hard enough that the knob quivered on its own. I slowed, dread pooling in my stomach, and stopped with my hand hovering inches from the latch. For a moment, I simply stood there, my shoulders rigid, and my eyes drifting shut as I drew in a few deep breaths while the noise pulsed on the other side.

Please don’t let this be what I think it is.

I pushed inside, and smoke rolled over me immediately, clinging to my clothes and hair like it had been waiting. The apartment was hazy, the air heavy with weed and cheap alcohol, too many bodies crammed into a space that was barely big enough for the two of us on a good day.

Ryan was on the couch with a group of guys I didn’t recognize, a joint between his fingers, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. When he saw me, he lurched to his feet, swaying slightly as he grinned. “Hey, babe,” he said, blinking hard. “Why’re you home already?”

Already. Had he really just said that?

I stared at him, then at the clock on the oven, its glowing numbers screaming the truth he clearly hadn’t noticed. His smile faltered as realization dawned, a brief flash of embarrassment crossing his face far too late to help him.

“It’s—” he started, then stopped. “Oh.”

Something in me snapped. “Everyone out,” I screamed, the sound tearing out of my chest. “Get out. Now.”

The room immediately went quiet except for the music, like they were all waiting to see if I meant it. Then one of them laughed under his breath and headed for the door. “Fucking hell,” he muttered as he passed me. “What a bitch.”

The word hit, but I didn’t react. I just stood there, shaking, watching them file out one by one, smoke trailing behind them, bottles clinking, laughter fading down the stairs. When the door finally slammed shut, somehow the apartment felt smaller than ever. The music kept playing, obnoxious and loud, and I crossed the room to turn it off with a jab of my finger.

Ryan stood there, swaying slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Eden, I didn’t know what time it was,” he said, already defensive. “They just stopped by. It wasn’t⁠—”

I laughed, but it came out broken. “I was going to talk to you,” I said, my voice shaking with emotion. “I was actually excited to talk to you.”

He frowned. “About what?”

I looked around the wrecked living room, at the smoke-stained walls, the empty bottles, the couch that smelled like everything except home, and a tear slipped down my face. “It doesn’t matter,” I whispered.

I turned toward the bedroom, kicking off my shoes as I went, exhaustion dragging at every step. I had barely enough energy left to stand upright—and somehow I still had a full shift ahead of me at the casino.

For a fleeting second, I considered the appeal of simply collapsing where I stood and letting the universe take it from there. At least then I’d be out of my misery.

I barely made it three steps before Ryan started talking, his words tumbling out like if he said them fast enough, I’d forget what I’d just walked into. “They’re business associates,” he said quickly, gesturing back toward the door like that explained the smoke, the mess, and the strangers. “You were gonna be excited, Ed. I was gonna tell you. Things are finally happening. I’ve got stuff lined up.”

Business associates.

I turned slowly and looked at him, really looked at him, at the hope flickering there, at the familiar shine in his eyes that used to mean belief and now just meant he was high.

“I was excited,” I said quietly. The calm in my voice surprised even me. “I was walking home, thinking about how to talk to you. About quitting one job. About maybe taking classes. About us finally moving forward.”

His mouth opened, then closed.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I said, and the words felt heavy and true, like they’d been waiting years for air.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re just tired. You don’t mean that.”

“I need to take a nap, and then I have to get ready for my second job,” I replied, already turning away. “We’ll talk later.”

I went into the bedroom.

And stopped.

There were bodies on my bed—three of them, slick with sweat and tangled in my sheets. Two women and a man I didn’t recognize were all naked, with their limbs wrapped around one another in a lazy, postfuck sprawl. One woman was still straddling the man, her breasts bare and flushed, her hips rocking slowly like she hadn’t quite come down yet. The other woman was pressed to his side with her mouth on his neck and her hand between her legs stroking herself lazily while she groaned. The sheets were twisted around their waists, and my comforter was shoved half off the mattress, the pillow I used kicked to the floor and stained with something dark and wet.

The condom wrapper and the bottle of lube that was lying on its side on my nightstand, dripping all over the wood, really capped everything off.