#mob au

It’s not a good idea, but it’s your only one. You don’t know what else to do. Your stomach clenches. You bend over your lap and breathe away the nausea.

Has it all been for nothing? All your hard work? Late nights?

You’re just going to walk away? Maybe you are your mother’s daughter after all. Your father always said so.

There’s nothing else to do. You can’t go back to your dad. He never wanted you and you don’t know if you can face whatever had Andy so riled up. You have no family to take you in. Your mom hasn’t been around since the week before you graduated and that was for about three days before she took off again.

It’s wrong. You know it. All the logic in your brain tells you this is more dangerous than the alternative. But what is that? Staying here, waiting for Andy to get back, living under the thumb of another man with all the control?

Sure, Andy could be nice, but it scares you that he can also be so mean. Even if it’s not to you. This can be his last favour to you.

You leave the phone but take his card. You silently dip out the front door and tiptoe down the hollow hallways. In the front lobby, you stop at the student ATM and take out more than you should. It will have to be enough.

You slide the card into Everly’s mail box before you head out the front of the building. You tuck the money in your pocket and set off on the long walk to the apartment across town. It’s getting lighter by the time you get there.

You approach the apartment door cautiously. You listen through the wood. You don’t think he’s back yet. He’d have messaged. Well, you don’t have the phone anymore.

You enter. It’s just as you left it. You pack up your things. Just your things. Nothing that he got you.

You look back at the apartment and your heart drops. You shuffle into the kitchen and pick up the little marker on the whiteboard. You write a single word; ‘sorry’.

You stick the marker back in the magnetised holder and turn away. You leave without looking back. You hike up your bag and cross your arms, head low, shoulders high. You’ll figure out where you’re going when you get to the station.

🖤

You buy a cheap flip phone from a convenience store across from the train station. You’re sure it’s not out of the usual. You set it up as you sit on a park bench with your bag in your lap.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this far from home. They say big city’s have a place for everyone. Is there even a place in this world for you?

You finish and tuck the phone away. It’s there for emergencies. Besides, you probably can’t get a job without a number. Or a place to stay.

Like any metropolitan hellscape, the apartments are overpriced. You sleep with your bag at a bus terminal for a few hours. You wake up and wander around until you find a library. They offer ten minutes on the public computer without a card. You scribble down addresses and phone numbers on the call cards and leave.

There’s a place. Three roommates. All female. It’s your best hope.

Gladys is the ‘landlord’. She owns the walk-up and lives on the top floor. She’s fifty-eight and annoyed by it. She’s suspicious as she warns you that they’re old ladies and they don’t put up with trouble. You promise none of that and count out the down payment. She’s not as unsure then.

You shiver as she leaves you to your room. That’s the same reaction Andy would get when he flashed his card, or even just his name. You shut the door and put your bag on the lumpy mattress. It will do.

Later, you meet your other roommates. Raylene has tattoos up to her chin and recites scripture as easily as she makes a joke about her illicit past. She’s only forty-two, you can’t tell right? Amanda is older and quieter. She seems annoyed as she pours her cereal. You go back to your room.

The next day, you return to the library. You need proof of address for a card. Right.

You go back to the house. There’s mail on the floor as you step in. You pick it up and turn it over. You leave it on the table.

You look for a job on the glitchy flip phone. It’s useless. You lay in the room, doing nothing but thinking about everything. Too late to go back now. You threw it all away. Because…

Because you’re scared. Because even though you were living in the same place as him, you know nothing about who Andy Barber really was. What little you do know, couldn’t convince you to stay.

You find a job at shipping service kiosk. They had a sign up to apply online but when you tried to get a pic of the QR, the manager asked if you were interested. You said sure. He hired you on the spot.

You realise quick why it was so easy. There are less customers than loiterers. Those who hang around, lean into their high and sway dangerously towards the ground. You watch them, as nervous for them to collapse as to suddenly lurch at you instead of whatever it is they’re seeing in their heads.

You weren’t safe before but you’re not safe now. Did you do the right thing? Is saving yourself really that? Has there ever been better for you? Was Andy that?

As you head off from your third shift, you nearly shriek. You sigh and shake your head. The man in the suit isn’t him. You don’t know why you thought it would be. He can’t find you.

You drag your feet along the streets, lost in thought. You take out your phone to check the time only for your shoulder to jerk suddenly. A man wrenches on your purse strap as your phone clatters to the ground. It bounces across the pavement as you cling to your bag. Your accoster pulls back his elbow and hits you in the left eye socket.

You keep a hold of your purse as you cry out. He struggles with you as pedestrians hurry by, acting as if they can’t see you. He gives up and grabs the phone, running off into the stream of bystanders.

You pant on your knees and hug your bag under one arm. You shakily touch your cheek as you feel the skin tightening already. You keep your head down as you stand up. Not one person will look at you. No one asks if you’re okay.

You’re not.

You made a big mistake. It was easier to protect yourself from one man you knew than a thousand faceless men waiting for their moment. You hurry home and lock yourself in the room. You don’t cry. You just sit there as the bruise pulses and swells around your eye.

The next day, you put your wallet in your pocket and leave your purse at home. You get to the kiosk and roll open the gate. You’re on alert as you stand behind the counter and the plexiglass screen. It’s a paltry shield between you and the general public.

A customer comes in to send out a package. You print the label and tape it up. The complain about the price. You agree, it is expensive, but they’re welcome to try to post office instead. The take their tracking number and scoff a thank you.

You turn to put the parcel in the bin of expedited shipments. The bell rings as the next customer steps up. You’re right there, they can wait.

You turn and nearly fall backwards. It’s like you’ve been punched again. You stare at Andy through the scratched protective glass.

“Hey, I’m here to inquire after a lost package.” He says calmly, resting his fingertips on the lip of the counter.

Your lip trembles and you flick your lashes. You deflate and shake your head.

“Tracking number?” You prompt, staying away from the counter.

He stares at you. “Sweetheart…” His voice scrapes up his throat.

You stare at him. His brow furrows and he leans in. He puts his elbow on the counter and rests his palm on the glass.

“Who did that to you?”

You blink as your eyes tingle. You shrug. You look away. He doesn’t. You can feel him staring. He exhales.

“You know it’s time to come home, don’t you?” He says quietly.

You gulp.

“Sweetheart…” his voice hardens. “I don’t want to make you… but I will.”