She nods sagely like she already expected the answer. “Well, now you’ve got time. There are no big worries looming at the horizon, all you have to do is heal. And sunshine is waiting to meet your skin.”
She claps suddenly, shaking the moment loose. “I got you some clothes today. Something comfortable so you can move with ease. We’ll start with a light walk at first. Your body’s not ready for too much effort yet. In a few weeks, we’ll move up to an actual jog.”
I nod slowly. “You’re forgetting one thing.”
Her eyes twinkle. “The specter haunting my parking space?”
I nod again.
She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Don’t worry about the idiot biker. You just keep with the plan we talked about. It will all work out.”
I don’t argue. I let her take the lead. I’ll need to think about what I’m going to do soon, but that day is not today. I’m grabbing the lifeline Ria is throwing at me with both hands.
“Oh, also,” Ria starts again, tone deceptively light, as she slides something across the counter toward me. “The biker dropped this off. I debated whether I should give it to you or not, but in the end... it’s your choice what you want to do with it.”
I look down.
Sugar and Ash. Both volumes. ‘A wish is not a promise, but a promise is a wish.’ I feel the sting behind my eyes immediately. My throat tightens. I want to cry.
No — I want to burn them. Reduce them to ash. Grind that ash into a fine dust, and force-feed it to him until he chokes on the taste of everything he spit in my face.
But instead, I pick them up carefully, with trembling fingers, like they’re fragile.
I walk them into my room without a word, spine straight, rage curling inside my chest. Ria follows me, but stops at the doorway. She chews on her bottom lip, hesitation painted all over her face.
“There’s something else,” she says, dragging out the words like they’re barbed wire. “Specter Boy was on guard duty earlier. Drove me to the store this morning. That’s when he gave me the books. But also…”
She squints, then glances at the ceiling like the right phrasing might be hiding up there.
“Oh, screw it,” she mutters. “He wants to give you money. Because — well, you know — he left you with jack shit. And you should have money. Like, lots of it. Especially after everything you went through.”
Her arms cross tight over her chest. “So I asked him for fifteen grand a month. For a year. Think of it like backpay for emotionaldamage. Hazard pay. A ‘you-survived-Ghost’ salary. He owes you. He kept you from working.”
I blink. “Fifteen thousand?” My voice is a breath of disbelief. “Ria…”
She steamrolls right over me. “Nope. Shut up. Listen first. You can say no. Just say the word, and I’ll tell him to take his guilt-stained cash and shove it back into whatever hole he crawled out of. But,— ” she leans in, voice stronger now, “—this isn’t hush money or leverage. This is compensation. Because you were stripped of everything. Your time, your peace, your power, your fucking sanity. All the people in your life, including him, left you with nothing. At least now, you can stack something for yourself. You’ve got a home here, and if you want, you can make a plan. Save the money. Do whatever the hell you want with it.”
I stare at her. She stares back.
I blink. She blinks.
“I want that fucking money,” I hear myself hiss, my left eye twitching.
“In fact, ask for twenty. And we split it, fifty-fifty. He’s loaded. Huge Driftwood house, fancy cabin here — bought it without a second thought. Twenty grand a month is pocket change for him. And you’re damn right, I deserve it.”
I pause, then tilt my head thoughtfully.
“Actually… ask for the full amount up front. One big payment. No strings. No installments. He can afford it.”
Ria’s grin stretches like a lethal weapon across her face.
“I knew you were my kindred spirit the moment I saw you,” she says, clapping her hands together. “We’re gonna be rich bitches.”
Shit. I’m completely out of shape.
My thighs are on fire just from walking down a single flight of stairs. Muscles burning, lungs tight. Guess my body took more damage than I wanted to admit.
The second we step outside, the cold air slaps my skin. The sun is shining, though, warm fingers trailing over my face. It’s a reminder that life still exists somewhere beyond survival. I soak the sunshine in, thinking maybe I was wrong — maybe today won’t be a war zone inside my mind.
