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“It ain’t like that. Ease your worries.”

“And then, the other part of it is like… a light feeling in my chest. Like I have butterflies now that I’m out of that house and in the real world with somebody different other than my father. I feel like there’s an entirely new world away from all of that stuff that I had to endure my whole life. I feel like… this is an out, really. I have a chance to make something of myself.”

“That’s a good way of putting it. A new opportunity.”

“You think so?”

“Covers about how I feel, too. I’m sick of this same-old, same-old shit.”

I purse my lips for a moment, looking over his body once. He’s incredibly muscular, even the definition of his arms and chest are visible beneath the button-up he’s wearing alongside the rest of the suit. I’m fully aware that he keeps his own body in peak condition, and it makes me wonder what the rest of him looks like—without clothing. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, a few veins protruding, which I weirdly find sexy.

“You, uh… really had to be in a bad way to want to get outta there. Luckily. we’re going somewhere a little better for you,” he continues after a moment of silence. His vagueness still leaves something to be desired, some semblance of explanation as he pulls back into the dealership my father had received the car from. He parks the car directly at the front door, wasting no time as he quickly steps out of the car and walks inside, leaving me to my own devices for a moment.

My thoughts begin to fight. Should I run? But they would still be after my father.

Is it worth trying to take my chances in whatever this guy wants me to be a part of at the end of the day? Sure, but where does that leave me? Where does that leave everything I want to be away from? Am I trading something bad for something that’s a whole lot worse? They always say that it’s better the devil you know, but is it really?

And is this really a new way to get my life started? One that’s away from all the things I’ve grown up hating—not having enough money for anything, splitting dinner for one, no hot shower, no running water at times? Is this the end of all that, just because I’ve become a sort of payment for dad’s debt?

Surely not.

I walk myself through the thought process just as Cassio comes back out to the car, holding a few papers in hand. He comes around to the driver’s side, gets back in the car, and tosses the stack to the backseat, the paper clip popping off the moment it makes contact with the leather upholstery.

“So, what’s the plan now?” I look at him as his gaze falls on me for a moment. I feel my heart skip a beat, some kind of interest sparking up within myself despite everything else inside of me screaming to run as far away from him as I can.

“We have to get you settled in,” Cassio replies, turning the key and bringing the engine to life once more. “Can’t have you not having a place to stay, y’know? At least it will be miles better than that pigsty that you were staying in back home.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me. You’re still in uncleaned clothes, by the way. When’s the last time your pops did laundry?”

“He didn’t want to use the basin; the water was too cold.”

“You use awater basinto do your laundry? With the metal grate and all that? What decade are we in?”

“Yeah? It’s cheaper.”

He whistles and shakes his head.

“Christ, you really were living in a bad way. Laundry machines do all the work for you, so you throw your shit in and you have an hour to have some downtime. You’ll have to figure out what to do with yourself during that time now that you’re with me.”

He drives silently for a while, seemingly away from the main areas of Boston and towards the outskirts on the northern side of town, far away from where we were before. I continue to make small talk with Cassio the whole time, finding out that he’s part of a bigger organization that takes care of this kind of thing, like the Teamsters only but for vehicle sales, some kind of union or group that takes care of having to deal with all of that. He doesn’t explain further as we reach a gated cul-de-sac. He opens the door, steps out, and speaks to the intercom box standing in the grass.

“It’s Cassio.”


“Yeah, I did the repo already. Went just about as expected.”


“Anything going on in there?”


“Good enough.”

He walks back to the car, getting back into the driver’s seat as a buzz comes out of the speaker, the gate slowly opening for him to drive his car through. The neighborhood is beautiful, with several elegant houses lined up all in rows leading to a very large, almost mansion-sized residence on the back, complete with a small turnaround and a few places on either side to park cars.

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