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I push through the doors to Leo's, the smell of stale, burnt coffee the same as it was a decade ago. I spent a lot of time here during my last year of high school. It was a refuge of sorts from the chaos and demands of home. Other than one older man dozing in a booth at the back, it's empty. I'm not surprised. Most people, if they have a home, are snug in bed right now.
Shudders wracking my body I head straight for the bathroom. That handled, I pick a booth against the far wall, near the window, and climb in. The waitress comes by, her bony hands passing me a menu. There's no recognition on her face. I don't know why there would be. She's dealt with thousands of customers since my senior year. Why should she remember me?
I remember her, though. She looked different back then. Softer. Her eyes held a vibrancy, a life that's missing now. She would ask me what I was studying, and we'd talk about literature and world events in between her customers. School wasn't easy for me. That year, especially, was...bad. But talking to her about Romeo and Juliet or Lincoln's assassination made the material real for me in a way that just reading it over and over couldn't. But now, the gray tint to her skin, and the hacking cough make it obvious that she won't be here much longer.
I ask for a coffee with cream, and she's gone, no interest in chatting with some random woman in the middle of the night. Why is that so sad? We haven't spoken in years. She has no idea that she got me through one of the darkest periods in my life.
She returns, and I thank her, pouring into it every ounce of gratitude I feel for the friendship she offered a lonely girl. She stops, her head tilting as she looks at me, a spark of something in her eyes. But it's gone, then so is she.
I wrap my hands around my mug, soaking in the warmth, and let myself drift for a moment. I'm so tired. I've been tired for a month, ever since that day I came home to an apartment that was no longer mine. I've lived through bad. I've lived through scary.
This has been worse.
I'm tempted to pull out my phone and let myself do some mindless scrolling. It's my favorite escape when life feels like too much. But every penny counts right now, and I switched to the cheapest plan I could find. I kinda doubt Leo's has free Wifi. And besides, I'm better off saving the battery. I don't know when I'll be able to charge it next. I'm almost more upset about forgetting my charger at work than I am about my coat. I only let myself turn it on once during the long hours on the bus.
I let the reality of my situation seep into my bones, the fear rattling them. I am in so much trouble. I held out hope for so long, but it's gone. Keith is gone, and I have to live with the hole he dug for me. But it's getting harder and harder to believe that I'll be able to get out.
And I'm tired.
So tired.
I press my big purse between my hip and the wall and let my head rest in the corner. I just need to close my eyes, just for a little while. Things always look more hopeful after a little sleep.
A subtle tugging at my hip wakes me with a jolt. My hands fly out, pushing. I connect with clothing, still icy from the cold. It's the low, rough chuckle that clues me in. He backs up and drops into the other side of the booth. He looks thrown together like he always does, wearing the same leather jacket he's worn since high school, unzipped, a faded gray tee underneath. But he's aged twenty years since then. The lines between his eyes are deep. He's only a few years older than me, but no one would ever know it.
"Mark," I mumble, sliding closer to the wall, making sure my purse is nearly underneath me. He was trying to take it from me. Of course, he'd go straight for my money.
"Janey. Funny meeting you here.” His voice is friendly, casual, but I hear the danger underneath.
Funny? No. More like a nightmare. I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands, trying to clear the sleep. A quick glance at my watch shows I've been out for only a few minutes, but try telling that to my body. Everything feels weighted and slow. I pick up my cup and take a sip of my still-hot coffee. It's awful, but it sends a trail of warmth through my body.
"I was just thinking of you. I've been thinking about you a lot. I mean, what's a guy to do when his sister just disappears? You don't call. You don't write." His face turns mean. "You have some explaining to do."
My stomach clenches. Ever since I got my first job, he's been nicer. I know the mean is always underneath the nice mask, but I don't care. As long as he got what he wanted, the mean wouldn't be directed at me like it was way too often when we were kids. I learned pretty quickly how to keep the peace at home. How to make sure everyone else was happy.
"I didn't mean to disappear," I mumble, already knowing how he'll react.
His sarcastic laugh, as he yanks the cup from between my hands, is usually the start of something bad. "You didn't mean to. You didn't mean to? How the fuck do you accidentally disappear, Janey? Can you explain that shit to me? Did you not consider your family? How could you do that to me?"
A familiar mixture of shame, anger, and dread fills me. "I've lost everything, Mark. I'm sorry I was trying to cope the best I can."
Something even uglier shifts in his gaze. "What the fuck did you just say? What do you mean, you lost everything?"
Saliva pools in my mouth. I press my hands against the edge of the table, wishing I was strong enough to rip it out of the floor and flip it right into his face. Or maybe I don't. It would feel good in the moment, but he'd make me pay for it later. Besides, he's right. We had an agreement, and I didn't live up to it.
"I mean, I lost everything. My bank accounts are empty, my credit cards are maxed. I lost my apartment. And someone took out a bunch of loans in my name."
He whistles through his teeth and leans back in the booth. "You really are a fuck up, you know that? I mean, how the hell did you manage that?" He shakes his head, not waiting for an answer. "Doesn't matter. You're not the brightest bulb. You know it, I know it. Your dumb mom knew it before she drank herself into a grave."
He's not saying anything I don't already know. I'm not that smart. I know that. The way Jonas and the rest of my bosses treat me — like I'm someone worthwhile — made me forget that for a while. Mark's an unreliable bastard, but in this, he's as reliable as the sun. He'll always want to bring me back to earth. Always. His dig about my mother still hurts a bit, though. She wasn't a great mom, but she was the only bit of softness in our house growing up. I don’t remember much of her, but it feels nice to think she was kind and loving, at least some of the time.
"What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night?" He should be home, snug in the bed I help pay for.
He smirks at me. "I had some business to attend to." He leans forward, bracing his hands on the table, the mug of coffee sitting between them. "You didn't make your deposit. You've missed two now. I don't really think it's fair that Dad and I have to suffer just because you're stupid."
I drop my hands into my lap, letting them ball into fists. I can't let him see my anger. I can't let myself feel it. I struggle for calm, somehow finding it in the midst of all my panic. "What did you expect me to do? I didn't have anything extra to give you. Why don't you get a job?"
His eyes turn ugly again. "You fucking bitch. I could have had a totally different life if it weren't for you. You're the reason I can't work, and you fucking know it. I live with it every day!" He pushes back his hair, revealing the scar at his hairline. It's faded, a silvery white, but I still remember what it looked like when it happened. I remember the feel of his blood splattering my face, the metallic taste of it in my mouth. I remember picking up my white blouse from the dirty floor where they'd thrown it, and pressing it to his head as the sound of sirens drew closer. I don't remember a long time after that.
