Page 93 of Mark & Don't Tell

I take in Betty again. The flames are angry and big, and there’s no way the car will be okay. It’s fucked and so am I.

“Hey.” Someone’s hand waves in front of my face.

I glance up at them, tears blurring my vision. “People take the bus all the time.”

“Is that your car?”

“It’ll be okay,” I say, ignoring the question. “I’ll wake up earlier. I can go see Marco and leave before the last one stops running.”

“I think she’s in shock?”

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“They usually come with the fire department.”

The voices and conversations float around me, but they don’t really reach me. It’s like I’m a spectator, watching as my world slowly unravels bit by bit. No money. No car. No scent matches.

That’s what my future looks like.

Hopeless.

No. Not hopeless, just . . . empty.

And maybe that’s worse?

“Does anyone know who she is?”

“What’s going—holy shit! There’s a car on fire,” a familiar, growling voice shouts.

John. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Leave it to my landlord to snap me out of my daze. I guess panic overrides everything else I’m feeling. I scramble to my feet right as he turns toward the group clustered around me.

“Whose car—oh, it’s you,” he snarls as soon as he spots me.

One concerned citizen glances at him, then me, and steps between us. “Hold on now. What’s the problem?”

“She’s two months behind on rent, that’s the problem!” John screams.

The people around me give me pitying looks. I hate it. I hate the way the person who stepped in to defend me glances back at me like I’ve stolen their cookies. Like struggling to survive makes me a horrible person. Like it makes me contagious.

“I can pay rent next week. That’s when I get paid,” I tell him, voice soft and trembling. Tears track down my cheeks, and I swipe at them, hating that, on top of everything else, I’m crying.

The person who stepped in side-steps and glances at me. “Is this your landlord?”

The universe really hates me. I hang my head. “Yeah.”

“And now your piece of trash is on fire in front of my building?” John asks with a scoff. “This is what you get for dodging me. Bad people don’t get good things.”

“Hey now, come on, no need to make her feel worse,” someone says.

“You want me to be nice to her? She’s been sneaking in and out of the building to avoid me. She knows she’s delinquent.”

The heat from the fire washes over my skin, or maybe that’s embarrassment. I don’t know who any of these people are, but they all know enough about me to step back. “I get paid on Thursday,” I say again, in case he didn’t hear me. “I can pay you on Thursday.”

He shakes his head. “Pay me? HAH! I’ve heard that before. No. I’m done giving you chances. I want you out in thirty days.”

My face scrunches, and I blink, clearing the tears from my eyes. “Wait? What? You can’t do that.”

A cruel smirk cuts across his reddened face. “Oh, yes, I can. Check your lease, darlin’.”

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