Page 3 of Love to Stay

When he was in the city, I felt safer, knowing he was only a call away. I hate that I don’t have that anymore. I feel so alone. I should be used to it, but I’d gotten a glimpse of what it was like not to feel that way, and now the loneliness feels a thousand times worse than it used to.

Anytime I used to call, Mick would answer. It didn’t matter whether it was night or day. I think he saw me as a little sister he was supposed to protect. The same way he looked out for his older sister too. However, I never saw him as a brother.

My phone goes off, making me jump.

“Get it together,” I mutter to myself.

When I check it, I see it’s one of the places I do deliveries for, asking if I can come in for a few hours. I let them know I'll be right in before getting my crap together. Work will take my mind off all this other bullshit.

“I’m headed—” I cut myself off from shouting down the hallway to my dad that I’m headed to work.

A lump forms in my throat. Even after six months, I still struggle to remember his death. He was not the best father, but he had his moments. I shake off the sadness and head out, holding my mace tight in my hand as I take the stairs down and out of the building.

“Hey, Jo,” Carl calls when I enter the back of the Bold Bite sub shop, which is a few blocks from my place.

“Hey.” I nod back, making my way to the rack of orders awaiting pickup. I go through them and decide which route is best.

“You okay?” Carl comes to stand next to me. He’s owned the place for a few decades.

“I’m good.” I force a smile.

“You’re a shit liar.” He gives me a stern stare, but the bell rings.

“No time for small talk today, Carl.” I grab the bags.

“I got a feeling this isn’t small.”

“Seriously, I’m fine.”

“Ha!” Carl barks a laugh. “I’m married, Jo. Fine never means that.”

“I’m peachy?” I brighten my smile. He softens some at that.

“We’ll talk later.”

“Sure,” I lie, because I’msonot doing that. The bell goes off again. Carl huffs but gets back to work.

I take a deep breath of my own, gathering my shit together. I cannot afford to lose it. But then again, I never really could.

Chapter Three

MICK

Asharp pain shoots down my side as I twist the knob to my apartment door. Even though training had gotten cut short and I spent the last two hours at a walk-in clinic, I’m tired. It’s not a physical thing. Most of that time was spent in the waiting room, and only about five minutes with the physician’s assistant who said I had bruised ribs. I could’ve given myself that diagnosis. Despite my condition, I could go a few more rounds in the ring. Mentally I’m not all there, which is why I lost concentration and took the hard punch to my side.

The toe of my boot hits a cardboard box that I don’t remember being there when I left this morning. It was four in the morning and I barely had my eyes open, so it’s possible I missed it. I don’t remember ordering anything. Another sign of my declining mental state. I’m barely twenty, but I’m acting like a geriatric at the end stages.

The box is surprisingly heavy. I carry it over to the small dining room table and take a look at the labeling.Fragile. This side up.

The sender is ModHouse, which I’ve never heard of. With the sharp side of my car key, I score the tape and rip it open to find a computer-generated note inside.

Pedro said that you got injured and would be out of commission for a few days. I don’t think you’ve done much with your apartment. The last time we zoomed it looked pretty bare, more like an institutional cell than a living space. Maybe the lights from this will at least brighten your space.

I lift the computer and all the extras out of the box. It’s not a snake that’s going to bite me, but hell if it doesn’t feel that way. I leave it and head for the shower. I use cold water to try to blast the thoughts out of my head, maybe numb my cock that is throbbing at the thought of what the computer could bring, but nothing works. Her face is all I see even when the needle points of the water strike my face. Her profile lit by the blue screen, her fingers flying across the keyboard, the rise of her tits when she holds her breath. I never touched her, not even once despite all the fantasies I’d dreamt up in my head. I didn’t want to ruin the one decent thing in my shitty life. The time spent in her apartment was a refuge. I drop my hand to my balls and squeeze until my cock deflates like a popped balloon.

“Sorry, friend, just isn’t the right time,” I tell my meat. God, I’m pathetic. I turn off the water and shake myself like a dog before toweling off.

Back in the kitchen with the towel hanging around my hips because I’m too lazy and sore to dress, I pop a chicken breast into the microwave with some potatoes and then stare at the computer like it’s a snake about to bite me.

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