Page 5 of Out of the Dark

A sudden ping interrupts me, and I jump. It’s a text from my manager: "No need to come in tonight due to the storm. Stay safe."

"Thanks for the heads up," I reply. As relieved as I am about not having to drive around in the snow, my shift being canceled also means less money.

With Mark’s number back on my screen, I type out the shortest message I can think of: "If your offer still stands, I may stay tonight. I don’t know where else to go."

My thumb lingers over the green "Send" button. This is probably reckless, but it’s survival.

I hit send before I can change my mind.

An hour later, the snow is already whipping through the air as I pull into the parking garage of a building that looks entirely too fancy for someone like me. It’s not far from downtown, and I can only imagine what it costs to live here.

I slow to a stop and double check the text from Mark noting which numbered spot to park in. The gray concrete seems to wind up and around forever before I finally find it.

I swallow hard, mentally preparing myself for whatever I’m walking into, then grab my suitcase from the trunk before heading toward the door that leads into the building.

Mark’s there on the other side of the door, waiting for mejust like he said he’d be. His broad shoulders and heavy boots make him look like someone I’d cross the street to avoid, but when he raises one hand in a casual wave and flashes me a half-smile through the glass, some of the tension dissipates.

He’s slightly less intimidating in the light of day, though not much. He’s just as massive as he seemed last night, at least a foot taller than me and bulky in a way that shows he likes to work out just as much as he likes to eat, with tattoos winding up his forearms and disappearing under his sleeves. But there are smile lines creasing the corners of his eyes, and it’s clear he’s attempting to seem as amiable as possible.

"Hey," he greets me, holding his hand out toward my small suitcase in silent offering. I allow him to take it. "Figured you might take me up on that offer. It looks pretty damn bad out there already."

I adjust the strap on my backpack as I follow him down the hall. "Yeah. Thank you for this. It’s very generous of you."

"No problem," he says, as if it’s no big deal. Like inviting random displaced women to crash at your place during a snowstorm is a totally normal thing to do.

As I follow Mark through the hallway, I’m struck again by his size. It’s not just his height; it’s the way he carries himself and seems to take up all available space. He radiates an air of confidence that adds to his larger-than-life appeal.

But he holds my bag like a gentleman and motions me through the door. "After you. C’mon, let’s get you warm."

His tone is surprisingly soft, like he’s trying to put me at ease and assure me he’s not a threat. It mostly works.

Mark’s apartment is much nicer than I expected it to be, though that observation probably says more about me than it does about him. He brings my bag into the guest room and sets it next to the bed before coming back out.

"Bathroom’s here," he says, gesturing to the door directly across the hall. I follow as he leads me back into the main living area and shows me where to find things in the kitchen. It’s all incredibly kind of him, and I feel even worse that I judged him so harshly.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asks. "I have to admit, it’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone stay with me."

"I don’t think so." My coat is still zipped and my backpack still on my shoulders.

Mark hovers nearby for a moment, then heads into the kitchen and opens a cabinet. "You hungry? I’ve got some soup I can heat up. Or I can cook something."

I shake my head. "No, thank you. I’m okay. I’m going to take off my coat and put my bag away if that’s alright."

"Of course." As I walk down the hall, I can feel his gaze following me. He may give off the vibe of the quintessential bad boy with his muscles and tattoos, but his gestures show a softer side of him. Even his voice shows the juxtaposition; It’s deep, and his tone is cool bordering on aloof, but every word out of his mouth has been kind and caring. Well, aside for his propensity—and dare I say, talent—for using the word "fuck" so frequently.

I take a few things out of my bag and lay them out on the bed. Pajamas, toothbrush, hairbrush, and clothes for tomorrow. The idea of being able to take a shower in an actual private bathroom is more appealing than I care to admit. I signed up for a gym membership after I got here just so I could have access to a shower, but the month-long free trial will be up soon, and I doubt I’ll be able to afford it afterward.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, I’m going to try to enjoy sleeping in a real bed and taking a hot shower. Ihave a few protein bars in my bag to tide me over as well, though I imagine Mark might try to feed me again later. He’s already given me so much, though, and I don’t want it to seem like I’m here for handouts.

Regardless, his kindness is unlike anything I’ve known, even though I’m coming from a community that preaches about loving your neighbor and caring for the needy. The irony is not lost on me. The people who shouted the loudest about unconditional love were the same ones who viewed kindness as transactional. Meanwhile, a random stranger is taking me in and giving me shelter without expecting anything in return.

At least, I hope he isn’t.

I laugh to myself, thinking,if only my parents could see me now…

If they could, they’d probably declare this the ultimate evidence of my failure, my fall from grace, a disappointment to the family name. Staying in an apartment alone with a man I don’t know, one who’s covered in tattoos and throws the word "fuck" around like confetti.

I shouldn’t care about any of that, but the guilt still eats away at me sometimes. They’re likely still reeling after noticing I left in the middle of the night three weeks ago. But even more than that, my father is probably seething with rage that I had the gall to go against his word, to steal my birth certificate and other legal documents along with the old family vehicle. I lied, stole, and ran away in hopes of a better life, but I still can’t help but worry that maybe I was in the wrong.

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