Page 9 of Fire and Silk
“You know,” she adds gently, “you don’t have to do this.”
I stop mid-motion, my boot halfway on. I glance at her. “Don’t go there.”
She exhales. She doesn’t push. But she doesn’t back down either.
“I’m just saying… you have an option. You don’t have to work this hard, Lira. Not like this.”
The laugh that slips out of me isn’t amused. It’s brittle.
“What options? My family’s gone. I have no savings. I dropped out of school, remember? I flamed out. I disappeared for a year and came back to nothing but the debt I was in after losing my scholarship.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just watches me, steady.
“Mico would give you the world in a heartbeat.”
The name cuts sharper than I want it to.
“Well fuck him,” I snap.
Nicola doesn’t blink. She just shrugs and reaches for her hoops.
“Okay,” she says simply. “But you’re still bleeding, babe. Doesn’t matter who you blame.”
I don’t reply. I just tug my hair up into a ponytail, lips tight, chest heavier than it should be.
Mico was my brother’s best friend. The first man I ever loved. Older, serious, kind in the way that made me feel like I was made of glass and poetry. My mother adored him—used to say,“That boy will protect you long after your brother’s gone.”
And I believed her. Ibelievedhim.
But when I crumbled, Mico didn’t stay.
He arranged the rehab. Signed the forms. Paid the deposit.
And that was the last time I saw his face.
I called. Texted. Emailed. Sent letters. I even went to the naval base he was posted at, stood outside for hours until someone finally came out and said,“He doesn’t want visitors.”
But each month, right on time, five thousand dollars arrived into the family account I had. From him. No note. No name. Just money.
Like I was a mess he felt obligated to clean up after.
He didn’t want me. He pitied me. He paid to forget me.
I don’t need him. And I don’t need his money. I never touched a penny of it.
Nicola turns toward me. Her expression softens into something private, something only we understand.
She cups my face with both hands, warm and grounding. Then she kisses the tip of my nose.
“It’s okay, my feisty cat,” she says gently. “Fuck the promiscuous housewife, fuck the spoiled teenager,fuck Mico.”
A laugh punches out of me—quiet, bitter. “Fuck you.”
She grins, feral and loving. “Fuck me and fuck this shift. Let’s go make as many tips as we can, okay?”
I nod. We link arms and push out into the night.
****
