My heart jumped as I passed a small group of girls lingering off to the side of the street. Their ughter rang a little too loud in my ears, and instinctively my shoulders drew in as I kept walking toward the store.

  I told myself to rex—focus on the errand. Vegetables, steaks. Wednesday steaks. For some reason, Elena always craved steak on Wednesdays, and I'd learned not to question it.

  I adjusted the strap of my bag and gripped it tighter as I neared a narrow alleyway. It was dim, tucked between two aging buildings, shadows clinging to its edges.

  It looked painfully familiar—too much like the one I used to sleep near back when I was doing my... work. The memory crawled up my spine, cold and unwelcome.

  "Don't think about it. That's not your life anymore."

  I rounded the corner, the bright entrance of the store finally coming into view. Each step forward felt like a small victory, the automatic doors just a few strides away—until I heard it.

  A few whistles, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the noise of the street.

  I pretended not to hear them and picked up my pace, eyes fixed ahead. Almost there. Just keep walking. My pulse thudded louder with every step.

  Then a hand grabbed at my shirt.

  I sucked in a breath and twisted free, my heart hammering as I pushed forward without looking back. Whoever it was didn't follow, didn't call out again. The silence that followed was almost worse, heavy and lingering as I crossed the st stretch and stepped into the store.

  I exhaled only once I was inside, surrounded by light and people and the low hum of normalcy.

  "Yeah." I decided as I grabbed a basket. I'd be spending extra money on an Uber ride home today.

  I made my way to the vegetable section, the bright lights reflecting off misted shelves. I grabbed fresh lettuce first, then carrots, potatoes, and a couple of cucumbers.

  I lingered over those for a moment. I'd always loved cucumbers—something I grew up with. Being a Mexican kid meant Tajín went on everything, and cucumbers dusted with it were pure perfection. Even now, the thought made my mouth water.

  I paused, mentally running through the list again, but nothing else came to mind. Satisfied, I pulled the basket to my side and headed for the meat section.

  Rows upon rows of neatly arranged cuts stretched out before me, red and pink under the dispy lights, wrapped and waiting to be taken home. For most people, any steak would do—but not for us. Elena and I had a clear favorite.

  Ribeyes. Always ribeyes.

  I approached the butcher and asked for two. She worked quickly and confidently, gloved hands moving with practiced ease as she wrapped them up and slid the package across the counter.

  Simple. Efficient. Normal. For once, everything seemed to be going smoothly—but knowing my luck, I doubted it would st.

  I handed her a fifty-dolr bill, tucked the steaks into my basket, and turned away.

  Almost immediately, I picked up my pace. The longer I stayed, the tighter my chest felt. I just wanted to pay and get out of there—before something I didn't want to happen had the chance to happen.

  Right as I was about to step into line, I heard a voice I hadn't heard in years.

  "Miguel! Oh my goodness, it's been so long since I've seen you!"

  I turned, and a breath of relief slipped out of me when I recognized her. Jenny. My old lesbian friend. She waved enthusiastically before crossing the space between us and pulling me into a tight hug, squeezing the air out of my lungs.

  "Hey—" I ughed breathlessly as she finally let go.

  "It's crazy you're still here," she said, scratching the back of her head with a sheepish smile. "I thought you moved away from Oakhaven."

  I shook my head. "Nope. Been here forever," I replied, smiling back, though it felt a little tired.

  She hesitated, shifting her weight, her expression changing just slightly. "I know it's been a while, but... is it true that you, uh—" She lowered her voice. "That you became a prostitute our sophomore year?"

  The word hit harder than I expected. I sighed and nodded once, my jaw tightening as I looked away. The past had a way of following me no matter how far I tried to walk from it.

  "Can we not talk about that?" I said quietly. "I'm past it. I'm not that person anymore."

  Her eyes widened. "Yeah—no, yeah, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. God, that was stupid." She waved her hands awkwardly. "I'll shut up."

  "It's fine," I muttered, though it wasn't.

  We stepped into line together. Jenny stayed close, but not too close—close enough to be supportive, far enough to respect my space. I pced the vegetables onto the conveyor belt, one by one, the cashier scanning them quickly, efficiently. Normal sounds. Normal motions. I clung to that.

  A moment ter, I was holding a brown paper bag with dinner for Elena and me tucked safely inside.

  "Anyway," I said, forcing a lighter tone as I turned toward Jenny, "it was nice seeing you. I'll see you around."

  I took a step away—then stopped.

  The memory of the whistles, the hand on my shirt, made my stomach twist.

  "Actually..." I turned back to her, lowering my voice. "Could you give me a ride home? I'm really not trying to get harassed right now."

  She didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Of course," she said immediately.

  I followed her out to her gray Jeep, setting the groceries carefully in the backseat as the bags rustled softly. I climbed into the passenger seat, the door shutting with a solid thunk that finally made my shoulders rex.

  For the first time since leaving the apartment, I felt... safe. So safe that I didn't have to worry about my handbag getting snatched.

  "So," Jenny said, eyes fixed on the road as the Jeep rolled forward, "how's dating been? Catch anyone special? I remember you used to fawn over the idea of being a husband someday."

  "Make a left here," I said, gesturing ahead. "And yeah... I have someone." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "She's sweet. Kind. Can be a bit much for some people—but I don't mind."

  Jenny nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. She genuinely looked happy for me, and that meant more than I expected.

  "What about you?" I asked after a moment. "Any luck with girls tely?" I added quickly, "Take a right here."

  She hesitated before answering. "Actually... while you were gone, I realized I didn't like women as much as I thought I did."

  I nodded, accepting it without question. "I see." After a beat, I smiled at her. "Whoever you end up with will be lucky. You're a good person."

  She let out a quiet ugh. "I hope they think so too."

  The rest of the drive passed in a mix of small talk and comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional direction as I guided her toward my building. It wasn't perfect, a little awkward here and there—but I'd lived through worse. This was fine.

  She pulled up to the curb, and I unbuckled my seatbelt. I stepped out, opened the back door, and grabbed the groceries—everything still upright, nothing spilled. A small win.

  "Thanks, Jenny. See you around," I said, closing the door and giving her a wave as I headed toward the entrance.

  "Yeah—thank you, Miguel! I mean—" she stumbled, then ughed. "You're welcome, Miguel!"

  She sped off a second ter. I chuckled to myself, shaking my head as I walked toward the building, the weight of the grocery bag familiar and grounding in my hand.

  The moment I stepped inside, the familiar stench of bleach mixed with that unmistakable old-people smell hit my nose. My neighbors probably found it comforting by now. I never had. It always made the pce feel sterile and tired, like the building itself was worn out.

  I started up the stairs, the grocery bag swinging lightly at my side. My foot caught on the edge of a step and I stumbled, heart jumping—but I managed to steady myself before anything spilled. I muttered under my breath and kept going.

  A few flights ter, I reached my floor and turned into the hallway. It was narrow and dim, the lights humming faintly overhead as my footsteps echoed louder the farther I walked. Each step brought me closer to home.

  Then I noticed a door ahead of me swing open.

  Delih stepped out.

  She was loud, extroverted, the kind of person who filled a room without trying—almost like Elena in that way. Almost. The difference was that Delih didn't know when to stop. Where Elena's energy felt warm and grounding, Delih's was sharp, intrusive.

  And judging by the way she was already locking eyes with me, I had a feeling I wasn't getting past her quietly.

  "Heyyy, Miguel," Delih drawled. "What's a cutie like you doing out here all alone? I usually see you with that girl of yours."

  Her eyes dragged over me slowly, deliberately, and my skin crawled under her gaze. I tightened my grip on the grocery bag, forcing myself not to shrink back.

  "Oh—uh, just grabbing groceries," I said with an awkward chuckle. "Food for ter, you know?" My voice sounded thinner than I wanted it to. All I could think about was getting inside, locking the door, and starting dinner.

  She hummed, nodding as if she wasn't really listening. Then she licked her lips.

  "Well," she said, stepping closer, "I'm guessing that girlfriend of yours is at work." Her hand slid onto my arm, nails dragging lightly over my skin. "Why don't you come inside with me? Keep me company for a bit."

  My stomach twisted. I pulled my arm free, forcing myself to meet her eyes just long enough to be firm.

  "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I don't do that. If you'll excuse me, I need to make dinner for my girlfriend."

  I turned away before she could respond, heart pounding as I reached my apartment door. My fingers had just wrapped around my key—

  When the door suddenly opened.

  Two hands grabbed me and pulled me inside in one swift motion.

  "Elena—" I gasped, the word leaving me in a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

  She was there, solid and real, her presence instantly filling the space. The door shut behind us with a sharp click, cutting off the hallway, the smell, and Delih's lingering stare.

  I looked up, and the seriousness in her expression made my chest tighten. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes unreadable. She wasn't angry the way she usually was—this was colder. And it terrified me.

  ———

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