Book 2 Chapter 25


    "I don''t need your help. I don''t need anyone''s help," I say, the words sharp like knives, slicing through the air between us. My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. "Just leave, Vance."


    I expect him to argue, to push back as he''s done previously. But he surprises me. Vance doesn''t move, his gray eyes locked on mine. There''s a flicker of something - disappointment? frustration? - before his expression hardens


    He nods slowly, his jaw set. "Fine," he says, his


    voice low and even. "See you tomorrow, Maya.''


    My stomach lurches. What does he mean by that? Before I can demand an exnation, he


    turns on his heel and walks away


    I stand frozen for a moment, my mind reeling


    Part of me wants to call after him, to demand answers. But pride keeps my lips sealed. With a growl of frustration, I m the door shut, the bang echoing through the empty halls of my once-grand homeContent bel0ngs to N?vel(D)r/a/ma.Org.


    Leaning against the closed door, I slide down to the floor, my legs suddenly weak. What game is Vance ying? And why do I feel so..


    conflicted when ites to that man? Eventually dragging my ass off the floor I move to my bed and fall into it, knowing I have an early start tomorrow since I managed to get an extra shift tomorrow morning at the library, and then I am pulling a double shift at the club to make up for my mistake of fucking up my first night on the VIP floor.


    Exhausted, I peel myself off the floor and drag my weary body toward the corner where my portable gas stove sits on a rickety table; I bought it the other day since I still haven''t decided if I will pay the electric bill. The coolness of the floor under my feet reminds me Just how empty and cold this mansion has be, a shell of its former glory. I rummage through the cupboard-what''s left of my pantry 1s pitiful, but I manage to find a box of macaroni. Simple, quick, and it fills the void, and I can''t handle eating any more noodles right now


    As I wait for the water to boil, I sit cross-legged on the floor, staring at the blue me. The gentle hiss of the gas is soothing, a rare,forting sound in the echoing silence of this toorge house, and warms me some, considering I still haven''t had a chance to chop more wood for the firece. The macaroni


    cooks, bubbling in the pot, and I stir it absentmindedly, my thoughts drifting to the bills piled up on the hallway table


    The electric bill res back at me from my mental checklist, a looming expense that I could just barely cover if I decided to ignore the property tax notice that also came this week to add tost quarter''s one. It''s a bncing act; paying the electric bill means lights, warmth, a semnce of normalcy. But then, the city mighte knocking for their due if I skip out on the property taxes again


    Once dinner is ready, I spoon the steaming macaroni into a paper bowl. It''s in, with no cheese or butter, just salt for vor. I carry it over to the bay window and sit on the small bench, the one spot where the moonlight streams in, casting long shadows across the floor


    As J eat, a small, dark figure darts out from the crack in the wall-the mouse. It''s be an unwanted friendly pest. I watch it sniff the air, its tiny nose twitching. It''s just as hungry as I am, maybe more


    I know I should probably deal with it andy down traps, but there''s something about its persistent survival that resonates with me. This little mouse, scrappy and persistent, is the only living being that shares my space and my struggles


    "Here," I whisper, scooping out some of the macaroni and cing it on the floor. The mouse hesitates, then scurries over, nibbling on the offering. It watches me with petrified eyes but 1s hungry enough, and it doesn''t scamper away as I continue eating


    "It''s not cheese, but it''s food," I tell the mouse


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