Fall With Me (UIC 2022)

4 - Remembering Yesterday

For the rest of Sawyer's shift, Caleb sat at a small table in the corner by the bar. He ate and drank slowly, purchasing something every hour to Harvey's satisfaction when the merman made his rounds shortly after ten. If Harvey was curious as to why an alpha-descended werewolf was in his bar reading a science fiction novel, he didn't remark on it—for which Sawyer was grateful. The less she had to explain about her past to her employer, the better.

After the bar closed at one-thirty, Sawyer tiredly went around cleaning tables, stacking chairs, and counting money for the night. To her surprise, she'd made more than three hundred dollars in tips—most of which came from the three brothers. It had been a very long time since she'd seen that kind of money. Maybe she could spring for a treat—like fresh vegetables instead of cheap microwavable meals.

Caleb slipped up to the bar, tucking the novel into his back pocket. "All set?"

Sawyer looked up, suddenly remembering why he was there in the first place. They were going up to her apartment. The butterflies returned, but not in a lovey-dovey way. Suddenly, she felt quite shy, which was not something she'd ever felt around Caleb Stillwater. "Yes," she replied, slipping the folded bills into her purse.

"You live above the bar?" he asked as she led him out the back door.

"Yeah."

Caleb paused and studied the soundness of the stairs. "Is this going to hold me?"

"I try not to think about it," she told him and began to climb. If they could withstand Gogo's considerable bulk, one adult werewolf shouldn't cause a collapse.

"So ... do you get an employee discount?" he asked, stairs creaking as he followed.

Sawyer chuckled wryly and shook her head. "No."

"Huh."

She used to get a discount on food, but Harvey did away with that once they started losing customers to the new bar. They weren't even allowed to use the tap, so Sawyer kept her own water bottles in the tiny employee fridge.

"Here's ... me," she said, digging out her key. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed that Caleb's mouth was creased with a frown, no doubt making a tally of how unsafe this place was to live in. Hunching her shoulders, Sawyer bit her lip, opened the door, and walked into the apartment.

She turned to the left, dropped her purse on the floor, kicked off her shoes, and flicked on the light. The lone recessed ceiling light illuminated the bareness of her studio apartment: the ratty brown couch she'd bought off of one of the previous rounds of college students, a dollar store lamp and folding table, the mattress she got at a flea market down the street. Her shirts and jeans hung on a rack next to the bed; underwear and bras were tucked into the tiny nightstand—nearly all purchased from the Salvation Army.

On the right was her tiny kitchen with its scratch-and-dent refrigerator, two-burner stove, and microwave. A couple of flowers she had scooped up from the back alley and repotted in chipped pottery sat atop the fridge. There were two cabinets above the sink, which held her small collection of cups and plates; the utensils lay drying on a towel. The only closed-off space in the whole place was the bathroom, which crammed a sink, toilet, and bathtub into the room like Tetris pieces.

It was hilarious, really. Her bedroom back home was larger than this piece of shit—en suite bathroom included.

"Savvy ..." Caleb choked out, closing the door behind him.

Tears pricked Sawyer's eyes and a lump filled her throat. "It's all I can afford," she whispered, not facing him. She wrapped her arms around herself, shame and despair flooding in. She'd left with whatever money she had lying around—which didn't last very long.