The Tales of Flesh and Blood

My Debt Is A Date

So. My life has always been a little hectic, but it was my normal. The fights, the stress, the constant need to be on my feet . . . I hated it - I knew life like this was far from sane - but it was what I was taught. What I learned. And I was good at it.

Sure, there were many, many times where I loathed the situations I occasionally found myself in, and wished that things would slow down just once for a few minutes. There was a small part of me that took comfort in the fact that I managed to steer clear from the gangs and power-grab around my home, and a greater comfort still knowing that I was capable of getting up there in the ranks and chose not to. In my mind, though I never teased the idea, by doing these things, it made me better than those I was constantly surrounded by. That was how I lived with myself. I watched what other people did, studied their reactions and made sure to run away from the crossfire when things got messy.

It was what I was known for, and I guess that after a while, people saw this - and when they saw that I would not go straight to those of power with the secrets that I would find, it gave me the right amount of respect that I needed to live without having to worry about being shot at - most of the time. There were a few, ehm, situations where I was dragged behind an alley and almost stabbed because I walked in on something that I was surely never meant to see.

Yet every time, just before a fatal blow could be landed, a person in the shadows would come out to intervene - a person wearing the same guise as one of Port's minions. Of course, Hadi never learned those details. She would never let me step foot outside our apartment if she did.

It was how I figured out that this was all a game, and that no matter what, Port always knew what was going on. There was no use trying to hide things from him. I watched those same people who intervened in my case intervene with others - and crack down on those who thought they were smart; hence, why I cautioned Hadi not to go to him about the four men who broke into our apartment.

All of these things were coursing through my head as I sat on the couch with Felix's notes on my lap, trying to figure out the best way to write a report that would satisfy Mr. Horten enough to ease up on the detention. Suddenly, my phone buzzed inside my pocket, and then it hit me: I don't think I ever texted Jaxon.

"Ah, shit," I said beneath my breath as I flipped the phone open. Five unread messages, all from Jaxon.

Message 1: 'Hey, are you alive?'

Message 2, thirty minutes later: 'Tria?'

Message 3, almost an hour after the second: 'Everything good?'

Message 4 fifty-six minutes after that: 'Reply as soon as you can.'

Then, this last one, just now: 'I'm in the parking lot of your apartment building. Can you come out?'

At this time of night? I looked up at the top of my phone's screen to see that it was nearing ten. Cursing, I set the notes aside and headed to the front door, careful not to make too much noise, as Hadi was sleeping in the next room over. After doubling back to grab my damn key (which was almost buried in the ruins of the poor coffee table), I snuck out of the apartment, locked it, then made a show of walking - albeit, staying light on my feet - down the hall and then down the stairs until I was in the lobby. As usual, there were some people hanging around, smoking, kissing, dealing in the corners. They didn't pay me much mind, though I knew that once I came back to the lobby, someone would try to talk to me. You don't walk around at night without avoiding weirdos. I pulled my phone out.

'Where are you?' I texted Jaxon as I stepped outside, leaning against the outer wall while glancing up to scan the parking lot for movement. He responded barely a minute after.