Page 3 of Citrine

Coupled with the music she always has blaring, it's a recipe for sensory overload.

I won't be able to stay long.

"I want to leave him."

She's said it all before, so I just keep my mouth shut. She'll ask for money next.

"I just don't have the cash."

I cross my arms in front of me and raise an eyebrow. When she reaches out to me to gain sympathy, I notice the track marks on her arms. That's new.

"I've given it to you at least five times. I haven't saved up again since the last time."

She slumps. "I thought you got a raise at the store?"

How the hell did she know that?

"I work a cash register. A raise barely pays for a cup of coffee. How about you start working?"

She shivers. "You know he'd never let me do that."

I let out a sigh. He controls everything. Most importantly, what money she has access to and what she can buy with it.

That he lets her buy drugs is just another way to keep her under his thumb. My empathy has been engaged, against my better judgment.

"I can spare a couple hundred. Just grab a bag and I'll take you somewhere."

She's shaking now. "I can't just leave all my things."

She isn't ready. She will probably never be ready, and no one can force that decision.

I had to make the choice for myself, and she'll have to do the same. If she ever decides to take the risk and accept the fear of starting over, I'll do whatever I can for her.

Anything she has will be mine, but not if it's going to destroy her.

I stand up, the chair rasping along the ground as my knees push it back. "I have to go to work."

"Please! Can you just send the cash? I'll figure something out."

I glance back to the evidence of hard drug use peppering her arms.

"No. I can't do that. If you want me to take you somewhere and pay for a few nights, I will. But I'm not giving you cash."

A low voice growls from behind me, instantly making my body lock up. "What the fuck, Noreen?"

Did he see my bike? I left it a block away, just in case. Stupid music. I should have turned it off when I came in.

Shit.

He must have snuck in. A waft of air brings the smell of his aftershave and my stomach heaves. I can't help but turn to him. My instinct to never let him behind my back is too strong to not override my desire to never see his face again.

He's livid. The same mask of rage that always preceded a blow… always there for something we did wrong.

No matter how trivial the offense, always that same level of anger.

"I knew you were up to something; you bitch. My buddy said to use cameras, and I fucking defendedyou. Said you would never betray me."

"You can't—" I try to say but he cuts me off.