Page 119 of Give In

It was the last one that’d proved to be most dangerous.

Looking down at my phone, I sighed.

I’d finally quit Sinners. Even without everything with Damien, the idea of returning to work had filled me with dread and unease. I no longer felt safe. I could deal with a lot, push through even more, but I’d never be okay with feeling unsafe. Once I’d made the decision to quit, I hadn’t been able to wait. I’d texted Charlie and asked him to call me when he was awake, assuming he’d be asleep.

Despite the early hour, my phone had rung within a minute, an unsurprised Charlie on the other end. His tone had been filled with resignation even as he’d tried to bribe me back with offers of more nights, then less nights, and finally a promise to fire Hank. I’d turned them all down, which hadn’t seemed to surprise him, either.

I was surprised enough for both of us. Impulsiveness wasn’t my thing. I was a planner, especially when it came to finances. I’d never left a job before securing a new one. And I’d always put in at least two weeks’ notice, as was the proper protocol.

I’ve spent years working for and running to freedom. Making my own decisions. Thinking about number one. Numero uno. Me, myself, and I.

And I’ve thrown it away for some good dick.

My thoughts made me chuckle which turned into a hysterical, bubbling, sidesplitting laugh.

When I got control of my hilarity, breathing heavily and wiping away tears, I realized how happy I genuinely was.

I wasn’t freaking out. I didn’t have the urge to call him back and beg for my job back while claiming I’d sleep-quit. There were stressors that’d likely hit me right as I was trying to fall asleep, but the list of pros was infinitely longer than the cons.

No more late nights.

No more skeevy clientele.

No more bad tippers, no-tippers, and slow nights.

No more asshole bouncers.

With another borderline-maniacal laugh, I flopped back onto my lumpy, broken-spring mattress, my thrift store bed creaking loudly.

There was an echoing thump from the tiny living room.

Tonia must be home.

Footsteps bounded toward my door before she knocked enthusiastically. And knocked. And knocked.

“Come in,” I called repeatedly, finally just yelling it.

The door flung open and Tonia launched herself in. “Finally! How’re you?” She didn’t give me the chance to answer. “I’ve been stalking your room, waiting for you. Did you not see my notes?”

“No, I must have missed it.”

“Not it.Them. On your door. The cork board in the entryway. On the fridge.”

“Oops.” My stomach dropped.

Holy shit, we’re being evicted. Or the building is finally getting condemned. Or she’s moving out.

I just quit my job and now I’ll be living on the streets.

Wait, none of that can be it. I always pay the rent on time. There were no notices on the doors. And I doubt people would be allowed in if it was unsafe.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, trying not to get ahead of myself by more than a football field or ten.

Tonia flopped down on my bed. “Where’ve you been?”

“Around,” I evaded.

“Mmhmm.” She raised her brows, but when I didn’t expound, she gave an exasperated sigh. “Any chance you’ve beenaroundwith Brooks?”