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The day I met Adonis.

Even sadness doesn’t stop my lips from quirking. I finally remember him and the chaos leading up to that moment. My whole body ached the next day after prancing around for miles in those flimsy sandals.

But they were all I had at the time. And they got me exactly where I needed to be.

Two days after I left Adonis in that graveyard, I ended up meeting Indigo at the public library. I was on another solo outing and even though I got denied a library cardbecause I couldn’t show them the documents they needed, I went to the back and sat down at a table overlooking downtown Wildwood.

When I was zoned out, a woman with an Afro asked me if she could sit with me. Her hair had been bright purple back then.

We ended up talking and she told me she was looking for a place to stay while she went to Cosmetology school. And the rest is history. Well, more or less. The murky details don’t matter as much as me finding my footing.

The sun has just begun to set when Adonis finds me at the edge of the pool, my legs submerged in the water while I stare at the cypress trees skirting his property.

“Hey, menace.” The greeting is weighted. Almost an audible representation of how I feel right now.

“You’re back from work early,” I say, not breaking eye contact with the trees.

His hand comes around my waist and I sag against him immediately.

“It’s the usual time, baby.” He kisses my hair even though it probably tastes like sweat and smells like regret. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, but I know Titus has come and gone twice.

I was waiting on his third visit but got Adonis instead.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m tired, Adonis.” I’ve said it before, but it doesn’t make it any less true. I pull off my glasses, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Every time I feel like I’ve found my footing, something comes and knocks me on my ass.”

Moving his hand from my side to my shoulder, he summons me deeper into his space.

With my head heavy on his chest, I feel like I can say anything.

“I know I’m immature and people don’t take me seriously. And I know that’s why they try to walk all over me. But it’s not my fault.” I pinch my nose again, trying to keep my tears away. “I’ve only been doing this a year. I’m fucking trying. And every time I feel calm for two seconds, something comes and gives me whiplash. I wish people didn’t look at me and think I’m easy to walk all over. I don’t want to fight, but what choice do they give me?”

His presence gives me permission to deflate. Tocryfor the first time today.

Adonis rests his chin on top of my head, talking me through it.

I want to end Weston, make him suffer for the shattered pieces of my heart.

But a less broken part of me wants to hear his side of it.

Just when I think I’m done sniveling and wiping tears from my face, another wail splits the summer air. “Oh god! And on top of everything, I have fucking Stockholm Syndrome.”

My body is shaking before I put the dots together and recognize the movement for what it is: Adonis laughing.

“It’s not funny.”

“I know.”

“Stop laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing atyou, baby. I’m laughing at the situation.”

“The situation is fucked up too.”

“I know.” I go from the unforgiving concrete to his lap. “And I already told you, I’m not letting any of this shit slide.”

It doesn’t cross my mind to question the sinister promise edging his tone when he kisses me briefly.