Page 3 of Crossing Between

The ride took about forty-five minutes to get to the stop near my home, in the part of town everyone called "bad town," since it was one of the older, poorer areas of the city.

It was run down, and the rumors made it seem like a dangerous place to be.

The only problems I ever had were from human thugs, though. Otherwise, people were pretty friendly.

This was where most people lived when they couldn’t afford much.

Ryan and I lived in a small triplex where our landlord, Ruth, occupied the middle apartment.

She was an elderly woman who relied on our rent.

She was a sweetheart, and I often made dinner for her a few nights a week — not just for her, but for myself too.

I enjoyed her company. Most of the time, I would eat alone because my brother was out causing trouble or gambling somewhere.

Ruth sat outside on a small chair she kept on her front steps, a pipe in one hand and a can of cheap beer in the other.

She might have looked old and frail, but her mind was still sharp as a tack.

Her hair was shaved close to her head, and she wore bright, neon, mismatched clothes just to mess with people. I loved it.

“Zoey, my dear, what happened to you?" She leaned forward as soon as she noticed me walking up the sidewalk, setting her beer down before struggling to her feet.

I quickly climbed the steps to stop her from having to wobble down them.

“I just had an unfortunate meeting with the concrete on my way out of the interview. I’m okay, though.

It looks worse than it is.” At least I hoped so.

My face throbbed, and my nose felt like someone had shoved a sharp poker up it and tried to scramble my brains, but I kept a smile on my face.

No use worrying the old woman when she couldn’t do anything to help.

I had a first aid kit in my bedroom anyway. “I got the job!”

Ruth threw her hands in the air, her pipe flying somewhere down the street in celebration. I’d grab it for her later. Ruth was like the eccentric grandmother I had always wanted.

“That’s wonderful news, girly!” She pulled me into a hug, then grimaced faintly as she pulled away.

“Why don’t we have a celebratory drink tomorrow?

Tonight, you need to take care of yourself.

Don’t worry about dealing with Ryan — he headed out about thirty minutes ago with those ruffians he calls friends.

We both know he won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.” She huffed. “Do you need anything?”

“Nah. I’m just going to clean myself up and have a glass of wine. Did you eat today?” I gave her a level stare. Ruth was known to lie if she thought she was being a burden.

She let out a husky laugh, coughing at the very end before taking a long draw from her beer.

“I did, don’t you worry your pretty head about it.

Now go on and take care of that blood.” She settled back into her chair.

“It’s a beautiful evening. I’m going to enjoy the rest of my beer before heading inside to watch my nightly shows. Now, shoo.”

Just like that, I was dismissed. Shaking my head in amusement, I went back down the steps to my side of the house. It was an old townhouse, the faded light green paint chipped and dying vines climbing the sides, but it was home.

Inside, it was only slightly warmer since none of the windows had been open.

That was the first thing I fixed, dropping my bag on the coffee table and working to wrestle the stubborn living room window open.

It took a few grunts and one wince, but fresh air finally flowed through the room.

The AC hadn't worked in two years — neither Ruth nor I could afford to fix it.

I kicked off my broken heels and pulled on my well-worn slippers. I set the sad shoes on the table near the door — I'd try to fix them after my first paycheck. Who knew when I’d need work heels again?

I was about to collapse onto the beat-up old couch when the throbbing in my nose reminded me that I needed to clean up first. How could I have forgotten the fall? I was more tired than I realized. It had been a long, eventful day.

The fourth stair made its usual squeaky protest as I headed upstairs. The bathroom light had been left on — thanks, Ryan. Sighing, I stripped off my clothes and assessed the damage in the mirror.

The yellow light made me look even worse — bruises already formed along my cheeks and under my eyes. My nose was swollen and scraped raw. I looked like someone had taken a tennis racket to my face.

Ugh. Tomorrow would definitely be a makeup day. I'd have to wake up thirty minutes earlier. Fun times. Hopefully, makeup didn’t expire if it sat untouched for a year.

The first aid kit was still under the sink, unopened. This was the fifth one I'd bought in the last couple of months thanks to Ryan constantly coming home beat up. I should’ve invested in a first aid company by now.

Several minutes later, after lots of soap and water, I cleaned my wounds. Most weren’t bad enough to need stitches. One deeper cut next to my nose could have used a few, but butterfly bandages would have to do. A trip to urgent care was not financially possible right now.

At least my face looked a little better when I was done. The bruises were going to look rough tomorrow, but I’d survive. I’d deal with the stares.

After changing into pajamas, my stomach growled. I made a quick snack — toast slathered with butter and sugar — and grabbed one of Ryan’s hard seltzers from the fridge. I kicked up my feet on the coffee table, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

After eating, I spent the rest of the evening filling out the paperwork for my new job. My eyes started crossing by the end of it. Finally, I stumbled into bed, pulling the covers over my head after triple-checking my alarm.

Tomorrow was a new day. A new adventure. Maybe.... a new beginning.