**Chapter Three**
**Amy**
Just as Kincaid predicted, three days went by before Daniel got released. Apart from the broken ribs he had several other bruises and minor injuries. From what I experienced in that workshop, he could’ve looked much worse.
We shared an apartment, because neither of us could afford one on our own. In terms of friends and family, we didn’t have any. Before Daniel managed to get a job as a gas-station attendant, and a cheap room at a rundown motel, we were in and out of foster homes. All the moving and the drama pretty much screwed our chances of getting close to anyone. Daniel eventually dropped out of school thanks to all the insanity, but somehow I pushed through with his financial support.
I was still mad at him though, even in his broken state. He made me do something I never thought I would, and as far as he was concerned I never went near Kincaid. In other words, I allowed him to think he still had a death sentence. I had to punish him somehow.
“I don’t see the point of being home. Hell, I’m surprised they didn’t kill me in the hospital.” Daniel said with his typical dry humor.
“The point is that I can’t afford you dying in the hospital, so you’ll have to do it in this shithole, sorry. Hopefully, I’ll be serving tables while it happens. Oh, and please ask whoever kills you to clean up afterward. I’m not mopping your blood and guts.”
We had just gotten back from the hospital and I was already late for my shift at Les Apotres de Pigalle, an upscale restaurant that catered to the upper-middle-class, so I rushed to my bedroom to get dressed. I dropped the hospital bill on my nightstand and tried to forget the deadline for payment. Not only did I have to work as a free slave during the day, I had to serve people food I couldn’t even afford to look at during the night. All I needed at that moment was one small push and I would be the one in the hospital, overdosing on pills and alcohol.
If only I could afford it.
Of course, I didn’t forget about Kincaid. One of my biggest frustrations was that I couldn’t stop thinking about him. With conviction I’d tell myself he’s the scum of the earth and his type deserved to burn in hell. But I couldn’t shake the way he touched me. The tingle between my legs wasn’t as strong as it was that night, but the aftershocks lingered.
After going through the motions of getting dressed and unsuccessfully avoiding all thoughts connected to Kincaid, I checked on Daniel one last time. He was in the kitchen, going through the cupboards for something to eat.
“Are you up for cooking rats? Because that’s all you’re going to find in there.” I said.
“Damn. I was kinda hoping you turned into a millionaire while I was gone. Have I taught you nothing my dear little sister?”
“Nothing worth remembering. But you are the lucky winner of some mac and cheese in the fridge. I’ll try to bring something home if I still have a job.”
I grabbed my heels that I typically leave in the kitchen corner and turned for the door, which was when I remembered something that turned my blood cold. I don’t know why I forgot about it in the first place, but it had my heart racing at a time when I really didn’t need it.
“Daniel, what did you do with Kincaid’s money?”
The look in his face told me to be scared again.
“Daniel? Where’s the money?”
He wanted to come up with a quick lie, but he wasn’t in any condition to face the consequences.
“I used it to pay one of my bookies.”
“One of your bookies? How many are there?!”
“Just the one. I meant to say my bookie, I used it to pay my bookie.” He said very defensively.
My cold blood started boiling and I bit down on my teeth.
“Please tell me you don’t owe anybody else any money.” I begged.
“What does it matter, Amy? Kincaid is going to kill me anyway!”
It felt like my veins were going to erupt underneath my skin at that point.
“Jesus, Daniel! We’re not kids anymore! You can’t keep fucking with these people!”
I wanted to keep ranting. I wanted to break his ribs all over again and smash his head against the wall. But I was too angry and too tired to say another word. There was no verbal way to vent my frustration, and if I did it physically I’d be the cause of his violent death.
So I just walked away.
I was quickly losing grip on my sanity, and serving uptight assholes dinner came as somewhat of a blessing. If I didn’t get out of that room I was going to explode, and without saying goodbye I slammed the door behind me. Daniel tried to explain, but I wasn’t having it.
The three flights of stairs seemed to rush by, unlike most nights where I consciously hated every step I took. At the same time old memories started flashing in my mind, making me even more emotional and hopeless. So many times I’ve wondered why we had to grow up the way we did. All the fights, the yelling, the lack of substance, it was one nightmare after the other. Yet the cycle didn’t end. All the shit just kept coming back.
My shoes were still in my hand as I reached the last step. Feeling incredibly tired and extremely worn-out, I caved in and sat down. At the age of twenty-three I felt immortal, which wasn’t a good thing when death seemed to hold so much more luster. Instead of putting on my shoes, I just stared at them, allowing the sudden wave of calm to wash over me. It was one of those moments where you realize you just don’t care anymore. Whatever happens, happens – whether it destroys you or not.
But after wiping the singular tear from my cheek and regretting my birth for a few minutes, I pulled on the fake Prada heels.
I was late for work.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/nzq7vc/my_dark_hero_part_three_romanticeroticafantasy