The fluorescent lights of the Quick Mart buzz above my head like a swarm of electric bees, each flicker sending tiny needles into my already throbbing skull. It's 12:33 AM, and I'm staring at Jimmy Swanks as he gesticulates wildly across the counter, his yellow durag catching the harsh light while he goes on and on about Pokémon.
"The Swanks maintains that the original 151 represent the pinnacle of creature design, young blood," Jimmy declares, his gold grill flashing as he speaks. "These new generations? All flash, no substance. They got Pokémon that look like ice cream cones and keychains. The disrespect is palpable."
I nod chanically, fighting to stay present in this conversation while my mind drifts back to Emily's apartnt, to Holly, to the web of lies I'm tangled in so deeply I can hardly breathe anymore.
"Charizard," Jimmy continues, leaning across the counter until his mirrored sunglasses reflect my exhausted face back at . "Now that's a design with gravitas. Swanky respects a fire-breathing dragon. Simple. Elegant. Devastating."
"I was never really that big into Pokémon," I say, the confession slipping out before I can stop it.
Jimmy's jaw drops. His hand flies to his chest, he staggers backward dramatically, knocking over a display of beef jerky.
"Swanka cannot process this betrayal!" he gasps, clutching at his heart like I've just stabbed him. He stumbles against the snack aisle, sending a bag of chips tumbling to the floor.
I roll my eyes, fighting the smile tugging at my lips. "Did you ever get into Yu-Gi-Oh? That was more my thing growing up."
Jimmy freezes mid-death scene, his sunglasses sliding down his nose as he straightens up so fast I worry about his spine. His expression transforms instantly, like I've just uttered a sacred password.
"Young blood!" he exclaims, slapping both palms on the counter and leaning forward until his face is inches from mine. "The Pegasus arc was PEAK animation! The way they built that villain? The soul-stealing stakes? The tournant structure? Chef's kiss! Immaculate storytelling!"
His entire body vibrates with enthusiasm as he launches into a detailed analysis, his hands painting elaborate pictures in the air.
"The Egyptian God Cards? The Shadow Realm? The mind gas? That's when Yu-Gi-Oh was PURE. After Pegasus, it all went downhill. The Swanks was DEVASTATED. They started adding motorcycles to card gas. MOTORCYCLES, Daniel! The disrespect to the source material was criminal!"
I'm about to tell Jimmy that card gas on motorcycles actually sounds pretty badass when the automatic doors slide open with a pneumatic hiss. The fluorescent lights catch on a familiar silhouette, and a voice cuts through the air like a serrated knife.
"Daniel! What the fuck!"
My eyebrow shoots up as I recognize my Aunt Jessica standing in the doorway, her business suit still crisp despite the ungodly hour. Her hair is pulled back in that severe bun she's worn since I was a kid, not a strand out of place even at 12:47 AM.
"Oh, hey Aunty," I manage, surprise montarily pushing thoughts of Emily and Holly to the back of my mind. "Isn't it kinda late for you to be up?"
Her eyes narrow dangerously as she marches toward the counter, heels clicking against the linoleum like tiny hamrs. "You're goddamn right it is," she snaps, slamming her purse down next to the register. "But soone changed their phone number and I couldn't get in contact with you, you little shit."
Jimmy Swanks looks between us with undisguised interest, his gold grill catching the light as his mouth hangs slightly open. "The Swanks senses family drama unfolding," he stage-whispers, backing away with his hands raised. "Jas T. Swanks shall gracefully exit stage left."
"Don't leave on my account," Aunt Jessica says without looking at him, her laser focus still trained on .
I sigh, leaning against the counter. Aunt Jessica was my mom's sister, but you'd never know it from looking at them. Where my mom was chaos incarnate, all wild hair and wilder eyes, track marks and broken promises, Jessica is order personified. Every crease in her clothes deliberate, every word asured before it leaves her mouth.
She hated my mom because of the drug addiction. Not the person, just the addiction that hollowed her out and left a shell behind. But Jessica was always nice to , in her own rigid way. After Mom passed, she offered to let stay with her.
I couldn't do it, though. Couldn't bear becoming soone else's problem, another burden to carry, unlike now. So I thanked her, lied that I had plans, and disappeared.
Jimmy waves his hand dismissively as he backs toward the door. "The Swanks knows when it's ti to make a graceful retreat. Family business is sacred territory." He points two fingers at his eyes, then at . "We'll finish this Yu-Gi-Oh discussion later, my man."
"Yeah, I got a new phone," I tell Jessica as the automatic doors whoosh closed behind Jimmy. I fidget with the register tape, avoiding her piercing gaze. Emily added to her family plan, said it was ridiculous I was paying for a prepaid phone when she had unlimited everything. I don't ntion this to Jessica, though, explaining Emily would open a whole can of worms I'm not ready to deal with.
"I don't get it, Daniel." Jessica crosses her arms, her manicured nails tapping against her sleeve. "I checked on your apartnt the other day. That disgusting little hole in the wall you insisted on keeping? Landlord said you moved out weeks ago."
"Yeah," I mutter, suddenly fascinated by the floor tiles.
Her expression shifts, and for a mont, I glimpse sothing I rarely see on Aunt Jessica's face, genuine concern. She leans forward, lowering her voice.
"You're not holess, are you?" The question cos out softer than her usual tone. "Look, I thought I'd let you stay in that awful place for a few months until you'd finally stop being so stubborn. Then you could co live with and Michael, like I originally offered."
The ntion of my cousin brings a small smile to my face, despite everything. "How is Michael?"
Jessica's face transforms completely, the hard lines softening as pride overtakes her features. "He's great, as always. He's a sophomore in college now, if you can believe it." Her eyes light up as she continues, "He found a whole group of friends who like trains as much as he does. They et every Wednesday to discuss model railroads and historical rail systems."
"That's aweso," I say, genuinely happy for my cousin. Michael's encyclopedic knowledge of trains had been his special interest for as long as I could rember. "I always knew he'd find his people."
Jessica's smile fades as quickly as it appeared, her professional mask slipping back into place. "Enough deflection, Daniel. Where are you living now? I need a straight answer." She leans across the counter, her voice dropping to a whisper that sohow cuts deeper than her shouts. "Please tell you're not following in your mother's footsteps. I can't… I won't let another family mber end up becoming a drug addict."
The accusation hits like a slap. My fingers tighten around the register tape I've been fidgeting with, tearing it clean in half.
"Jesus, Aunt Jessica," I hiss, heat rushing to my face. "I'm not on drugs. I've never touched that shit. You know that."
Her eyes search mine, clinical and assessing. I force myself to hold her gaze, even as sha burns through . Not from drug use, but from everything else, I can't tell her. The blackmail. Holly. The way I've been used.
"Then where are you living?" she presses, not backing down an inch. "And don't lie to . I'll know."
I exhale slowly, weighing my options. The truth is complicated, ssy. How do I explain Emily without sounding like I'm being kept? How do I explain anything about my current situation without revealing the ugly parts?
"I'm living with my girlfriend," I finally admit, the words feeling strange on my tongue. "Her na is Emily. She owns a house. It’s a nice place."
Jessica's face freezes, her eyes widening until I can see the whites all around her irises. Her perfectly manicured nails dig into the counter's edge.
"What the fuck do you an you have a girlfriend who owns a house?" she sputters, her professional composure evaporating. "You're nineteen!"
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly fascinated by the price scanner next to the register. "Well, she's... a little older than ." Google seaʀᴄh nοvelfire
"A little?" Jessica's voice rises an octave. "How old is 'a little,' Daniel?"
"Uhhhhh..." I stall, suddenly finding the ceiling tiles fascinating. My mouth goes dry as I try to form the words.
Jessica slams her palm on the counter, making jump. "How. Old. Is. She?" Each word hits like a hamr blow.
I wince, bracing for impact. "Forty-four."
The silence that follows is so complete I can hear the refrigerators humming at the back of the store. Jessica's face transforms through a plethora of emotions, shock, disgust, rage, before settling on sothing that looks disturbingly like pity.
"Forty-four," she repeats flatly. "You're living with a forty-four-year-old woman. You're nineteen." Her voice rises with each statent. "She's more than twice your age, Daniel!"
"I know how math works," I mutter, imdiately regretting the sass when her eyes narrow to dangerous slits.
"What kind of forty-four-year-old woman wants to date a teenager?" Jessica demands, her knuckles whitening as she grips the counter. "What does she do for a living that she owns a house?"
I shift uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like I'm back in high school getting grilled about a missed assignnt. My throat tightens as I scramble for sothing to say that won't make this situation worse.
"I'm not really sure what Emily does, to be honest," I say, avoiding Jessica's stare. "She doesn't talk about work much. It's... complicated."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I know exactly what Emily does, how her silver hair catches the light when she gets dressed for "appointnts," how she transforms herself for different clients.
Jessica's eyebrow arches so high it practically disappears into her hairline. "You're living with a woman who owns a house, and you don't know what she does for a living?"
"It's complicated," I say, staring at a spot just past Jessica's shoulder. The fluorescent lights flicker again, sending another jab of pain through my skull.
Jessica's professional mask cracks completely, raw concern bleeding through. "You're being preyed upon, Daniel." Her voice drops to a harsh whisper. "This Emily woman sounds exactly like a predator who's going to use you up and then discard you when she gets bored."
My hands clench into fists at my sides. I want to defend Emily, to explain how she makes feel seen and valued in ways no one else ever has. But the words stick in my throat, tangled with all the secrets I can't share.
"It's not like that," I manage, the defense sounding weak even to my own ears.
"Then what is it like?" Jessica demands, leaning forward. "Because from where I'm standing, a middle-aged woman with mysterious inco has sohow convinced my teenage nephew to move in with her. That's textbook grooming behavior."
"I'm not a child," I snap, anger flaring unexpectedly and hot. "I'm legally an adult. I can make my own choices. You can’t groom an adult Aunty."
Jessica pinches the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply like she's counting to ten in her head. When she looks up, her eyes are softer but no less determined.
"I want to et her," Jessica says suddenly, her voice cutting through my defensive anger.
I blink, caught off guard by the directness of her demand. "Well, she's sleeping right now." The excuse sounds la even to my own ears.
Jessica crosses her arms, her tailored blazer creasing slightly at the elbows. "Tomorrow, then. Let's get dinner together, you, , and this mysterious Emily."
The idea of bringing these two worlds together makes my stomach twist into complicated knots. Emily with her silver hair and knowing eyes sitting across from my uptight, judgntal aunt. It's a disaster waiting to happen.
"Okay," I concede reluctantly. "I'll try to set that up."
Jessica's eyes narrow, seeing right through my half-hearted agreent. "Give her address," she demands, holding out her hand expectantly. "In case you pussy out."
"No." The refusal cos out instinctively, sharp and defensive.
Jessica's eyes go wide, genuine anger flashing across her face like lightning. I've never seen that particular expression directed at before, and it's terrifying in its intensity.
"Daniel," she says, each syllable precise and clipped, "do not make ask again. I am trying to protect you."
The sincerity in her voice cuts through my resistance.
"Alright," I sigh, reaching for the notepad we keep by the register for inventory counts.
I scribble down Emily's address, each digit feeling like a betrayal. When I hand the paper to Jessica, she folds it precisely into quarters before tucking it into her purse with the careful movents of soone handling evidence.
"Text in the morning where to et you for dinner," she says, straightening her already-perfect jacket. "Or else I'm going to show up at her house screaming."
"Alright," I mutter, already dreading tomorrow.
Jessica gives one last searching look, sothing complex and worried shifting behind her eyes before her professional mask slides back into place. Without another word, she turns and walks out, the automatic doors hissing closed behind her.
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