The silence of the house crept in like an unwelcome guest. Evan's stare drifted to the faded wallpaper, its pattern barely visible in the dim light, and his thoughts began to spiral. Why had he followed her? What did she want? This place wasn't salvation.
His past weighed down on him, unrelenting. The group he'd trusted had offered liberation, a way out—but instead, they left him drowning in a sea of debt. $47,000. The number haunted him, echoing like a death knell. It was a burden he couldn't shake, a ghost that shadowed his every step.
With each breath, memories of the last few weeks returned, vivid and suffocating. He recalled the misplaced trust that had led him to become a guarantor for Jason, a friend he thought he could rely on. When the deadline came, Jason had vanished like smoke, leaving Evan to face the consequences alone. Desperate, he'd searched for any way to make money, any means to survive. But that only led him into darker places.
The loan sharks had come for him, their eyes cold and unfeeling. They'd forced him to work at the brothel, a place he'd once dismissed as nothing more than a rumor—a nightmare he thought could never be real. He hadn't escaped to live; he had escaped to die.
Yet the memory of those three days clung like a foul stench, vivid and raw: men with unyielding hands and cruel desires, their bodies taking what he hadn't been able to give. He'd been nothing more than an object to them, left as the discarded remnants of a life he barely recognized as his own.
Urgency spurred him off the couch. He needed to move, to explore this strange house that felt as foreign and terrifying as his own past. He wandered through the small living area, taking in the peeling paint and worn furniture, his fingers brushing over surfaces as if searching for some trace of the woman who'd pulled him back from the edge.
In the dim hallway, he noticed a bathroom door slightly ajar. Without thinking, he pushed it open and stepped inside. The small room was poorly lit, a flickering bulb casting eerie shadows on cracked tiles. He approached the mirror, forcing himself to meet his own gaze.
The reflection showed a stranger—hollow-eyed and weary, with dark shadows marking sleepless nights and harrowing days. The remnants of the brothel haunted him, each moment replaying in his mind like a warped film reel. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the images clashed against him: the hands that had gripped him, the stench of sweat and desperation, the utter powerlessness he had felt.
Gritting his teeth, he splashed water on his face, desperate for clarity, for even a moment's relief. He could still feel the persistent touch on his skin, and bile rose in his throat as he fought back tears. He had escaped, but the memories had become a prison of their own.
Turning away from the mirror, he noticed a small window. He stepped closer, peering outside at the darkening sky. What am I doing here? The thought pressed heavily on him, nearly suffocating.
But he still had his phone. It sat on the edge of the sink, a glimmer of both hope and dread. Maybe he could reach out to someone. But who? The thought of dragging anyone from his past back into his life felt wrong, an invitation to expose old wounds.
Anger surged through him as he held the phone. It was a connection to a life he wanted to forget. In a fit of desperation, he hurled it against the wall. The screen shattered, pieces splintering like fragments of his broken existence. He stood there, chest heaving, as shards of the phone lay strewn around him.
Suddenly, he heard the front door creak open. Panic shot through him, and he scrambled to his feet, his breath hitching as he braced for a confrontation.
The door swung open, revealing the woman from before. She stepped inside with an air of confidence, her eyes scanning the room. Evan's heart pounded, wondering if she'd seen the destruction he'd just caused.
"What did you do?" she asked,
"I—I broke it," he stammered, shame flooding him as he gestured to the shattered pieces of the phone.
She looked down at the shards, her gaze never lifting to meet his. "Good," she said, her voice soft but final. "You don't need it."
Evan's eyes narrowed. "Why did you pull me back? Why am I here?"
She regarded him with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. "You were lucky," she replied coolly. "I was just bored, and you gave me something to do."
Her words twisted his stomach, but he didn't know how to respond. The impulse to return to the cliff's edge stirred within him. Would he have the courage to stand there again? But he remained silent, his heart pounding, betraying the turmoil roiling inside.
The woman seemed to catch his hesitation, a spark of amusement dancing in her eyes. She gestured to the couch, the invitation devoid of warmth. "Sit."
He hesitated but found himself moving to the couch, sitting beside her. The space between them felt charged, as though the air crackled with unspoken tension.
The shadows in the room were thick and stifling, yet her presence was magnetic. There was something about her that drew him in—something dangerous, yet oddly comforting.
Finally, she broke the silence. "I'm Lila," she said, her voice low. "Lila Crane. Remember it."