“Your daddy’s been falling behind on paying his debts,” one of them says. A man maybe in his thirties with a goatee and thinning black hair. “Lucky for him, there are plenty of ways for what he owes to be paid off.” He strokes his chin while eyeing Mara up and down with an expression of narrowed, hungry eyes that makes my skin crawl. He zeros in on her bare collarbone and licks his lips. “I’d pay it off myself. Just ask me nicely.”
Mara says something I don’t catch because the laughter of another man cuts her off.
He’s older than the other two, his features weathered. Worn. A set of gold chains dangles from his neck, obscuring the collar of his black shirt. He sits sprawled out, his legs splayed, one hand palming the center of his dark jeans. “With a face like hers?” He purses his lips and raises a finger stacked with gold rings. “One night, tops.”
He and the first speaker laugh, trading knowing looks.
But the third man draws my attention. He’s seemingly the youngest, judging from his full head of jet-black hair, but the other two sit angled toward him. Every now and again, they glance in his direction as though to seek approval.
Rather than join in their taunts, he one-handedly tosses a small object into the air. Bright orange ombre, square-shaped… A lighter. He juggles it without looking at Mara, choosing instead to scan the room but in a way that reminds me of one of my father’s hunting dogs. Alert. On edge. Vigilant.
Absently, he swipes his free hand through his hair, revealing just how long it is—enough to brush his shoulders in jagged waves. Too long. The wayward strands obscure his eyes until it’s too late. I can only stare as they dart from some distant corner to…me.
He sits forward, snatching the lighter from the air. Then he snaps his fingers once, drawing the attention of one of the bouncers. He points at me and crooks his finger in a silent command. Come here.
A heavy hand falls over my shoulder not even a second later, shoving me forward. I don’t resist. I don’t scream. It’s like some internal switch is flipped in my head, controlling my limbs and ceasing all thought. My only driving force is instinct, which lays out a familiar framework. Don’t think. Don’t scream. Don’t fight. Obey.
As if from underwater, I hear Mara say, “Leave her out of this! This has nothing to do with her—”
“Shut the fuck up,” the man with the goatee snaps.
It’s like I blink, and I’m here—in this space without any real recollection of moving. My arm is throbbing, my breaths slowing. In some ways, it’s like falling into a well-worn routine. I go numb, turn my brain off. Endure.
You’re so fucking selfish, Han. You’ll leave me eventually, won’t you? You will…
“You wouldn’t be playing games with us, Mara?” the younger man asks, and my brain ceases every thought to fixate on him. His voice is soft, like a snake’s hiss—but deeper too, resonating with the strength of a roll of thunder. Pocketing his lighter, he gestures to me—to my bag, I realize.
One of the bouncers snatches it from my arm and hands it to him. Holding my gaze, he digs through it slowly, withdrawing its contents one by one. My journal. My pink leather wallet. A white case containing my birth control pills. My jade green pen that I borrowed from the Paper Crane, the bookstore I work at—his eyes scan the wording on it, and he scoffs. Finally, he retrieves my cell phone.
He weighs the device on the palm of his hand and then swipes through my home screen.
“What are you doing?” Mara cries, her voice higher than I’ve ever heard it. “That’s hers! Leave it alone. She has nothing to do with—”
“I’m making sure that you wouldn’t be dumb enough to do something reckless, Mara,” he says in that unnerving tone. “Like bring a little friend to record our friendly conversation.”
His cold gaze flickers from her to me and back again. “She’s not from around here,” he says as if that alone proves his suspicion. “Hanging around you. Zhang? Looks to me like a nosy little bitch.”
“She lives here,” Mara hisses, her voice hitching. “She just moved in, and she works for Mr. Zhang. I was just showing her around—”
“She’s not dressed like it,” he counters, eyeing my sweater skeptically. “No. It looks to me like she ain’t dressed to party. More like to poke her fucking nose around where it doesn’t belong. A reporter?” He snatches something from my bag—the article scrap. “This you?” he asks me.
“It’s just an article about her,” Mara insists. “She didn’t write it—”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” he snaps. “Let the little bunny speak for herself. Are you a reporter, bunny? You smell like one—” His nostrils flare pointedly. “But I’m not sure.”
His eyes zero in on my face, piercing and impossible to avoid. It’s like he sees through me, his gaze slicing to the innermost parts of my being. To those emotions I’ve learned to turn off. Impulses I’ve fought to smother.
He stares and stares, all the while toying with my cell phone.
Then he drops it, only to reach for my journal next. Boldly, he flips it open, lowering his gaze to the first page.
At this point, my control snaps. I step forward, straining the grip of the bouncer who tries to stop me. My lips part, a plea slipping out, violating one of my internal, concrete rules—endure.
I break. “Don’t!”
“Let her go. You can leave.” The younger man waits until the bouncer complies and returns to his position outside of the barrier.
“Rafe,” Mara pleads, “just leave her alone—”
He holds up one finger, and it’s like time stops. I freeze solid, unable to move. Once a few seconds pass, he sits back and leisurely turns the page as if he has all the time in the world. To violate my deepest thoughts and innermost secrets. Gawk at my rawest, unedited writing. Delve into my brain unbidden.
Again, I feel my mental reins strain. “Stop…”
He doesn’t. I don’t think he even hears me. Casually, he licks his finger, then turns the page. Licks. Page. Reads, seemingly riveted by what he’s seeing—and that’s the worst part. The fact that makes my cheeks catch fire and my nails sink into their respective palms.
The pretending.
His two seatmates snicker, rolling their eyes. “Knock it off, Wei.”
“We’re interested in buying ass, and he wants to read some fucking little diary—”
“You can go.” He inclines his head toward Mara, who grabs my hand, surging for the exit. “Not her—” I feel his gaze on the back of my neck, locking me into place. “She stays.”
“The hell she is!” Mara snaps, whirling to face him. “Leave her alone! I mean it, Rafe. Or I’ll call the police. Your issue is with my dad. Then keep it that way—”
“And tell them what?” He sits straighter; his tone honed like a whip. “That your daddy likes to rack up his gambling debts when he isn’t managing that little restaurant of yours into the ground? That he’s dug too deep of a hole to come out? Or that his daughter has to play snitch to save his neck? Come on, Mara, I thought you and your family enjoyed living in a safe, peaceful neighborhood. Keep running your mouth, and it won’t stay that way for long.”