The 18th Time They Lost Me Chapter 08

The 18th Time They Lost Me Chapter 08

I turned and walked out. The door swung shut 

behind me. 

The hallway was flooded with sunlight, so bright it. 

stung. 

I didn’t look back. I didn’t slow down. 

Outside, the hot wind hit me on the steps and 

dried whatever was on my face. 

I rubbed my eyes and kept walking toward the 

dorm. 

The smell of food from a diner down the street hit 

me, and my stomach twisted. 

I hadn’t eaten all day. 

But I had twenty–some dollars left, and it had to 

last me the rest of the month. 

College turned out to be relentless. Classes all 

day, electives at night. 

I got the financial aid. On weekends, I picked up shifts at a small diner just off campus: busing 

tables, wiping down counters, hauling plates. 

Fifteen dollars an hour. 

The owner was a heavyset woman with a loud. voice and a soft spot for hard workers. Some 

nights she’d pack me a staff meal with extra 

everything. 

I’d pick the meat out and split it into two portions. 

Two meals instead of one. 

One night near closing, the last table was still occupied. Three rogues with mean faces. When they finally got up to leave, one of them kicked 

over a beer bottle. Glass everywhere. 

I went for the broom. One of them caught my 

wrist, breath hot and sour. “Hey, sweetheart. Stay 

for one more drink.” I yanked back and gripped the 

broom handle tight. 

The other two started whistling. Then the glass. 

door swung open. 

Someone walked in, grabbed the man’s wrist, and 

wrenched it sideways. He yelped and let go. 

I looked up. It was Silas. 

He’d lost weight. A lot of it. His cheekbones jutted 

out, and stubble darkened his jaw. 

Without a word, he pulled me behind him. 

The three rogues came at him. 

He took the first hit and blocked. His forehead 

caught the corner of a table, and blood ran down 

his face. 

They didn’t back off until the owner got on the 

phone with pack patrol. They left cursing. 

The restaurant went quiet. 

Silas sagged against the wall, pressing a wadded 

tissue to his forehead. The skin around it was 

already swelling red. 

He dug a stack of crumpled bills from his pocket: 

fives and tens, folded every which way, and 

pushed them into my hand. 

He wouldn’t look at me. His eyes stayed on his 

shoes. “Take care of yourself. If you need 

anything… just tell me. I’ll figure it out.”