Page 6 of May's Bad Boy: Kody

"He left me," I blurt. I don't know why. The words just tumble out. "My ex left me for his coworker. He didn't even say goodbye. He just disappeared one day and cleared out my bank account. I lost my job which my insurance was attached to and then I lost my apartment. I had nowhere to go."

Courtney sits quietly beside me, listening. I hate how broken I sound.

I laugh, bitter and dry. "So I don't think I believe in love anymore. But I'd marry the next guy who walked through that door if he had decent health insurance."

But she doesn't laugh. She just tilts her head like she's thinking. It may have been a while since I've seen her, but we used to be close, and I know that look enough to be slightly worried.

That worry amps up when she pats my hand and excuses herself. Through the crack in the door, I hear her on the phone a few minutes later.

"She's smart. She's kind. She needs a break more than anyone I've ever seen."

Her voice is soft but firm. Like she's trying to convince someone who doesn't need much convincing.

I push myself up, dragging the blanket around my shoulders. My head is still foggy, but curiosity cuts through it like light through smoke.

Courtney returns with that same calm smile, and I narrow my eyes.

"What did you do?"

"Something that might sound completely crazy," she says, settling in the chair beside me. "But maybe just crazy enough to work."

That night, the shelter is quiet. I return with a paper bag of donated toiletries and a short-term insulin refill. It's not enough, but it's something. And these days, something is everything.

I never saw myself here, but I was out of options when I visited Courtney yesterday and told her what was going on. She gave me a bed, no questions asked. At least until she saw I wasn't doing so great at breakfast. That’s when she learned about me rationing the last bit of my insulin.

I retreat to my cot, tucked in the far back corner of the room near a little window. My world fits into two duffel bags. One of them holds my journal.

Unzipping it slowly, I open it like I might trigger a collapse. Filled with panic, I flip past pages. Desperation. Numbers. Doses. Pleas I never said aloud.

I had a life. I had plans. I managed a spa. I had regular clients who brought me lattes and told me I was the only reason they could function. I had someone who kissed my forehead and promised forever. Then he left, and it all shattered.

Now I'm here. Mustang Mountain. A place I didn't even remember until I tried to reach out to Courtney. And somehow, it feels more like safety than any city skyline ever did.

I'm not looking for love. I'm not looking for anyone to fix me.

I just want a chance to save myself.

The next morning, sunlight streams through the high windows of the shelter and bounces off the worn linoleum floors. I'm holding a chipped mug of instant coffee, trying to pretend it tastes better than it does.

Courtney finds me in the common room, smiling like she's got a secret.

"Hey, let's head to the clinic. They just want to do a quick level check."

She says it like it's routine, but something about her tone says it's more than that. Still, I go.

The clinic is quiet this time of morning. I expect to see the same nurse from last night, maybe a clipboard and another blood test.

When I walk in, a woman I've seen in some photos with Courtney is already sitting in one of the chairs by the exam table.

She definitely is not a nurse.

"Paige," Courtney says with a smile. "This is Caitlin. She's a friend of mine."

I sit down slowly on the edge of one of the chairs. Caitlin leans forward, hands clasped, like she's about to pitch something.

"Okay," she says. "I know this is going to sound strange."

My stomach tightens as I brace myself. I've heard of and done many strange things in the last few weeks. I don't know how much more I can handle.

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