Page 132 of Peak Cruelty

She makes a show of checking the ingredients again, sighs like a martyr, then leans against the counter and starts filming herself.“Hey guys,” she says into her phone, already smiling.“Quick reminder that self-care isn’t selfish.I almost didn’t come out tonight, but here I am, showing up for me.”

She pans the camera toward the kid.He flinches.She tilts the phone back to her face.“Anyway, just a little midweek motivation?—”

I walk out before I do something I’ll regret.Round the corner and take several deep breaths.Think about making a reservation back at the cliffside rental.See if I can find a wheelchair.I miss Vance so much it feels like I’m having a heart attack.Realize that idea’s not going to work.

She leaves the shop and cuts down the alley like she always does.Shortcut to the lot behind her apartment.A quiet stretch.Just dumpsters and back doors.

She’s predictable.

Until she’s not.

She spins, halfway through.Maybe a noise.Maybe a shadow.She doesn’t see me.Not yet.

But she knows someone’s there.

She starts walking faster.

So do I.

When she reaches her car, she fumbles the keys.Snaps at the kid.Yanks the door open.

She never sees me coming.

Not until it’s too late.

And even then, she doesn’t scream.

She just says, “What the fuck—” like entitlement will save her.

It won’t.

My voice is calm.Detached.

“You left bruises.”

“What?What are you?—”

“Every Thursday.New story.Different injury.”

She tries to slam the door.

I catch it.

She raises the keys like a weapon.

“Who are you?”

She says it like she deserves an answer.

I step forward.

She tries again to close the door.I hold it open.

“I know what you are,” I say.

Her face shifts.Not guilty—angry.Like she’s about to lecture me.

I don’t give her the chance.

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