Page 23 of Peak Cruelty

“They never check just once.”

I smile, not because it’s funny.

Because I don’t know if she means the guy with van.

Or someone else.

12

Marlowe

Something’s different.

He walks in quieter this time.Not softer—quieter.

There’s a difference.

Soft is kindness.

Quiet is intent.

He doesn’t speak.Doesn’t look at me.Just stands there, looking around the room.I don’t ask what happened.

I just catalog the difference.Whatever that man said, it shifted something.

His shoes are wet.

He’s edgy.

And now I’m supposed to pretend I don’t notice.

I keep my eyes on the ceiling.

I’ve always been good at that.

Letting men think I’m not paying attention while I count the ways they might snap.

Once, I miscounted.It’s not the kind of mistake you make twice.

He shifts.Closer.

I brace without moving.

He doesn’t touch me.Doesn’t speak.He just…waits.

I could ask what he wants.

But I already know.

He wants the story.His version.In my mouth.

But here’s the thing about stories: It only makes sense to tell them if you think someone might believe you.

And he’s already decided who I am.

Which makes whatever I say a performance.

Not a conversation.

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