At Monica's

The burn of cheap liquor hits the back of my throat, but I barely register it. Monica refills my glass without asking. Her small apartment feels too warm, or maybe it’s just me — the adrenaline, the fear, the confusion. I sit cross-legged on her couch, pulling on my vape like it’s the only thing anchoring me. The sweet, artificial taste fills my lungs. Monica usually hates me vaping inside. Tonight, she doesn’t say a word.

“…I’m telling you, he threw that psycho Trevor like it was nothing,” I say, hands moving to show the motion. “One-handed. Just hurled him across the alley. He hit the wall so hard I thought I’d hear bones crack.”

Ryan leans forward from the armchair, arms crossed tight over his chest. His eyes are sharp, skeptical.

“Okay… but what did this guy look like? If he could do that — I mean, he had to be huge, right?”

I pause, trying to picture him again, but it slips away like a dream fading at sunrise. “That’s the thing… he wasn’t. He wasn’t huge at all. Lean. Kinda my height.”

Ryan’s brow furrows deeper. He glances at Monica, then back at me. “Come on. Thalia, I’m not trying to be a dick, but… that guy, Trevor, he was about my size, right? And you’re telling me some guy no bigger than you tossed him like a rag doll?”

“I know how it sounds!” I snap, the edge in my voice sharper than I mean it to be. I take another long drag from the vape, blowing out a slow stream of vapor. “But that’s what happened. I swear. He didn’t even look like he was trying.”

Monica shifts closer, concern written all over her face. “Maybe your mind’s playing tricks, T. You were terrified. Shock does weird things. It can make you misremember.”

“I remember,” I insist, softer now, but firm. “I remember the way he moved. The way he spoke. Like it was no big deal. Like… like he’s done this before.”

Ryan exhales hard. “That’s not normal. None of this is normal.”

They fall quiet for a beat, then Monica leans in. “Okay, but what about Trevor? After that guy grabbed him — what did he do? Why’d he drag him down the alley?”

I shiver despite the warmth of the room. My fingers tighten around the glass.

“I don’t know,” I say with a low voice. “I didn’t follow. But… I don’t think it was anything good.”

Ryan gives me a look. “You mean you think that guy killed him?”

I shrug, staring into my drink. “I don’t know. I didn’t see. But the way he moved… the way he looked at Trevor… I don’t think Trevor walked away from that.”

The silence stretches long between us, heavy as stone.

Monica’s the first to speak. “You didn’t call the cops yet, did you?”

I glance at her. “No.”

“Why the hell not?”

I hesitate, searching for the right words. Somehow, admitting them that guy talked me out of it would sound weird. And things were weird enough. “I guess… I felt like Trevor’s already gotten what’s coming to him. Or he will. I can’t explain it. Just… a feeling.” Well, I didn't exactly lie about that...

Monica stares at me, like she doesn’t recognize me for a second. “T, that’s not enough. We can’t just leave it. You need to report this. What if that guy wasn’t trying to help you? What if he sets Trevor free?”

I nod slowly, though it feels like I’m agreeing to something that’s miles away from where my head is.

“We’ll go in the morning,” Monica says. “I’ll go with you. We’ll figure it out.”

Ryan shifts in his seat, the tension in his shoulders finally easing a notch. “You’re staying here tonight, yeah?”

“If it’s okay.”

Monica manages a small smile. “Of course it's okay. We’ll set up the couch.”

"Thanks. Both of you."

I sink deeper into the cushions. For the first time tonight, exhaustion starts to drag at my bones.

I wake to the sound of someone gently saying my name. For a second, I’m disoriented — wait, this is not my room. Then it all comes rushing back. The alley. Trevor_. That man. _My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.

“Thalia... hey, sleepyhead,” Monica’s voice is soft, but I can tell she’s in a hurry. I crack one eye open. She’s already dressed, her coat on, bag slung over her shoulder.

“Mm… what time is it?” I mumble, pushing myself up, the blanket sliding off.

“Almost eight. I have to go — work emergency, my colleague called in sick.” She leans down, brushing my hair out of my face. “But when I’m back, I’m taking you to the station. No more discussion. Okay?”

I blink at her, still groggy, but I nod. “Okay. Thanks, Mon.”

She smiles, but it’s tight, worried. “Ryan’s here. He rescheduled his clients, said he’d hang with you today. You’re not alone.”

I glance over — Ryan’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen, already in sweatpants and a tee, sipping coffee. He gives me a little wave.

“Thanks,” I say again, and I mean it. Monica squeezes my arm and heads out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Ryan disappears into the kitchen, and I hear him rummaging. A minute later, he comes back with a plate — scrambled eggs and toast, and another coffee.

“Here. You look like you need it.”

I grin despite myself. “God, you’re a lifesaver.”

We settle on the couch, plates balanced on our knees. I’m wearing an old T-shirt of Monica's, hair's a mess, but I don’t care. I’m starving. We eat in companionable silence for a bit, the only sounds the clink of cutlery and the occasional sip of coffee.

Ryan glances at me, tilting his head. “So... you want to talk about it? Or should we pretend none of that shit happened?”

I sigh, wiping my mouth. “I guess talking’s better than letting it stew in my brain.”

He nods, leans back. “Okay. Tell me again — Trevor. What do you think he was trying to do? Just... what, jump you?”

I shake my head, setting my plate down. “No. It wasn’t just that. He wasn’t thinking about getting off on anything. He... he wanted to kill me. I could see it. There was this... emptiness in his eyes. Like, not even rage. Just this fucked-up determination.” I rub my arms, shivering at the memory.

Ryan frowns. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t there to scare me, or **** me and bolt. He was gonna end me. No hesitation.”

Ryan whistles low. “Jesus. Guy was more messed up than I thought.”

{if Fighter = 0}I lean back, staring at the ceiling. “Actually… when I tried to reason with him, he kept muttering about some woman. Like I was supposed to be some kind of sacrifice to her. I don’t even know. It didn’t make sense.”

Ryan raises a brow. “Sacrifice? The hell?”

“Yeah. Like he was doing it for someone. Like it’d prove something.” I shake my head. “He was gone. Fully delusional.”

Ryan snorts, trying to lighten the mood. “Man, some guys really can’t let their exes go.”

Despite myself, I laugh. “Right? Like, sorry Trevor, ****’s not gonna fix your love life.”{endif}

{if Fighter = 1}Ryan lets out a low whistle. “Dude sounds like he snapped. Maybe pissed about something else, took it out on you.”

“Yeah. Or he’s just a psycho,” I mutter.{endif}

He studies me for a second, then shrugs. “Well, that other guy, whoever he was... sure sounds like you owe him your life.”

I nod slowly. “Yeah... I guess I do.”

Ryan grabs the remote. “Alright. Enough of that, we’re watching something dumb. No arguments.”

I smirk. “What if I want to argue?”

“Too late.” He flips through until he finds some ancient slapstick comedy, the kind where people fall over things and get hit with frying pans. I groan.

“Oh God, seriously?”

He grins, feet up on the coffee table. “Shhh. Let the healing begin.”

At first, I’m just staring at the screen. It’s noise. My mind keeps drifting back to the alley, to that moment when I thought I was done for. But Ryan’s commentary starts pulling me out of it.

“Look at this dude,” he says, as a guy on screen tries to carry a ladder through a doorway and smacks himself in the face. “I swear, this is you when you helped me move that bookshelf.”

I snort. “Please. I had way more grace.”

He gives me a look. “You tripped over your own feet.”

“I was... testing gravity. Turns out, it works.”

Ryan laughs. “I’ll give you that. You’re thorough.”

The next scene is some over-the-top pie fight and we start giggling at our own dumb jokes, and before I know it, the tension in my chest starts to melt. Ryan glances over, his smile softening as he watches me.

“See? Told you. Dumb movies are good for the soul.”

“You’re not wrong,” I admit, feeling lighter. “You’re like... surprisingly good at this whole ‘therapy by comedy’ thing.”

He waggles his brows. “It’s one of my many hidden talents.”

“Oh yeah? What else you hiding?”

Ryan pauses, mock-serious. “Well. I make a mean smoothie. I can do twenty push-ups without crying. And...” He leans in just slightly, grin crooked. “I’m excellent at making people forget their shitty nights.”

His voice drops just a little on that last part, and the air between us shifts. Not in a heavy way — it’s still playful, but there’s a different kind of energy now. His knee brushes mine. Maybe by accident. Maybe not.

I look at him, raising a brow. “Oh? Excellent, huh? That’s a bold claim.”

He mirrors my look. “I don’t make empty promises.”

“Oh, I’ll hold you to that.” I tilt my head, feeling that spark of mischief bubble up. God, it feels good to just play again, to not feel crushed under what happened.

Ryan chuckles. “Any time.”

The movie keeps playing, but neither of us is really watching it anymore. The conversation keeps going, easy, flowing.

“So,” I say, glancing at him sideways. “You really blew off your clients for me today?”

He shrugs, casual. “Yeah. I figured they could survive a day without me flexing at them.”

I laugh. “Wow. That’s almost heroic.”

“I know, right?” His grin turns softer. “Seriously though... after what you went through? No way I was leaving you to sit here alone with your thoughts.”

That... that hits somewhere deep. I smile at him, genuine. “Thanks, Ryan. Really.”

He holds my gaze a beat longer than before. “Anytime, Thal.”

The space between us feels smaller now. His arm rests along the back of the couch, his knee definitely still against mine. There’s a warmth in his eyes, something protective, but also... something else.

I let myself lean in just a little. Testing the waters. His grin turns lopsided, a bit more confident.

“Careful,” he says, voice low. “If you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking I’m charming.”

I grin back. “Sure you are. Or perhaps I’m just too polite to tell you otherwise.”

“Ohhh, brutal!” He clutches his chest, mock-wounded. “Right in the ego.”

“Hey, you’re a tough guy. You can take it.”

“I can take a lot,” he says, and there’s something in the way he says it — light, but with an edge that makes my pulse skip. His eyes don’t leave mine. The teasing’s still there, but it’s layered now, heavier, charged.

A beat of quiet, not awkward, just... thick. And then, finally, Ryan tilts his head and smiles softly.

“You know... if you need any other kind of distraction... I’m here.”