A Debt to Repay

"Please…" My voice cracked. Damn it. "I—I swear, I’ll get your money. Just need a little more time." Aron tilted his head like he was actually thinking about it. But that smirk? Yeah, no. He was just having fun. He stepped forward. Slow. Deliberate. I pressed my back against the wall. No space. Too close. His fingers brushed my cheek—light, almost… soft. My stomach turned. "You know," he murmured, voice like silk, "there are other ways you could pay me back." No. I yanked my head away. "I said I’ll have it by the end of the month." My voice came out stronger than I expected. Good. His smirk faded. "Alright," he said. Simple. Like we were just discussing the weather. Then he leaned in. Too damn close. "Then you better have it." A pause. A breath. "Or else." The air felt thick. Suffocating. His gaze flicked over my face, slow. Measuring. Waiting for me to flinch. I didn’t. He chuckled. A slow, lazy sound. "Maybe I’ll have to mess up that pretty little face of yours." Another beat. His voice dropped. "Maybe… I’ll let my boys have some fun." A cold chill ran down my spine. I didn’t move. He watched me for another second. Then—his hand patted my cheek. Casual. Like I was some damn pet. Then he turned and strolled toward the door. His guys followed. The second the door slammed, my legs gave out. I hit the floor. Hard. The place was wrecked. Furniture knocked over. Plates shattered. My only drawer—where I kept my emergency cash—emptied, left hanging open. My blanket lay in the corner, covered in bootprints. I swallowed. No crying. Not now. Crying won’t fix this. God. How did it get this bad? I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Lisa. Twenty-four. No family. No savings. No clue what the hell I’m gonna do next. Wasn’t always like this. Once, I had a home. A mom who made pancakes on Sundays. A dad who told the worst jokes. Then Mom got sick. Then she was gone. And Dad…? Yeah. He lost himself. First the drinking. Then the gambling. Then selling things. First the TV. Then the couch. Then the house. And when there was nothing left? He started borrowing. Didn’t know how bad it was till I came home one day and found him on the floor. Cold. Still. Gone. Overdose. Buried him that morning. That night, the loan sharks knocked. That was three years ago. Since then, I’ve been running on fumes. Working three jobs. Barely sleeping. Doing whatever I had to, just to keep up. Then, three months ago, I lost two of those jobs. And now? Now I have nothing. No job. No money. No way out. I let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling. My chest felt tight. I needed a plan. Fast. —