I sat cross-legged on my bed, staring at the drawer like it held a venomous snake. The envelope was still there. Untouched. Crisp. Silent. Fifty thousand dollars in cash that smelled like s*x and shame and something else I couldn’t name.
I hadn't told Mala I hadn’t spent a cent of it. Not on groceries. Not on rent. Not even on painkillers for the dull ache still lingering in my lower back from that night. It just sat there in the drawer, burning like a secret. A weight I wasn’t ready to lift.
My laptop rested beside me, screen black. I hadn’t written in days. Weeks, maybe. I didn’t count anymore. The words had dried up, like my voice had packed a suitcase and left town the morning after I’d let Kyl touch every part of me. I’d dreamed of writing a novel that would set the world on fire. N
