Chapter 3

3

Tami

I ’m frazzled from sorting through all those Christmas lights, but I finished. I’m off for the next two days, and honestly, I wish I had taken more overtime, even at another house. The Christmas season feels depressing. I have no family to visit and no reason to cook a big meal. Tiffany has family, but she hardly sees them.

I’ve been off for an hour and still haven’t gone home. I stopped at a few stores for a bottle of wine and some takeout. My plan is to sulk in bed tonight and deep clean my apartment tomorrow. Tiffany’s a mess; she creates more chaos than she cleans. I dread going back because I don’t want to deal with her or her boyfriend and his friends, who have been crashing at my place more than usual.

It makes me uncomfortable. I feel like some of them have been sneaking into my room, going through my things, especially my underwear drawer.

Tiffany has a drug problem that she thinks I don’t know about, and her boyfriend seems to be supplying her. It feels like he’s keeping her in a drugged state so he and his friends can use her.

I don’t judge Tiffany for wanting to explore her sexuality, but not like this—no way. She’s being used. I want to talk to her, but not in front of those guys. I can’t stay out forever; there’s a big storm coming, the first real winter storm for Michigan. We’ll get five to six inches here, while the northern areas get hit hard.

I make the painful drive home, park in front of my building, and turn off the engine. I climb out with my groceries, too tired to deal with Tiffany tonight. I’ll just put my food away and lock myself in my room until they leave.

They usually crash at my place at night and leave in the morning. I grab my mail and take the elevator to the fifth floor, walking down the long hallway to my apartment. I can hear loud music and annoying laughs from the door, and it’s already getting on my nerves. I unlock the door and step inside, only to be hit by a heavy cloud of smoke. I’m 4-20 friendly, but this is too much.

I wince when I see Tiffany on the sofa, clearly intoxicated, making out with one of her boyfriend’s friends. They’re about to run another train on her, and I drop my bags, unable to just sit back. I fan the smoke from my face and walk over to them, ready to intervene. This is risky; I’m no match for these guys, but I have to try. Tiffany has the power to make them leave if she wanted.

“Tiffany!” I shout, standing over them. Julian, her boyfriend, grins at me, his hazel eyes locking onto mine. He’s handsome, but not my type at all. I’m not about to be community property. Tiffany breaks the kiss, still teasing him, and I can see she’s into it.

“What?” she snaps, annoyed that I’ve interrupted. What spell is she under with these guys ?

“I live here too, Tiffany. I pay half the bills and clean, just to come home to this nearly every night. Are they forcing you to do this?” Before I can finish, Julian stands up, and Tiffany laughs as I gulp, shutting my mouth.

Great, what a friend she is.

“No one gives a fuck about your contributions here. You have your room; go in it. Otherwise, mind your business,” he says. I stare at him, wanting to snap back, but I don’t. I may have a smart mouth, but I know better than to challenge these guys. I notice his pistol in the holster at his waist and realize my place.

Kamel, the supposed friend Tiffany's making out with pauses and grabs the remote, turning up the volume on the television screen. I turn around to see what's caught his interest.

The TV flashes a commercial, and a serious voiceover begins:

“Radical activity is on the rise. These extremists threaten the safety and rights of law-abiding supernaturals. They spread dangerous ideologies and promote violence against those who are different.”

The screen shows masked protestors waving signs against supernaturals, followed by disturbing footage of vandalism and aggression.

“Their beliefs do not reflect true human values of equality, justice, and peace. If you know of any radical groups in your area, report them to the authorities.”

A tip line number flashes on the screen.

“Don't let extremism take root in your community. Together, we can stop radicalism and protect the rights of all citizens, human and supernatural.”

The commercial fades, leaving an unmistakable tension.

Radical groups seem to be gaining traction, and I struggle to understand this supernatural prejudice. It reminds me of the discrimination minorities like me and everyone in this apartment have faced for so long. Can’t we just coexist peacefully?

“Fuck those supernaturals!” Kamel yells and Julian laughs with him. So, they're radicals? I shake off the thought. No, they're just privileged assholes who are used to getting whatever they want. No way are they radicals.

Instead of arguing, I back down and turn away, walking back to my bags as they laugh at me. Fine. But the second I get Tiffany alone; I’m ending this arrangement.

Where the hell will I move? Rent prices have skyrocketed in Detroit because of Wintermoon. My only option is to find another roommate. I could stay at Angie’s for a few months; she’s offered before, but her house is full of kids and problems. I don’t want to add to her stress.

I take my bags into the kitchen and start unloading them when Julian approaches, standing a few feet away, scanning my body while Tiffany resumes her make-out session.

“I'm not serving you anything. That’s what you have Tiffany for. She cooks, cleans, and caters to you. I’m just the roommate whose contributions don’t matter.” I don’t look him in the eye. He laughs and leans against the counter, his gaze heavy on me.

“You’re gonna be so fun to break,” he murmurs. I shoot him a glare, but inside, I feel a rush of fear. What does he mean by that?

I refuse to give him or whatever he’s got going on with Tiffany the time of day. I grab my bottle of wine and a glass, trying to move past him to my room, but he blocks my way. He’s big, over six feet tall with a broad build.

“So fucking feisty, I love it,” he muses, looking down at me. I want to grab his beard and knee him in the balls. “I’m gonna make you my woman—my main bitch.” No way. I’d rather be alone than deal with this.

I force a smile and try to get around him, but he keeps blocking my path. “Move, Julian,” I say, but he doesn’t.

His cologne mixes with the strong smell of marijuana, and it’s both unattractive and annoying. This man disgusts me, especially since he’s making a move while Tiffany is across the room.

“I’m not someone you can just pass around like a toy,” I say.

“I won’t let anyone else have you. You’re going to be my special little plaything. Maybe I'll even put a few babies in you.” He moves closer, licking his lips. “You look like the kind of woman worthy of raising my children. I've always wanted a son and a daughter. I need a woman, especially now that my parents are pressuring me to marry and settle down. You know how it is for the rich—image is everything,” he says with a wicked grin.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” I yell. He laughs but finally steps aside. I hurry to my bedroom and shut the door behind me.

I lock it, but I’m not sure it’ll hold him. I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the bottle of wine, unsure if it’s safe to drink. I could see the hunger in his eyes; he's going to take what he wants.

I set the bottle down and grab the remote, hitting the power button on the TV, but the noise outside my room makes me pause.

“Why are you being so friendly with that snooty bitch? You want her, you take her. Just like you did Tiffany. And when you’re done, you pass her to us for fun,” I hear one of his friends say .

“I don’t know,” Julian replies, “I guess this one seems a little special to me.” His friend laughs loudly.

“We’ll take the bitch tonight. I’ll dope Tiffany up enough and drop her at the house for her first customer.”

“Yeah, fine,” Julian mutters, still lingering at my door. I gasp but quickly cover my mouth, searching my room for an escape.

I need a plan. I stand and start the shower, making it sound like I’m getting ready for bed. Then I rush to my closet, grab my suitcase, and stuff it with clothes and underwear. I run to the window, relieved to see the emergency exit ladder. This building has had fires in the past, and the ladders were installed to prevent casualties.

I watch my door, Julian still standing there, almost as if he’s listening. I rush into the bathroom, strip off my clothes, and jump into the shower. I scrub my body quickly, then step out, brush my teeth, and run a comb through my hair. I pack my toiletries as fast as I can.

After slipping into a nightdress and leggings, I turn off the light in my bedroom. That seems to signal Julian, and he finally walks away. I spring into action, pulling on socks and boots, then grab my thick winter coat, my two bags, and my purse.

I open the window and gently drop my bags onto the balcony before climbing out, pulling the window down behind me. It squeaks loudly, and I cringe, hoping they don’t hear. Thankfully, Julian and his friends are too busy with Tiffany to notice.

I pull out my phone to call the police, but I hesitate. Will it even help Tiffany? I need to go back and help her, but what can I do?

I shove my phone back into my pocket, grab my bags with shaky hands, and make my way down the ladder. Each step is agonizing, and my fear of heights grips me. The first bag, a small carry-on suitcase, slips from my grip and clatters to the ground, bouncing on the pavement. I keep going, finally reaching the second floor. My heart races when I hear the window open above me and see Julian’s head pop out.

“She’s running!” he shouts, then disappears back inside.

I quicken my pace, climbing down the ladder. I nearly slip but manage to reach the first level. I know they’re coming after me. I grab my bags and sprint to my car, fumbling for my keys as I reach the door. I’m shaking with fear as I stuff my bags inside and climb in.

Just as I lock the doors, Julian and his two friends burst out of the building. I start the engine and throw the car into reverse, slamming into the car behind me. I shift into drive as Julian jumps into the street, trying to stop me. He pushes through without caring if I hit him as I pull away.

I keep my eyes on the road, speeding through the city toward the Downtown police station. They’re about to send Tiffany off into sex trafficking. I have to report it. I need to tell someone.