Chapter 4

Once the clinic cleared me to leave, they called a car for me.

I curled up in the backseat, clutching the post-op care instructions until the paper wrinkled in my fist.

It was over, but a dull ache throbbed in my lower abdomen, and my limbs felt like lead.

Back at the apartment, I crawled into bed and fell into a feverish sleep.

At 2 AM, my phone rang.

It was Adrian's number.

When I answered, Nora's voice came through.

"Evelyn? Adrian had too much to drink and is demanding you come get him. He refuses to leave. We're at a bar in Williamsburg. Hurry up."

I checked the time.

My lower abdomen was still cramping, and my limbs felt weak.

I opened my mouth, my throat tight and dry.

I hung up the phone and lay back down.

The phone rang again.

I hung up. It rang again.

The third time, I finally got up and put on my clothes.

Every movement pulled at the pain in my core.

I should have stayed in bed to recover, but five years of deeply ingrained habits dragged me out the door.

On call.

Put him first.

Put myself last.

This time, I would treat it as a final goodbye.

I rode the subway for nearly an hour to get to that bar in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

I pushed the doors open. The lighting was dim, the bass vibrating right through my chest.

I searched the room but didn't see Adrian.

I dialed his number. It connected.

"Adrian? Where are you?"

The rustle of clothing came through the receiver.

Then, Nora's hushed voice.

"Adrian... gentle..."

Followed by Adrian's hoarse, drunken murmur.

"Okay."

I stood at the entrance of the bar, my stomach violently churning.

I braced myself against the wall and dry heaved, but nothing came up.

I hung up the phone and turned to leave.

A group of drunk men blocked the exit.

"All alone?"

"Have a drink with us."

One of them reached out to touch my face.

I backed away, my shoulders hitting the brick wall.

A hand clamped down on my wrist with terrifying force.

"Let me go," I snapped in English, though I couldn't stop my voice from shaking. "My friend is right here."

"Friend? Where?"

They laughed, closing in.

"Help!"

The moment the scream left my throat, a hand clamped hard over my mouth.

They started dragging me toward the dark side alley.

I fought wildly, scratching one of their faces.

I was thrown to the cold, wet pavement. I scrambled for my phone.

My fingertips scraped the concrete as I finally managed to dial Adrian's number.

I just needed him to hear.

The noise on the other end seemed to pause for a second.

Then, the call was disconnected.

I dialed again. Straight to voicemail.

Someone kicked my phone away.

They were trying to drag me deeper into the shadows.

Cold, blind panic swallowed me.

Suddenly, blinding headlights swept into the alleyway.

"Hey! Let her go!"

A woman's piercing scream cut through the dark.

"I already called 911!"

The men cursed and scattered.

The person who saved me was a tough local woman named Linda Moore.

Police cars and paramedics arrived shortly after.

I sat on the curb wrapped in an emergency blanket, my face as white as paper.

The officer asked if I wanted to make a full statement right then.

I shook my head.

He still took down my name and the location, pressing a case number and a victim services card into my palm.

"You don't have to say everything now. When you're ready to add to it, call this number."

Linda retrieved my phone for me and asked softly if I needed someone to stay with me.

I shook my head again.

As dawn broke, I returned to the apartment.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. My lip was busted, my hair was a mess, and my eyes were bloodshot.

I opened the deepest part of the closet and pulled out the silver-grey carry-on suitcase I had packed days ago.

On the way to the airport, Adrian's calls popped up on my screen over and over.

I didn't answer.

When I got to the terminal, I pulled out my US SIM card and dropped it into the trash can.

Then, I dragged my suitcase into the departure hall.

The intercom announced the boarding for the cross-border flight to Toronto.

I stood up and walked toward the gate, step by step.

Goodbye, New York.

Goodbye, Adrian.

Chapter 4

Once the clinic cleared me to leave, they called a car for me.

I curled up in the backseat, clutching the post-op care instructions until the paper wrinkled in my fist.

It was over, but a dull ache throbbed in my lower abdomen, and my limbs felt like lead.

Back at the apartment, I crawled into bed and fell into a feverish sleep.

At 2 AM, my phone rang.

It was Adrian's number.

When I answered, Nora's voice came through.

"Evelyn? Adrian had too much to drink and is demanding you come get him. He refuses to leave. We're at a bar in Williamsburg. Hurry up."

I checked the time.

My lower abdomen was still cramping, and my limbs felt weak.

I opened my mouth, my throat tight and dry.

I hung up the phone and lay back down.

The phone rang again.

I hung up. It rang again.

The third time, I finally got up and put on my clothes.

Every movement pulled at the pain in my core.

I should have stayed in bed to recover, but five years of deeply ingrained habits dragged me out the door.

On call.

Put him first.

Put myself last.

This time, I would treat it as a final goodbye.

I rode the subway for nearly an hour to get to that bar in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

I pushed the doors open. The lighting was dim, the bass vibrating right through my chest.

I searched the room but didn't see Adrian.

I dialed his number. It connected.

"Adrian? Where are you?"

The rustle of clothing came through the receiver.

Then, Nora's hushed voice.

"Adrian... gentle..."

Followed by Adrian's hoarse, drunken murmur.

"Okay."

I stood at the entrance of the bar, my stomach violently churning.

I braced myself against the wall and dry heaved, but nothing came up.

I hung up the phone and turned to leave.

A group of drunk men blocked the exit.

"All alone?"

"Have a drink with us."

One of them reached out to touch my face.

I backed away, my shoulders hitting the brick wall.

A hand clamped down on my wrist with terrifying force.

"Let me go," I snapped in English, though I couldn't stop my voice from shaking. "My friend is right here."

"Friend? Where?"

They laughed, closing in.

"Help!"

The moment the scream left my throat, a hand clamped hard over my mouth.

They started dragging me toward the dark side alley.

I fought wildly, scratching one of their faces.

I was thrown to the cold, wet pavement. I scrambled for my phone.

My fingertips scraped the concrete as I finally managed to dial Adrian's number.

I just needed him to hear.

The noise on the other end seemed to pause for a second.

Then, the call was disconnected.

I dialed again. Straight to voicemail.

Someone kicked my phone away.

They were trying to drag me deeper into the shadows.

Cold, blind panic swallowed me.

Suddenly, blinding headlights swept into the alleyway.

"Hey! Let her go!"

A woman's piercing scream cut through the dark.

"I already called 911!"

The men cursed and scattered.

The person who saved me was a tough local woman named Linda Moore.

Police cars and paramedics arrived shortly after.

I sat on the curb wrapped in an emergency blanket, my face as white as paper.

The officer asked if I wanted to make a full statement right then.

I shook my head.

He still took down my name and the location, pressing a case number and a victim services card into my palm.

"You don't have to say everything now. When you're ready to add to it, call this number."

Linda retrieved my phone for me and asked softly if I needed someone to stay with me.

I shook my head again.

As dawn broke, I returned to the apartment.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. My lip was busted, my hair was a mess, and my eyes were bloodshot.

I opened the deepest part of the closet and pulled out the silver-grey carry-on suitcase I had packed days ago.

On the way to the airport, Adrian's calls popped up on my screen over and over.

I didn't answer.

When I got to the terminal, I pulled out my US SIM card and dropped it into the trash can.

Then, I dragged my suitcase into the departure hall.

The intercom announced the boarding for the cross-border flight to Toronto.

I stood up and walked toward the gate, step by step.

Goodbye, New York.

Goodbye, Adrian.