Lola

Today I’m in a terrible mood. I don’t know why. It’s been a week since Detroit and I’m leaving for Ecuador in a little over two weeks. I’ve saved all my money and tomorrow I can finally pay off my tuition. I met my goal. I’m having amazing sex every single day and Fox and I have reached a good place. I like him, he likes me and we’ll figure out the rest later. I should be ecstatic. But I’m not.

My lease for my shitty apartment is up, and I’m moving in with Fox. He’s been great, and the death of his father did not affect him as much as I thought it would. I kept thinking an old wound would open and all the pent-up anger and resentment would come pouring out. But it hasn’t. He hasn’t said much about it, but he hasn’t been devastated about it either. Anyway, tomorrow I’m supposed to move into his apartment. Like I said, I should be in a great mood.

Tonight Duality’s packed, and I’m serving a bunch of “bros” for a bachelor party. There’s nothing I hate more than bachelor parties. The men always act like entitled pricks—as if they were let out of their cages for the first time. And today I’m covering for another bartender so I’m working on the second floor. Luckily, since it was a last-minute call in, I didn’t have to wear the skimpier “second-floor” uniform. But with all the nudity, the jugglers, the lights, and the music blasting…I’m flustered, if I’m being honest. And today, for some reason I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.

“Hey, another round.” One of the bachelor party guys yells at me—I can tell by the way his mouth opens wide and his chest heaves.

I give him a thumbs-up and start mixing some shots when a hand slams down on the counter not only startling me but causing the shots to actually spill over a bit from the force. Surprised, I look up. “Are you fucking deaf? I said vodka not tequila!”

I look down at the already mixed shots. “No, you said another round,” I protest as I push the seven shots to the edge.

He looks over his shoulder. I think he’s saying something judging by the expressions on the other men’s faces but I can’t see his lips. They glance over his shoulder at me and laugh. I have no idea what they’re talking about, and it’s pissing me off. “Hey! Hey!” I yell. “Fifty-six dollars.”

The guy—the instigator, who I bet is the best man—leans over. “You fucked up my drinks and then you expect me to pay for it.” He laughs. “I’ll make you a deal, I’ll pay for it if you take a shot with me.”

As a bartender I’m used to taking shots with the customers. I try not to because I have a remarkably low tolerance for alcohol, but if it gets these assholes to take their drinks and leave, I’ll do it—or at least pretend to. I mix myself the same shot, watering it down substantially. The seven men gather around and we all tip it down at the same time.

“What’s your name?” the instigator asks.

I lean forward and smile fakely. “Fifty-six dollars.”

“Tell me your name.”

“For fifty-six dollars.”

He turns back, and the group is laughing again. I’ve long ago come to terms with being excluded, but tonight, I’m not having it. In fact, I’m pissed. I’m pissed at having to work all the time. I’m pissed at not being able to hear. I’m pissed that I have to take two buses home and finish packing. I’m just…pissed.

I slam my hand on the bar. “Hey! Hey!”

He turns around and glances down at my palm first then at my face, looking amused. “You have ten seconds to pay or I’m calling security.”

He looks back at his friends then at me and laughs. In. My. Face.

I’ve had enough. I know, as I’m doing it, that this is wrong and reckless and could get me fired, but right now, I’ve reached that limit. That boiling point that everyone has. I’ve gone postal, and I can’t stop myself. I take the soda gun from the bar, aim it at his face, and press down hard. Only for a second, but it’s long enough that the man has sticky cold soda running down his face. His friends are shocked at first but then they all bend at the waist and start laughing. Instigator is not laughing. In fact, I quickly realize that Instigator is really tall and really fit and really really fucking pissed off.

I take a quick step back and the other bartenders, Jane and Barry, stop what they’re doing to come to my aide. The bar is packed, so not everyone has noticed the altercation, but enough have seen it that there is now a small crowd of people around us. I’m pretty certain Instigator is about to jump over the bar and hit me.

“You fucking stupid bitch!” he roars, wiping his face with the palm of his hand.

“Fifty-six dollars, asshole!” I yell right back. He moves forward threateningly but before he can even think about getting over the bar, someone intercepts him.

Fox has Instigator by the collar and is pulling him away. He yells something at me but I don’t know what he’s saying since he’s pushing a flailing, pissed-off man away.

“You’re crazy, girl. You better go,” Jane says when I turn to look at her.

I shake my head at her in confusion.

“Fox wants you in his office. Now.”

“Damn it.”

“I hope he doesn’t fire you, girl. That was pretty epic.”

Shit shit shit. I hope he doesn’t fire me either. But if he did, I would totally understand.

Although, I would do it again in a heartbeat. The guy was an asshole.

Fox

Lola is either crazy or a total badass. I haven’t decided which of the two yet. I storm into the office and slam the door behind me. “You could’ve gotten hurt!”

She’s sitting in my chair behind the desk, looking out the window into the club. She whips her head toward the door. She didn’t hear what I just said but must’ve felt me near because she swivels the chair around.

“Am I fired?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Probably not. I don’t think I have the authority to do that. But you should be. David’s here tonight; I’m not sure whether he saw what happened.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

“What the hell happened?”

I had been doing my rounds when I got paged to the bar about an altercation. The last person I’d have thought would be involved was Lola. Sweet, don’t-make-waves Lola. “I think the move is getting to me. Or that I’m leaving soon? I don’t know. They were laughing at me. I don’t like it when people laugh at me.”

“One sec, babe,” I say, my nostrils flaring and heat rising in my face. I speak into the mouthpiece. “Fritz, don’t let the guy leave. The one that had issues with Lola upstairs.”

“What? What are you going to do, Fox?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” I should have done more than kicked him out of the bar. I should have broken his face. I hope he hasn’t left yet because that’s exactly what I intend to do when I finish this conversation with Lola.

“Okay, well, maybe he wasn’t laughing at me. He could’ve just been laughing in general. But…” She stands and starts to pace. “I’ve always ignored what people say or do around me. I usually just try to disappear into the crowd. Today, I got frustrated and acted out.” She lets out a loud breath before continuing.

“You’re stressed. Everyone has bad days. Plus, you sleep a combined total of twenty hours a week. You’re tired and cranky. That’s what’s wrong with you.”

“You think? No, I think I just need to finish packing and get a handle on things at home. I have so much to do, and I’m running around between your house and mine. I’m feeling out of sorts.”

“Maybe. But you’re also exhausted, and you’re running yourself ragged,” I say. “You have an hour left. Why don’t you lay down here on the couch, and as soon as I’m done I’ll drive you home. And before you argue, I’ll say this: I have to do something or else the staff will think I’m playing favorites. So, you’re off the clock.”

She crosses her arms and pouts. This is the little Tiger I love. The one who gets moody and feisty sometimes. “Stop being cute.” I take her hand in mine, bring my lips to her wrist, and kiss her, then lead her to the couch. “I’ll come get you when I’m done. If anyone asks, I yelled at you.”

“Got it, boss.”

I leave her in the room and go deal with the asshole who fucked with my girl.

Lola

“We’re not at my house,” I say with a yawn.

“Nope. You said you have tomorrow morning off, and honestly I’m too tired to take you home tonight. I’ll take you home tomorrow, and you can have a sex break from me. Anyway you need to pack to move in here so two birds, one stone.”

“It’s only like ten more minutes, and I have so much to do at home, Fox.”

He yawns and we both glance at his dashboard. It’s almost five in the morning. I’ve been running on empty for a long time now, and the idea of sleeping in that big fluffy bed and waking up late with Fox next to me sounds like a dream.

“But that’s ten more minutes we can sleep. I’ll keep my hands to myself, I promise. There was nothing you were going to do tonight anyway.”

“Your bed is awfully comfortable.”

He smiles and opens the door to his car, knowing that there is no way I’m going to not sleep here.

“You can shower first, then bed,” he says as soon as he opens the front door and leads me inside. It’s amazing how easily we’ve fallen into a routine and how comfortable I am at his house. We text and talk daily, and we see each other at work. This is definitely more than we originally bargained for. Originally, I thought we’d have sex and go our separate ways each night. I didn’t expect sleepovers. I didn’t expect carpooling and dinners and learning how to sign. It feels so good to have someone. A good, nonjudgmental, kind friend. A friend I want to see naked and touch and…

A tap on my shoulder startles me. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Shower. Quick,” I say stupidly.

I already know where everything is so I open the closet and pull out a towel for each of us, then we both strip and jump in at the same time. He lathers my hair while I run the soap down his body. Then I rinse off my hair and he washes my body as I wash his hair and beard. It’s not at all sexual, it’s completely convenient and expeditious and when the hell did we become these people?

But I’m too exhausted to question it.

When I step out, I wrap around myself the thickest, fluffiest towel I’ve ever held and stand in front of the foggy mirror, where I can see my too-thin silhouette. So different from the women who hang around the club and hit on men. Yet, Fox still wants me. Simple, quiet me. I couldn’t tell him the difference between a knockoff perfume and brand name, mostly because I’ve never had anything like that. And even though I’m self-conscious about my hearing, I’m not one of those women who thinks she’s too thin or not pretty enough. I’m okay in my skin. If I could have my hearing back, I’d want for nothing.

But there’s something about Fox that does make me question things. I don’t know what it is. It’s not something he’s necessarily done because he’s been fantastic. He’s accommodating and sweet. He doesn’t make things awkward or make me feel disabled. He just goes about living and throws little paper airplane notes at me when I’m lost in thought or reading a book and…fuck…I have real feelings for Fox. Deep, soul-crushing feelings for him.

I grab one of his brushes and run it through my hair, then step out of the bathroom.

I pull a T-shirt from one of his drawers and slip it on. He’s done with the shower too, and as he enters his room, his eyes roam my body leaving a wake of goosebumps. “Don’t even think about it, mister. Sleep. You promised.”

“Relax, Tiger. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I roll my eyes as I slide into his bed. He turns off all the lights, and then my back is pressed against his front, and he’s spooning me and shit…this doesn’t at all feel like casual, fun sex anymore.

Did it ever?

Fox

I’m more in tune with Lola’s body than I’ve ever been with anyone before. The light is shining in through the window blinds and we’ve been in bed all day. Since she can’t hear me and she doesn’t speak often, I constantly have to read her. The way she moves, the way her breath hitches, the way her muscles contract. I absolutely love that I can make her wild with pleasure. But for the past few days she’s been “off.” I can tell by the way she let loose on that guy at the club last night and the way she keeps turning her face to look at me. It’s as if she’s anxious and doesn’t want to miss anything I may say.

I need her to be here with me. Not in her head.

“Stop thinking so much.”

She nods.

That’s another thing. She’s not talking much, and she’s back to short sentences. She’s retracting and I don’t know why.

“Please talk to me. Your voice is beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes, I’ve never had a woman roll her eyes while I was inside of her. Jesus Christ, this woman is something else.

I wrap my fist around her hair and pull, forcing her eyes open. “Say something. Anything.” I thrust hard at every word.

“That feels so good.”

“Yeah?” I dig my knees into the mattress and move in hard, her head hitting the headboard.

“Yes!” she cries out. “Fox, don’t stop.”

Never, I’ll never stop, I think, as I fuck her until she doesn’t give a fuck how she sounds or how loud she’s screaming my name.

Like I said, I love her voice.

---

She’s standing in my kitchen in a sports bra and boxer shorts looking cute as she spreads peanut butter on toast. I’ve never seen anyone eat so much peanut butter before. She looks up and smiles brightly at me and I swear to Christ, my heart stops. I just can’t let her go. I don’t know where this relationship is headed but she can’t just leave me. There’s still so much between us. “You want me to fix you a sandwich?” she asks.

“I want you to stay,” I blurt out.

Her big, brilliant smile slowly fades. “What?”

I walk around the kitchen table and take the knife and bread out of her hands. Those big sapphire eyes looking at me, begging me not to say the words that are on the tip of my tongue. The words that will change it all. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

She pulls her hands away. “You mean to my apartment to pack up, right?” Her eyes are blurry and I know that she knows that is not what I meant. I pull her so that she’s looking at me. “Fuck your apartment, Lola. You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Don’t do this, Fox.” Her lips wobble, but I continue and I know I shouldn’t and I know it’s not fair to her.

“To Ecuador. To school. Stay here in Miami. With me. Don’t go.”

Her head moves side to side and tears fall down her face as her shaky hands close the peanut butter tub and she throws the uneaten sandwich away.

“Lola. Say something.” But she’s not even looking at me. I lift her chin, like I do when I need her to look at my lips. “Sweetheart, please. Say something.”

“No.” She shakes her head vigorously. “No. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t what we were about. You’re a selfish bastard, Fox.”

“Selfish?” I yell. “Because I want you to stay with me? Because I want to see where this goes without having a fucking deadline looming in the goddamn background?” But she’s already in my room, grabbing her shirt and sliding it on. She missed most of what I said. She’s shutting me out. She sits on my bed and quickly slides on her sneakers.

I grab her shoulders and force her to look at me. “Open your fucking eyes, Lola. This is already happening. You and me…we’re already in a relationship. Not a no-strings kind of relationship…a super fucking tangled mess with strings all over the goddamn place.”

“No!” Her lips wobble and she stands up and ducks under my arm. “I gotta go.”

“No. We need to talk about this.”

She wipes her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Talk about what? There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve eaten ramen noodles for almost seven years, and I haven’t bought a nice piece of clothing in my life, or lived in a nice apartment, or had a freakin’ vacation, or done anything for myself.” She hits her chest with her fist. Her voice is devastatingly broken as she speaks. “Nothing ever for me because it’s all been for this dream that I have. For this ridiculous dream that felt hopeless and unattainable most of the time, but now it’s right there at my fingertips. I need to be useful, this lot in life I’ve been dealt has to have a meaning and I think—no, I know—it’s in helping others. And then you come in and you fuck it all up. It was supposed to be two months, Fox. I have never lied to you. I told you from the first day that I was leaving. You have no right to ask me to stay, Fox. No fucking right to put that on me. All the shit I’ve done has been for this one thing. For my dream, and you want me to just give it up? For what? To stay here and what?”

“And what? And be with me!”

“And be with you?” She sounds indignant. “Here in your white apartment with all your expensive sterile clothes? What am I supposed to do all day, Fox? Work at a stupid nightclub?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? I work at a stupid nightclub. And that’s what you do now.”

“That’s a job for me. A means to an end. It’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life. And if we’re being honest, it’s just a job for you too.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You fell into this job. You might be good at it. But it’s a job. Just something to prove your dad wrong. You’re a smart man. You can do whatever the hell you want. Is this really your dream? If it is, great. Do it. I’m not here to crush your dream.”

With those last words she slams the door behind her and leaves me standing there feeling….everything.

I am good at my job.

Fuck her.

Not everyone lives in a fantasy world where we can have hopes and dreams and go to college and then travel the world.

I’m a bouncer and now a manager and that’s it.

And now she’s too good for me? Little smart Lola living her dreams while I’m left behind working all night at a stupid nightclub.

Well, fuck her!

Fuck. Her.

I walk past the hall and slam my fist right into the drywall because…fuck!

This is my father in my head all over again.

Lola

My head hurts and my heart aches and I’m annoyed at Fox. I’m sitting at a diner a block from my apartment picking at my food after spending the rest of the day packing up my stuff and moping around feeling sad for myself. I called in sick, which was very irresponsible of me, but I’m too emotionally wound up to care.

…and God, it’s not like I don’t feel the same way toward Fox. But it’s not something we can do anything about. I can’t stay. How can I stay? I would resent him for the rest of my life. How can he ask that of me?

I hate arguing with him, and I feel like an asshole for the things I said to him and also for the things I didn’t say to him. Like: I love you so much; I want to stay with you.

I take a deep breath. Push my plate back, pay my bill, and walk back to my apartment.

My head is swirling with so many things. But the big thing that I keep coming back to is why I haven’t paid off my tuition yet. The deadline is Monday and it’s Sunday night. I’ve had the money for over a week. Tomorrow is the last possible day to pay it off and there is no reason for my procrastination on this. Except that somewhere inside I know it has to do with Fox. To top it off, now I’m sort of homeless.

I’m supposed to move to his apartment tomorrow and instead I’m walking to mine feeling completely defeated and devastated.

It’s been a while since I’ve walked around my neighborhood as I’ve been mostly staying with Fox. It’s eleven at night and damn, I almost forgot what a shitty neighborhood I live in. I’m vigilant of my surroundings as I walk swiftly, my purse close to my body. I feel a sense of relief when I finally get to my building. I open the metal gate with my key and then continue up the stairs.

When you’re hearing impaired, you learn to pay better attention to your other senses and you always—always—listen to your gut. So when I feel vibrations coming from behind me, the hairs on my neck stand. I rush to open the door that leads to the landing on the second floor but before I’ve had a chance to do that, my entire body is slammed against the wall so hard, I’m breathless.

I feel hot breath against my neck but I don’t know what he’s saying. I know it’s a “he” by the weight of his body against me, by the dark hair on his arms and even by the musky scent wafting from his body. I’m shaking with fear. “Pardon?”

Again, something is said, and again, I can’t hear. Oh my God, I’m going to die. “I’m deaf. I don’t know what you’re saying,” I cry.

Then I quickly add, “I need to read your lips. Please, I don’t know what you said.”

He stiffens against my body. His grip on my hair tightens, and a small whimper escapes my lips as he contemplates what I’ve just said. Maybe he hadn’t intended for me to look at him. Maybe he thinks I’m lying. I have no idea, but somewhere deep inside I’m hoping I’m too much trouble to mug or kill or rape or whatever it is he intends to do with me. I’m shaking with fear. I have to be the world’s worst mugging victim, since he’ll have to speak right into my face and I’ll have to undeniably take a good look at him. Maybe he’ll let me go and find an easier victim.

But no such luck.

He jerks me around and pulls me by my hair, my head tipping back in the process. I can see his lips moving but at this angle I can’t see it all. “I—I…” My chin is quivering. “I don’t know what you’re saying. Please, I swear I can’t hear! I’m deaf.”

He lets go of my hair a bit, and now I’m focused on his face. Hazel eyes that sit too close together, an upturned nose with a slight tilt, as if it’s been broken a time or two, cracked lips, a dimple on his chin. His cheekbones are hollow and there are a few open sores on his face and his blond hair is dirty. “Your money. Now.”

This time it’s clear. I always wear my purse across my body out of habit—it’s easier for me to sign. I can’t hand it to him unless he lets me go. “Take it.” I try to give him my purse but he is holding me tightly. He yanks so hard I tumble forward onto my hands and knees, my head hitting the edge of the steps as the strap breaks apart. “Ow!”

He must’ve said something but I’m rubbing my head in pain. To get my attention he kicks my side, and I yelp and look up at him. “Move and die,” he says, pointing a dirty, jagged knife at me. As he unzips my purse, he starts throwing things out. There’s not much in there. My earbuds, a lipstick, my wallet. I always have my phone in my pocket so that I can feel the vibration.

He opens the wallet and takes out all the cash. I know there’s not much there, maybe forty dollars or so. I just want to get away from this man. I hope that’s enough.

He pulls my ponytail up, forcing me to my feet. My eyes water from the prickle in my scalp. “You work at that club. I’ve seen you,” he says, and I realize he must live in the building. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“I—there’s no more.”

Suddenly, I feel the sharp sting of his palm against my face. He’s talking again but I don’t know what he’s saying because my eyes are watering from the slap and I can’t see his lips clearly. He shakes me then. I can tell he’s on something by the way he’s scratching his arms and the way his eyes are so glazed over. He pulls me by my elbow with one hand and with the other he’s holding my keys. I know that if I get locked inside my apartment alone with this man, he’ll hurt me more than he already has. I’m so much smaller than him, and he has a knife and is clearly out of it. He pushes me back against the wall, my head hitting the concrete, making me see cross-eyed for a second as he looks around. At this time, there’s no one in this hall. I can see the cars from the street driving by but I can’t talk because he wraps a hand around my throat and squeezes. All I can make out is “phone.”

But I can’t answer. I can’t say anything because he’s choking me and then with the hand holding the knife he starts to pat down my body. When he reaches my breasts I cry out and bile rises in my throat, but he keeps going until he feels my phone in my pocket. He pulls it out and slides it into his pocket. Then he starts to open the door to my apartment. As soon as he does my fight-or-flight instinct kicks in and I push him as hard as I can into my apartment. I see his head hit the little table by my door and I take off running as fast as I can.

“Help!” I scream. “Help me! Someone. Help!”

But no one comes out. I don’t know if I’m yelling loud enough or too loud but once I’m downstairs I run and run until I’m suddenly in a gas station. “Help! Help!”

Fox

I can’t believe she called in sick. She’s not sick. She’s pissed at me. This damn woman is driving me insane. Or maybe I’m driving her insane? There’s just so much between us it’s hard to concentrate on work or anything else, for that matter. She’s absolutely right, I was an asshole asking her to stay. I had no right. I don’t have anything other than love to offer her. I should have shut my mouth and just let things continue the way they were going. Now I’m miserable, and we’re wasting the little time we have left.

Damn it. What am I doing here? She’s home, upset, and probably unsure where we stand and where she’s going to live tomorrow.

“Hey, I have to run. I have an emergency,” I call out to Fritz, who’s standing a few feet away from me. “Call me if you need me. You’re good, right?”

“I’m good.”

“Later,” I call out as I undo my tie and unbutton the top of my shirt. Once I’m in my car, a car I thought I loved, I think about how ridiculous I’ve been. Who gives a fuck what my father thinks? I’m proud of who I am, and Lola’s proud of who I am. And I feel as if I’ve let her down by not supporting her. Because she has an actual dream and I have…I just have a point to make to my now deceased father. And I’ve made my point. I’m not stupid. I have money saved. I have a car, an apartment, and a job. People trust me and depend on me. I’ve made something of myself. But that’s not a dream. I can’t live off of that for the rest of my life, can I?

I sit in my car and for the first time in my entire life I have an actual epiphany. If everything went to shit tomorrow and I lost my car, my house, my job, would it really matter?

Hell no.

The only thing that would really hurt me would be losing Lola. She is the only real thing. She is what matters. The job, I like. The car, I like. The apartment, I like. The money, I like. But the girl, I love. And I don’t care if she’s leaving, we need to figure out a way to work it out. I can do a long-distance relationship. We can work something out. But we can’t just give up. And she can’t just shut me out and pretend she doesn’t feel the same way. Because if I’m being selfish, then so is she. She’s being close-minded and not seeing that plans change. People change. She’s changed me and now she has to fucking live with the repercussions of that! Because I’m not going anywhere, even if she is. Wherever she lives, I’m still going to be hers and she’s going to be mine.

I dial her number and the phone rings and rings but there’s no answer. I dial again and again but still nothing. As I get closer to her neighborhood I make an instant decision. I don’t care what she says, I’m not letting her live in that shithole one more day. She’s moving in with me until she she’s leaving for Ecuador and when she comes home, home will be with me.

I’m almost at her apartment when a police cruiser passes me with its sirens blaring. And then another one. The cruisers make a sharp turn into a gas station across from her building.

She’s definitely not coming back here.

I turn into her complex, park, then climb the stairs two at a time. When I reach her apartment her front door is open.

“Huh?” I take a step inside and find her tiny four-hundred-square-foot apartment completely in shambles. Drawers open, clothes spilling out of packed boxes that have been ripped open, tables turned, even her mattress is upside down. I’m shaking as I look around. I know better than to call for her, since she wouldn’t be able to hear me. I dial her number. Nothing. I text her. Call me now. 911.

I’m freaking the fuck out when three police officers with their weapons aimed at me yell from the front door, “Hands where we can see them!”

Taken completely by surprise I put my hands up.

“Where’s Lola?” I ask, startled.

They don’t answer. Instead, they approach me carefully as if I’m about to assault them and before I know it, I’m handcuffed and being led downstairs. “I’m her boyfriend. Where is she? Where’s Lola? Lola Daye. She lives in that apartment. She’s my girlfriend.”

Again, they don’t answer. They just push me down into a police car and drive me to the same gas station I passed by earlier, which now has an ambulance parked there, as well as the police cruiser. I have no idea what the hell is happening except that I need to know where Lola is.

“Don’t move.” The two officers warn before exiting the vehicle.

“Let me out. I need to know what happened to my girlfriend. I want a lawyer.” I’m yelling anything and everything I can think of as they walk off, leaving me alone in the car. I’m frantic and kicking the door with my legs when I glance out the window. The two officers are standing by the ambulance talking, and then they’re pushed aside as Lola runs to the car.

Fuck. She’s alive. I swear to God, my heart drops and I think I might cry. She’s here. She’s alive. The officers stop her, speaking to her, but I know she can’t hear them. I want to tell them this but I’m in this motherfucking car in handcuffs.

They bring her over to the car and open the door. “Is this the guy?” But she’s looking at me and not them and doesn’t answer.

“Baby, look at them!” She blinks, then turns her head and they repeat the question.

Quickly she answers, “No! No! That’s my boyfriend.”

More words are exchanged as my leg bobs up and down. Finally I’m escorted out of the car and the handcuffs are removed and then I’m holding my little Lola in my arms.

“What happened?” I pull away to examine her. She has an egg-sized bump on her head and dried blood on her lips and a bruise forming on her cheek.

I want to murder someone. “Who did this?”

“I don’t know.” Her lips tremble and she’s shaking, even though there’s a blanket around her. “I was walking up the stairs and someone grabbed me. He lives in my building, I think.”

Just then, a paramedic asks to see her, and I wait for her to be checked out. I can’t stop pacing or shaking. I ask the nearest cop what is being done, and they tell me that they have officers surveilling the area and there are a few in her apartment as well.

After what feels like hours, they escort us back to her apartment to take stock of the damage.

Apparently the physical pain is nothing compared to what Lola feels upon walking into her small home.

Immediately, a whimper escapes her lips. I’d gotten a glimpse of her apartment before I was cuffed but with all that had happened, it completely escaped my mind to warn her about what she was about to face. She pushes past me and two other officers and goes straight to her bed, where her mattress is up against the wall. She falls to her knees and picks up something off the floor—a sock, I think. Then, she brings her hands up to her face and begins to sob. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs.

Alarmed, I rush over to her, wrap my arms around her, and force her to look at me. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“My money, Fox. All of it, it’s gone. I had it hidden,” she wails, dropping the passport that must’ve been under her mattress too. At least they left that.

I run my palm down my face. “Oh, baby. Fuck.” I pull her to me, then look up at the officers who are probably wondering what is going on. I quickly explain the situation to them. One is taking notes. “How much was it, sweetheart?” I ask, pulling her a little away from my body so she can read my lips.

“Three thousand dollars.” Her lips tremble, and she wipes the tears from under her eyes. “My tips from the last month. I hadn’t had a chance to go to the bank to deposit it.” I knew she was paying in installments but I didn’t know the amounts. I do know that if she misses one installment, she is out of the program since they made a special arrangement just for her.

The cops continue to look around and ask her to take inventory of what else is missing. She wipes her face, looks around, and shrugs. “I don’t know.” She looks completely defeated. This is not a Lola I’ve seen before. It’s absolutely terrifying. “Nothing important. Ev—everything was crap.” I get what she means. She’s said it before. Everything was crap because she was pinching every penny for savings that is now gone. It’s only three thousand dollars, not the end of the world, and definitely nothing compared to what could have happened to her. But, for her, it may as well be a million dollars. While the cops wrap things up with her, I go knock on her shit of a landlord’s door and explain what’s going on. He doesn’t seem to give a fuck. After some words, he gives me her measly deposit, but only because it’s the middle of the night and I’m threatening to sue him for the lack of lights in the stairwell. Also because the place is now swarming with cops.

Once the officers are gone, I look at the boxes she had packed that have now been ripped open—the contents scattered everywhere. “Tomorrow we’ll repack. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

She shrugs as if in a daze and her eyes get watery again. “I have a little money in the bank,” she says, mostly to herself

I reach into my pocket, take out the money from the landlord, and hand it to her. “And this is your deposit.”

She holds her hands up. She doesn’t have a purse. A wallet. Nothing. “Hold on to it for me? This too, please.” I put it back in my wallet together with the passport she hands me while she kneels on the floor and takes one of the boxes that is the least ripped and shoves some of the clothes that have been scattered on the floor into it. I grab her wrist to stop her, but she pulls it away and keeps working as tears fall down her face.

I look around. The clothes from her closet have also been tossed around as the thief looked for money or jewelry or anything of value. But he really hit the jackpot when he lifted her mattress and found that sock stuffed with cash from her tips. I catch sight of a cellphone lying by a table, and when I reach down to grab it, I realize it’s Lola’s. She had said that the thief took her phone, but I supposed he’d dumped it aafter he found the cash. It wasn’t really the newest of the flashiest phone.

“Hey, I know it’s a small consolation, but I found your phone.” I hold it out to her.

She looks at me, and then at the phone, and then finally takes it. She stares at it for a long time. “I’d give anything for this to be my money instead.” She puts it into her pocket and stands up, holding a box that looks bigger than her. “Can I still go to your house for tonight at least? If that’s okay with you?” She sniffles.

I take the box and set it aside. “Of course. I’m sorry about earlier. I was coming here to tell you that. You can stay with me as long as you want, sweetheart.” Forever, if I’m lucky. But I don’t say that because that’s precisely the reason for the argument to begin with. “Come on, let’s go home. I want to take care of you. Will you let me take care of you?”

I don’t think anyone has ever taken care of her. Ever.

She nods sadly.

“Good. We’ll finish packing tomorrow.”

She shrugs and gestures to the miserable-looking box. She walks over to a broken mirror, grabs a teddy bear and the ugly green lamp I detest (I keep that to myself, of course), and then walks out of the apartment without looking back.

I follow behind her with the box that holds the entire contents of her life.

Fox

It’s almost noon and Lola’s still in bed. While she was asleep I drove to her apartment and brought the rest of her stuff to my home. Her phone has rung a few times but she hasn’t stirred an inch. And I don’t blame her, she needs her sleep. But when I realize it’s her boss from the animal clinic calling, I pick it up, quietly walking to the living room. When I explain what happened last night, Vivian simply asks me to send Lola her love and to tell her not to worry about work until she is feeling better. I wonder if Lola knows how much they love her at the animal clinic.

At one she starts stirring in bed. “Ugh, my head,” she moans. The paramedic told us she would feel sore and would likely be in a lot of pain today. “Was it a dream? Please tell me I had a terrible nightmare.”

My heart is breaking for her. I feel like this is all my fault. Had she been at work with me, none of this would have happened. “Sweetheart…” I kiss her forehead. “Why don’t you eat and then take something for the pain?” She nods, her bottom lip quivering as she sits up. I think the despair is more than the physical pain.

“Did they find the guy?”

“I called the detective this morning and he said they’re still looking.”

“I can’t believe I was so stupid. Who hides their money under the mattress? I should’ve put it in the bank.”

“You get those tips in cash, most bartenders don’t deposit it. You’re not stupid.”

“I was just lazy. I didn’t want to take a bus to the bank.” She slams her small fist into the bed, frustrated.

I hate this for her.

“Right now, you need to get better so you can deal with everything else. I need you to eat and take your pain meds. I ordered Chinese and Cuban. Wasn’t sure what you’d want. I also made you a PB&J.”

“PB&J, please.”

I knew that she’d choose the PB&J. I wonder if it’s out of habit or if she truly likes it.

I come back a moment later with her sandwich, a soda, and a pill. She eats it all, takes her medicine, then turns around and folds herself back into the covers. Fuck, I can’t take this side of her. She’s the strongest person I know.

“I guess I’m staying in Miami and working at a nightclub, after all,” she says with a humorless laugh. I think she says it mostly to herself but it finishes tearing my heart apart. How is it that yesterday, just twenty-four hours ago, that’s what I wanted and now there is nothing I want less for her?

No, she’s not meant to be here in Miami. She’s meant to be traveling the world teaching. That’s her calling and her passion and she’ll wither away if she’s not doing it.

I run my hands through her hair until she falls asleep.

Once she’s out, I take her phone and scroll through it until I find the number for her financial aid counselor.

Luckily the man answers and I explain what happened last night and what I plan to do about it. He gives me (and Lola) a forty-eight-hour extension for the rest of the money. It’s all he’s able to do. Otherwise, the spot goes to someone on the waiting list. Also, I find out that aside from the three thousand dollars she owes for the internship, she is in debt with student loans for about twenty thousand dollars, which seems to include her undergrad as well as the master’s program. The man explains that all of this will be deferred while she’s away, and she doesn’t have to worry about any of it for a long while. I, however, wish she didn’t have to worry about it at all.

I can’t wait to see her walking down the aisle to get her diploma when the semester is over. Which means I have two days to get Lola’s cute little ass a three-thousand-dollar seat on that trip to Ecuador.