The bell over the door was still swinging when Lainey finally let out the breath she'd been holding.
Her wrist had a thin red ring on it where Vernon's fingers had been, and it throbbed like a bad song.
She locked the door, checked it twice, and stood there feeling like a fucking idiot.
Headlights swung across the gravel twenty minutes later, and her stomach dropped all over again.
She thought about pretending she wasn't there. Then she saw the car.
Her mother got out with her cardigan buttoned wrong and her mouth already set.
Charlene: You look like hell. Open the door.
Lainey opened the door because she always opened the door, and that was the whole problem.
Charlene: Landlord called me. Rent's late again. Three hundred short.
Lainey: I gave you my half on the first. I counted it out in front of you.
Charlene: Your half. Like that's the whole story.
Charlene: Rafferty's room is still sitting there empty, and you want to talk about halves.
Lainey: Don't.
Charlene: Don't what? Don't say his name in front of you? You were the one who was supposed to be watching him.
Lainey: I know what I was supposed to do.
Boots crunched on the gravel behind her mother, and of fucking course.
Vernon: Evening, Charlene. Lainey and me had a little mix-up earlier. I'm here to fix it.
Vernon: I need the spare key back. The one you kept.
Lainey: No.
Vernon: It's my key. I paid for that lock.
Lainey: You paid for it when we lived together. We don't.
Her hands went cold before her brain caught up, and her feet wanted to move and didn't.
Her body remembered things the rest of her tried not to.
Charlene: Give him the key, Lainey. It's a piece of metal.
Lainey: It's my door.
Charlene: That's enough. Calm down.
The words went through her like a hand pressed flat to her chest, and everything in her stopped.
She couldn't lift her arms. She couldn't move her tongue. Her heart kept going, but the rest of her just sat there.
It wasn't fear. She knew fear. This was worse, and she had no fucking name for it.
Charlene: See? She's fine.
Her mother said it to Vernon like Lainey was a dog that had finally shut up.
Feeling came back into her fingers one at a time, and the first thing she did was grab the counter.
Lainey: Don't do that. Don't ever do that again.
Charlene: Do what? I calmed you down. You should be thanking me.
Her mother's eyes slid away, and that was the worst part. She knew exactly what she'd done.
Vernon held out his palm again, patient as a bastard, like the freeze had proved something.
Lainey: Get out. Both of you.
Charlene: Rent's due Friday. Find it, or find somewhere else.
The bell jingled twice, soft, and then the lot was just gravel and cold air.
Lainey opened her fist. The spare key was still in her pocket, and that was the one thing she'd kept.
She could still feel those two words holding her still, and she stood there shaking in the lamplight, hating how much she wanted to be somewhere that felt safe.