Chapter 3

Chad' s "massage" was pure torture.

His thumbs ground into the already damaged muscles of my arm, my shoulder, my neck. The muscle relaxant made me a rag doll, unable to resist, only to endure.

He hummed a tuneless song, clearly enjoying himself.

"Feeling better yet, buddy?" he' d ask, then apply more pressure.

After he was done with my arm, he announced, "I saw this new wellness thing online. Fire cupping, or something. Cleanses the aura."

He produced a lighter and some moxibustion sticks he' d probably found in Vicky' s collection of fad "health" items.

"Hold still," he said, bringing the smoldering stick close to my head.

I tried to pull away, but my limbs were too heavy.

Then, searing heat, and the acrid smell of burning hair.

"Oops," Chad said, not sounding sorry at all. "Slipped."

Vicky rushed in, drawn by the smell. "What in God's name are you doing, Chad?"

She swatted at my head, extinguishing the small flames in my hair. For a second, her eyes held a flash of actual concern.

Then Chad yelped, "Ouch! I burned my finger!" He waved his hand dramatically, a tiny red mark on his thumb.

Vicky' s attention snapped to him instantly. "Oh, you poor thing! Let me see!"

She fussed over his minor burn, all thoughts of my smoldering hair forgotten.

Later, I stood in the bathroom, the cheap scissors Vicky kept for cutting tags shaking in my hand. I tried to even out the singed, ragged patch of hair.

Vicky came in. "Here, let me help with that," she said, reaching for the scissors.

I flinched, pulling away instinctively.

Her face hardened. "Don't you dare recoil from me, Ethan." Her voice was low, dangerous.

I said nothing, just continued to hack at my hair.

What she didn't know was that the final payment for Lily' s treatment had cleared that morning. Lily was recovering, the doctors were optimistic.

My purpose here was done.

That night, when Vicky was out with Chad, I started packing a small duffel bag, essentials only. My parents had been calling, worried, begging me to come home.

"We're not married, Ethan," Vicky had sneered once, during a particularly cruel tirade. "You think I'd ever actually tie myself to someone like you? You're a convenience."

A convenience that was about to become very inconvenient.