I Just Wanted a Towel

I passed my street.

Didn’t slow down. Didn’t glance at the house. Didn’t check the driveway to see if Sam’s car was there.

I just kept driving.

The road stretched ahead of me in long, indifferent lines, and for the first time all day, I realized something simple and terrifying:

I didn’t feel safe going home.

Not because of what was there.

Because of who might already be waiting.

My grip tightened on the steering wheel.

What if someone was inside?

What if someone had always been inside?

The thoughts came fast, stacking on top of each other, building something heavy and suffocating in my chest. Every shadow felt like a possibility. Every parked car a stakeout. Every passing face a witness to something I didn’t understand yet.

I exhaled hard.

This was getting out of control.

I needed people. Noise. Movement. Something normal enough to hide inside.

Somewhere I could disappear without actually being alone.

The mall crossed my mind. I dismissed it immediately. I don’t shop. I survive retail environments the way most people survive dental surgery—necessary, unpleasant, and with a firm exit strategy.

The library felt worse. Too quiet. Too obvious. If someone was watching me—and at this point, it felt less like paranoia and more like pattern recognition—that’s exactly where they’d expect me to go.

Same with the bookstore.

Being a writer in a bookstore is like being a fish in a barrel.

Everyone’s looking.

Everyone thinks they recognize you.

Everyone’s wrong, but it doesn’t matter.

I kept driving.

And then I stopped pretending I didn’t already know where I was going.

The gym.

Of course.

It had people. Enough bodies moving around that no one would focus on just one. I could put on headphones, bury myself in repetition, and let my brain work through the chaos without anyone asking questions.

Lift. Lower. Breathe.

Simple.

Predictable.

Safe.

Or at least it used to be.

By the time I pulled into the strip mall, my thoughts had settled into something quieter—but not calmer.

More focused.

More dangerous.

Jessica.

Sam.

Rachel.

The connections twisted together in my head like wires stripped down to the copper. Sparks waiting for something to bridge the gap.

Someone had been inside my life.

Not just watching.

Living there.

Sleeping twenty feet above my head.

Eating my food.

Laughing at my jokes.

All while reporting back to… who?

The question made something in my stomach turn.

I parked between the gym and Phancy Paws and sat there for a moment, engine idling.

Sasha leaned forward from the backseat and rested her chin on my shoulder.

She didn’t whine.

Didn’t bark.

Just… waited.

“You’re right,” I muttered. “We’re here.”’

I killed the engine and climbed out.

Phancy Paws looked like it always did—bright, cheerful, aggressively clean in a way that made you feel like you should apologize for existing near it.

A bell chimed when I stepped inside.

The air smelled like lavender and money.

Behind the counter stood someone I didn’t recognize.

That alone was enough to make me pause.

She smiled the kind of smile that comes with training. Friendly. Polished. Slightly delayed.

“Hi! Welcome to Phancy Paws. First time?”

“No,” I said, unclipping Sasha’s leash. “We’re regulars.”

Sasha didn’t wait for introductions. She stepped forward like she owned the place—which, to be fair, she kind of did.

“Name?” the girl asked.

“Lewis. Bodhi.”

Recognition flickered.

Not warmth. Not excitement.

Just… recognition.

Another one.

“Got it,” she said quickly, typing something into the computer. “We’ll take good care of her.”

I watched the screen.

Watched her eyes.

Waited for something—anything—to give her away.

Nothing did.

Sasha didn’t hesitate as the girl led her toward the back. No look over the shoulder. No pause. No concern.

Traitor.

I lifted a hand in a half-wave.

She didn’t look back.

Next door, Fitness Express felt different the second I walked in.

Same equipment.

Same layout.

Same smell of rubber mats and too much protein.

But something in the air had shifted.

Like a room where a conversation had stopped right before you entered.

Devon stood behind the counter.

That wasn’t unusual.

The way he looked at me was.

No nod.

No acknowledgment.

Just… waiting.

I pulled out my phone and scanned in.

The machine beeped.

Wrong.

I tried again.

Same result.

A red light blinked back at me like it knew something I didn’t.

“Am I good?” I asked.

Devon didn’t move right away. Then he stepped forward, slow and deliberate, and rested his forearms on the counter.

“Nope.”

One word.

Flat.

Final.

I frowned. “What do you mean, nope?”

“Says your membership’s been canceled.”

I let out a short laugh. “That’s not possible. I didn’t cancel.”

He tapped the screen like it settled the argument.

“That’s what it says.”

Something cold slid into place in my chest.

“Then it’s wrong.”

He shrugged.

That was it.

That was all I was getting.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice.

“Look, there’s been a mistake. Just run it again. Or—hell—I’ll re-sign. Whatever the top package is, I’ll take it.”

“No.”

No hesitation this time.

No shrug.

Just refusal.

I blinked at him.

“Okay… then add personal training. I’ll do sessions. A lot of sessions. You’ll make more off me in a month than most people do in a year.”

“No.”

The word landed heavier this time.

Like it meant something more.

I studied his face.

And there it was.

Not anger.

Not annoyance.

Fear.

Small. Controlled.

But real.

“Who got to you?” I asked.

That did it.

His jaw tightened.

“No one got to me.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “They did.”

He pushed off the counter.

“Get out.”

Heads turned.

Not all of them.

Just enough.

“I’m not leaving,” I said. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Movement behind him.

Three guys peeled away from the free weights.

Big.

Deliberate.

Interested.

Devon stepped around the counter.

“Don’t make this a problem.”

“Too late,” I said.

I could feel it now.

The pattern.

The pressure.

The walls starting to close in.

“How much?” I asked.

His eyes flicked—just for a second.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“It does.”

We stood there, a few feet apart, the air tightening between us.

Then he leaned in.

Close enough I could smell protein powder and something metallic underneath.

“This isn’t about money,” he said quietly.

“Then what is it?”

He held my gaze.

Longer this time.

And when he spoke again, it wasn’t a threat.

It was worse.

“What happens to my wife if I help you?”

That landed.

Hard.

Not because of what he said.

Because of what it meant.

They weren’t just buying people.

They were leveraging them.

Families.

Lives.

Everything.

“Help me,” I said, softer now. “Please.”

For a second—just a second—I thought I saw him hesitate.

Then he shook his head.

“Can’t.”

That word again.

Final.

Closed.

Done.

Something in me snapped.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just… gone.

“You know,” I said, straightening, “for a guy your size…”

I met his eyes.

“…you scare pretty easy.”

I didn’t even see the punch.

The world tilted.

Sound dropped out.

Then came back all at once.

Hands.

Impact.

Floor.

Someone shouting.

Maybe me.

Fists connected with ribs, shoulders, jaw. Not wild. Not chaotic. Controlled. Efficient.

This wasn’t a fight.

It was a message.

Don’t come back.

Don’t ask questions.

Don’t exist here.

I curled instinctively, arms coming up too slow to matter.

A kick caught my side.

Another.

Boots, not sneakers.

That registered somewhere.

Then Devon again—grabbing my shirt, hauling me halfway up before dropping me like I weighed nothing.

“I told you,” he said, voice distant and distorted, “I don’t want to see you again.”

Then nothing.

When the world came back, it came back in pieces.

Light first.

Then sound.

Then pain.

So much pain.

Something warm dragged across my face.

I flinched.

“Hey… hey… easy…”

A voice.

Female.

Close.

I forced one eye open.

Sasha.

Of course.

Her tongue swept across my cheek again, like she was trying to put me back together one lick at a time.

Behind her stood the girl from Phancy Paws. Her name tag had said Renna.

Her grip on the leash was tight.

Her expression tighter.

“Mr. Lewis?” she said carefully. “I… I’m really sorry, but… Sasha can’t come back anymore.”

I let out something that might’ve been a laugh.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “That tracks.”

“Did they beat you up too?” I asked as I ran my hands along Sasha’s side. No marks. At least, they were humane.

“Are you… okay?” Renna asked.

“Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

“No.”

“You were unconscious.”

“An ambulance means questions. Questions mean Henderson.”

She didn’t look convinced.

She glanced toward the gym, then back at me.

“Can you stand?”

“Define stand.”

Between the two of us—and a heroic amount of effort on her part—we got me into the Jeep.

Every movement felt like it cost something.

Muscle.

Bone.

Dignity.

She helped more than she needed to.

More than most people would.

Which is why what happened next didn’t make sense.

I watched through blurred vision as she walked back toward Phancy Paws.

Watched someone come out.

Watched the conversation.

Sharp.

Fast.

Hands.

Pointing.

Renna pushed back.

Didn’t back down.

For a second, I thought—

She’s defending me.

Thirty seconds later, she came storming out.

Purse over her shoulder.

Face tight with something that looked a lot like anger.

She glanced at me.

Held my gaze.

Then flipped me off.

Hard.

Clean.

No hesitation.

And walked away.

I blinked.

“Okay,” I muttered. “That one I didn’t earn.”

Sasha huffed from the backseat like she disagreed.

The drive home was slow.

Pain has a way of teaching patience.

Every bump in the road felt personal.

Every stop sign, an insult.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, I wasn’t thinking about who might be inside anymore.

I didn’t care.

Let them be there.

Let them try.

I killed the engine and sat there for a second, breathing through the pain.

Sasha jumped out the second I opened the door and bolted for the backyard.

Smart.

Safer than me.

I made it inside the garage before my legs gave out.

The concrete caught me.

Hard.

But it didn’t hurt as much as everything else, so I stayed there.

Flat on my back.

Staring at the ceiling.

Trying to remember what normal felt like.

Rachel’s laugh came back to me out of nowhere.

Clear.

Sharp.

Wrong.

Not the soft version I held onto.

The other one.

The one with edges.

The one I didn’t understand at the time.

We’d been walking through a park—different one, different life—when four guys decided we looked like a good time.

They said things.

I said things back.

Then one of them pulled a knife.

I remember thinking:

This is how people die.

I remember Rachel laughing.

Not nervous.

Not scared.

Amused.

The guy flipped the blade like he’d practiced.

Like he wanted us to see.

Then he slipped.

Cut himself.

Not deep.

Just enough.

Rachel tilted her head.

Smiled.

“Want to see me do it again?”

Something in her voice—

Something not human—

made all four of them run.

I didn’t question it then.

Didn’t ask how.

Didn’t ask why.

I just told myself she was strong.

Different.

Special.

I told myself a lot of things.

Things that felt good.

Things that made sense.

Things that didn’t ask for answers.

Now?

Now I wasn’t so sure.

A sound pulled me back.

Sasha.

Barking.

Sharp.

Focused.

Back corner of the yard.

The gate.

A car door slammed somewhere beyond it.

My body protested as I pushed myself upright, grabbing onto the Jeep for leverage.

Every instinct screamed at me to stay down.

I didn’t listen.

“Bodhi?”

Female voice.

Close.

Familiar.

Keys.

Metal on metal.

The back gate.

I froze.

Who has a key?

More than one.

That thought hit harder than the punch.

The gate latch rattled.

Turned.

Unlocked.

The gate creaked open slowly.

“Sasha? Where’d you—”

She stepped into the yard.

Sasha ran to her immediately, tail wagging like none of this existed.

“Hey, girl—”

She looked up.

Saw me.

And everything on her face changed at once.

Shock.

Fear.

Something deeper.

Something worse.

“Bodhi—”

“Hey, Francine,” I said.

My voice didn’t sound like mine.

She crossed the space between us in two steps and pulled me into a hug before I could react.

Tight.

Careful.

Like I might fall apart in her hands.

I didn’t hug her back.

Not right away.

Because for the first time all day…

I didn’t know if she was safe—

or next.