Page 33 of Blades Out
"I'm fine." The words came out mechanical. "What do I need to do?"
"First—" Marsha's tone shifted into the careful gentleness she used when I'd gone too still. "First, we need to make sure you're safe. Is there anyone you can stay with? Anyone at all?"
"No."
The answer came immediately. Automatic.
I had no family—not real family, not the kind that showed up when things fell apart. No friends I trusted enough to drag into this mess. Ben seemed nice, but I'd known him five days. Jenna had her own life, her own problems.
I'm alone.
The thought should've hurt more than it did.
"Then stay with me." Marsha reached for my hand. "My spare room is yours. We'll figure this out together."
"No." I pulled away gently but firmly. "I can't."
"Liv—"
"I won't put you in danger." My voice stayed flat, emotionless, but the resolve underneath ran bone-deep. "You've done enough. Too much. I'm not dragging you into this."
"You're not dragging me anywhere." Marsha's eyes flashed. "I'm offering. You shouldn't be alone right now while we sort this out."
"I have to be." I stood, needing distance, needing air. "I can't—I won't—Marsha, if he finds out you helped me, if he knows where you live?—"
"He's not going to hurt me."
"You don't know that." The numbness cracked slightly, letting fear bleed through. "You don't know what he's capable of when he wants to punish someone."
But I do.
Marsha rose too, crossing the small space to grip my shoulders. "Listen to me. You are not responsible for protecting me. That's not your job."
"I don't… I want you safe." The words slipped out before I could stop them. Quiet. Tired. True.
Marsha's face softened in a way that made my chest ache. She squeezed my shoulders once, then let go and stepped back, giving me space I desperately needed.
"Okay." She pulled herself together—shoulders straightening, expression shifting into the practical, problem-solving mode I'd seen her wear a hundred times before. "Then let's focus on what we can control."
I nodded, wrapping my arms around my middle.
"First—stay aware of your surroundings." Marsha ticked points off on her fingers, voice steady and measured. "Don't walk anywhere alone after dark if you can help it. Vary your routes home. Notice if anyone follows you or shows up in the same places repeatedly."
The instructions landed like stones dropping into my stomach. Each one a reminder that my life had just shifted back into survival mode.
"Keep your phone charged. Always. I want to be able to reach you, and I want you to be able to call for help if you need it." She met my eyes, holding my gaze until I nodded. "If anything feels wrong—anything—you call me immediately. I don't care what time it is."
"Okay."
"Report anything unusual to the police. Unfamiliar cars, strangers asking about you, letters or packages—" Her voice tightened slightly. "Even if it seems like nothing. Create a paper trail."
Paper trails don't stop fists.
The thought whispered through my mind before I could block it. I swallowed hard, forcing the panic back down where it belonged.
"Consider changing your routines," Marsha continued. "If you always leave work at the same time, shift it. Take different entrances. Make yourself harder to predict."
Each instruction built a cage around my chest, squeezing tighter.
