Aimless

The days blurred together for Evan. The silence of the apartment became a constant companion, suffocating in its presence. He fell into a routine—get up, go to the restaurant, come back to the apartment, and repeat. Sammy dropped him off every morning and picked him up every evening. Each day felt like an endless loop, with Lila's absence hanging over him like a storm cloud, threatening to break at any moment.

Each morning, Sammy would place a takeout bag on the small kitchen table, his eyes steady as Evan picked at the food. The silence between them stretched like an invisible chain, tightening as Sammy's eyes followed each hesitant bite. Evan's skin prickled under that silent watch, as if Sammy was less a guard and more a keeper, ensuring he didn't stray from whatever path Lila had marked.

"Did you eat?" Sammy asked every day, his voice gruff, though his eyes always tracked Evan's movements carefully.

"Yeah," Evan would mutter in response, even when he hadn't eaten much. But Sammy wasn't fooled.

"You didn't finish yesterday," Sammy remarked once, glancing at the half-eaten sandwich Evan had pushed aside. "Don't let that become a habit."

The way Sammy monitored him made Evan's skin crawl. It wasn't just about the food—it was about control. Sammy wasn't asking out of concern; he was making sure Evan was fit for whatever purpose Lila had in store.

On the way to the restaurant each morning, Evan watched the passing streets through the car window. The neighborhood was quiet, deceptively peaceful, but it stirred memories in him—memories of when he used to take long walks to avoid being in the house with his father's rage and his mother's cold indifference. The streets had been his escape back then, a place where he could pretend, just for a while, that things were normal.

But now, as he looked out at the familiar but distant scenery, the sense of dread pressed down harder. His life had been a series of worse and worse situations, each one a deeper pit than the last. He clenched his fists, fighting the rising nausea.

"No," he thought to himself. "Nothing was worse than the brothel."

He shook the thought off, but the darkness hovered to him. His mind drifted to the runaway group—the friends who had left him behind to shoulder Jason's debt. Where were they now? Why had they left him?

A spark of anger flared, but he quickly pushed it down. What did it matter now? He had bigger problems to worry about.

At the restaurant, the routine was equally suffocating. The other employees kept their distance. A quick nod, a murmured "thanks," but no one lingered, no one asked why a new face was here or why a man like Sammy was his constant shadow. Their glances were brief, avoiding his eyes like they might catch whatever curse had trapped him in Lila's world.

 They looked away when they saw him, avoiding eye contact, as though they knew something about him that he didn't.

But it was the clients that made Evan's stomach twist. The people who ate at the restaurant weren't just wealthy diners—they were dangerous. He could tell by their conversations, whispered but laced with menace. He overheard things he shouldn't, like men discussing "eliminating a witness" or "disposing of a problem." Each word was a stark reminder of just how far out of his depth he was.

One night, as Evan was wiping down a table, a woman sitting at the bar caught his eye. She was well-dressed, with sharp eyes that didn't miss much, and a smile that made Evan uncomfortable.

"Hey there," she said, her voice low and smooth. "You new here?"

Evan froze, unsure how to respond. He forced a smile, hoping it would end the interaction. "Just been here a little while."

She leaned in, her eyes holding on him. "You're cute. Maybe you can join me after your shift?"

Evan's stomach tightened. He could feel the eyes of the other customers on him, watching, waiting. Before he could stammer out a response, William walked over, his grin too wide.

"Oh, you like our new recruit?" he said, his tone playful. "The boss brought him in special."

At the mention of 'the boss,' the woman's expression changed instantly. Her smile vanished, and a hint of nervousness surfaced in her eyes. She pulled back, giving Evan a once-over before murmuring, 'Maybe another time.'

She hurried away, leaving Evan feeling more exposed than ever.

"Better get used to it," William muttered as he passed by, his voice low.

The rest of the shift passed in a haze. Evan tried to focus, but his mind kept drifting. Every interaction felt heavy, every glance from the other employees a reminder that he was being watched, evaluated, controlled.

As the week dragged on, the silence of the apartment became unbearable. Each night, Evan would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts spinning out of control. He could feel Lila's presence, even in her absence, like a shadow looming over him. The question of when she would return tortured him, amplifying his anxiety with each passing day.

On the seventh night, the pressure became too much. Evan snapped.

The apartment, once a quiet refuge, became the target of his rage. He grabbed a chair and hurled it across the room, the crash echoing off the walls. But it wasn't enough. He ripped apart the bedding, knocked over the table, threw anything he could get his hands on. The chaos was a release, a way to vent the fear and helplessness that had been building inside him all week.

Finally, exhausted and shaking, Evan collapsed on the floor. Tears streamed down his face as he curled up, his body trembling with sobs. He felt like a puppet with its strings cut, left broken on the floor.

Then, the phone rang.

The sudden sound startled him, making his heart jump. The phone—it hadn't rung since Lila gave it to him. With trembling hands, Evan answered it.

"Hello?" His voice was barely a whisper.

Lila's voice, soft but commanding, sent a chill down his spine. "Why are you not sleeping?"

Before Evan could respond, he heard the front door creak open. His heart pounded as Lila stepped inside, her presence filling the room.

She was back.