Zoie

Tony had been distant all week.

Short replies. Missed calls. Excuses about picking up extra shifts.

Since Black Friday, he hadn’t made an effort to see her. His messages stayed dry. No emojis. Just Busy. At work. or Can’t talk rn.

Zoie didn’t want to believe something was going on.

They were supposed to be saving up for an apartment together. He said he’d picked up extra shifts at Urban Drape Studios to help. That’s what he always said, I’m doing this for us.

They had a plan. A future.

So she told herself there was no reason to question it.

. . .But she hadn’t seen him in person since the day after Thanksgiving.

And Ryin still hadn’t responded.

Zoie had been texting her every day. At first, just a simple check-in. Then longer messages. Then asking her to please just say something.

She tried calling.

Nothing.

A few days ago, she reached out to Dorian, hoping maybe Ryin had told him something. Maybe she’d opened up to someone else. He said he hadn’t heard from her since they broke up. His voice had been clipped. Tight.

Zoie had almost told him then. About the bruises. The blood. What Ryin looked like that night.

But something stopped her.

Maybe it was the way he sounded. Maybe she didn’t want to say it out loud without knowing for sure.

So she didn’t mention the assault.

Now she wished she had.

Something wasn’t right.

The silence from Ryin, paired with Tony’s, sat heavy in her chest.

***

Zoie’s day had already been long with clinical rotations, lab time, and trying to review scan imaging techniques on a barely charged tablet. Her blue class scrubs felt stiff, and her high bun was starting to come undone.

She missed Tony.

So after class, she decided to do something simple. Something sweet.

She picked up dinner for him.

Maybe it would cheer him up. Or at least get them in the same room again.

A small flutter of excitement settled in her chest as she pulled into Happy Blaze Burgers and ordered his usual, a double blaze combo with pepper jack cheese, Cajun fries, and a Pepsi.

From there, she drove to Urban Drape Studios at Westview Outlets.

She’d never actually been inside before. When they met for lunch, Tony always insisted on meeting her at the food court. She thought it was just because he wanted privacy.

But now, she wondered.

"Looking Out" by Suchitra Lata was playing as she walked in. The store had a fairly laid-back vibe. The lights were turned down low, and the powerful aroma of their signature cologne filled the store. Zoie took deep breaths as she moved around the mannequins and suit racks. She adored the scent; it was the same cologne Tony always wore.

Except. . . he wasn’t there.

A man with sharp cheekbones and a tailored pale mauve blazer was arranging a cologne display. Every inch of him was well-groomed: the waves, the brows, the Balbo beard. He noticed her immediately and gave a practiced, polished smile.

“Good afternoon. I’m Fabian. Welcome to Urban Drape Studios. How can I assist you today?” He sounded almost as if he were singing the greeting.

Zoie returned the smile. "I'm trying to drop dinner off for Antonio Ortega, but I don't see him.”

Fabian paused. “Ooh. . . yeah. Um. He’s not here.”

“That’s okay. Is he in the back?”

Fabian frowned slightly. “It’s just me and the district manager, Emilie, today. There’s no Antonio scheduled to be in today.”

Then he looked around as he lowered his voice. “Actually. . .  he doesn’t work here anymore.”

Zoie’s heart skipped.“What? That’s not— he told me he was working today.”

All professionalism slipped from Fabian’s voice, “Gworllll, he was fired Monday.”

"Huh, wha— what?" Zoie stared at him. The fact that he had been lying just wasn't registering with her. Her hands trembled slightly. “Fired? For what?”

Fabian stepped closer, voice soft and gossipy. “Well. . . the district manager came in Monday to check the cameras, standard holiday procedure, you know? Just to make sure no employees snuck out the back with merchandise during the holiday weekend. Happens every year.”

Zoie's pulse thudded in her ears.

“What did she see?”

"Look, you didn't hear this from me." Fabian’s tone dropped to a near-hush whisper. “It showed Tony. . . behind the store. . . beating the hell out of his girlfriend Saturday night. The camera caught it all.”

The room went cold.

“I— what?” Zoie croaked. “Girlfriend? What do you mean, girlfriend?”

“I mean,” he said gently, “the girl has come in a few times. Pretty little thing. Petite with long dark hair. Real Megan Fox vibes. She’s even called up here asking for him. I’ve worked here for about a year and a half, and she’s definitely not new.”

The bag in Zoie’s hand felt heavier.

Her grip loosened slightly.

She felt like she was about to pass out. "And the manager didn't call the police?"

"Nope. She told him he was lucky she didn't have him arrested, though. She said she didn't want the police to be seen here since it would reflect poorly on the business. He started throwing a little fit, too."

"Thank you. . ." Zoie said breathlessly as she slowly walked off.

             Fabian kept talking, his voice steady as she turned and walked away.

  With each step, his voice faded into the background.

  “I knew something was off about him. I always say —”

  But Zoie didn’t hear the rest.

  Girlfriend.

  The word kept repeating in her head.

  Girlfriend.

***

She barely remembered getting into her Jeep. Her palms felt sticky against the steering wheel as she drove, not really paying attention to where she was going, until she ended up at a small, empty waterfront park.

She pulled into a far corner of the lot, shut off the car, and opened the food bag.

At first, she nibbled.

Then she bit harder.

Fries. Burger. Another bite before she finished the first.

More.

Stuff it down. Don’t think. Just eat. Just breathe.

Sauce dripped onto her scrubs. Grease coated her fingers. She didn’t care. 

Her mind wasn’t in her body anymore. 

It kept replaying everything, trying to sort through it, trying to make it make sense. 

How long? 

How long has he been lying? 

How long have they BOTH been lying to me?

When she finally looked down at the fries and sauce smeared across her lap, something in her snapped. 

 She stepped out of the car and frantically tried to wipe herself clean, but it wasn’t working. 

Her hands turned into fists.

She hit her thighs.

Again.

Again.

Harder.

 until she couldn’t hold the tears in anymore.

Everything hit her all at once.

The vision of Ryin’s slumped body on the bus stop bench. 

The scratches and bruises.

Tony pulling away. Never being available to see or talk to her.

She thought back on her conversation with Fabian. 

“Beating the hell out of his girlfriend.” 

His words reverberated repeatedly in her mind. 

Girlfriend?

What in the hell was he talking about? 

Why was Ryin there? 

Why would Tony hurt her like that? 

Had they been —

Her stomach turned, she couldn't finish the thought.

She doubled over and threw up beside the front tire, everything she’d just eaten coming back up. 

When it was over, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slid down against the car door.

The pavement felt cold through her scrubs.

Her chest ached. Tight. Heavy.

Her breathing slowed, but the thoughts didn’t.

They just circled.

Eventually, she dragged herself back into the car and pushed the seat all the way back.

 Her phone buzzed with a text from Harold, a sweet guy from class, but she didn’t read it. 

Didn’t want to talk.

She powered it off.

And sometime after that, her eyes closed.

Not really sleep.

Just exhaustion finally taking over.

***

  When she woke, it was dark.

  7:37 p.m.

  She drove back to Urban Drape Studios.

  Then parked.

  And waited.

  At 9:30, Emilie stepped out, purse slung over one shoulder, keys jingling in her hand. She turned toward the door, starting to lock up.

 Zoie walked up. “Excuse me,” she called out.

“We’re closed,” Emilie said without turning around.

“Emilie.” 

This time, Zoie’s voice was firmer as she stepped closer. 

Emilie turned around, letting out a frustrated groan. "What?!" 

The irritation on her face faltered for a second when she actually looked at Zoie.  

She had red eyes from crying. Smudged mascara and tears streaked her face. Her scrubs were stained and wrinkled. 

“…Can I help you?”

“I need to see that footage.”

Emilie furrowed her brow. “What footage?” 

“The camera footage from behind the store. From Black Friday weekend. I know what happened.”

Emilie’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zoie’s voice sharpened. “You do! You saw him attack her! You fired him for it!”

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Emilie snapped. “Or I’ll report you for harassment.”

“Call the police,” Zoie said, her voice steady. “Please. I’d love to tell them what you’re covering up.”

Emelie became irritated. “If such an incident occurred, which it didn’t, I can guarantee that the individual would no longer be employed here and the authorities would have been notified, per our company policy.” She looked Zoie up and down. “Now, is there someone I can call for you? You don’t look well.” Her tone was very condescending. 

Zoie stared at her, disbelief settling in.  

How can she act like nothing happened? 

“Are you serious? A girl was assaulted by one of your employees, and you’re just going to pretend it didn’t happen?”  

  Emilie paused for half a second.

  Then pushed past her, shoulder hitting Zoie’s harder than necessary.

 “Get out of my way,” she muttered, walking off without another word. 

  Zoie stood there in the parking lot, tears burning in her eyes.

  For a second, she didn’t move.

  Feeling defeated she turned, walked back to her Jeep, climbed in, and drove home.

***

  When she got inside, she placed her keys on the hook by the front door and slipped past the living room.

  She didn’t want to run into her mom.

  Didn’t want to explain the way she looked.

  She went straight to her room.

  Zoie sat on the edge of her bed and turned her phone back on.

  Dozens of notifications.

  None from Ryin.

  None from Tony.

  Her fingers trembled as she typed a message to Ryin:

Call me. I know it was Tony.

She hit send.

Then she sat and waited, staring at the screen.

Minutes passed. 

Nothing.

Her eyes drifted to the folded clothes in the hamper. 

Her thoughts returned to Ryin’s clothes from that night. 

The rips, the blood, and something else. . . 

The scent.

It had been so familiar.

She hadn’t placed it then.

But now she knew.

It was Tony’s cologne.

Zoie’s face crumpled. She grabbed a pillow, pressed it to her face, and screamed.

Smelling like fries and sweat, she slowly dragged herself into the bathroom. Avoiding her reflection, she turned off the light, undressed, and got in the shower. 

The steam rose around her while she stood in the darkness. 

Suddenly feeling weak, she curled into a ball on the shower floor and sobbed until the water ran cold. 

She laid there wishing the water could wash away the events of the day and the heartbreak she was feeling that left her stomach churning.

  But it didn’t go anywhere. 

  And still. . . 

  No message reply came.