Zoie

It was almost 10 p.m., and Zoie was getting ready to crash after a long day of note-taking and flashcard writing. Her mom had fallen asleep on the couch downstairs.

Her phone rang just as she was brushing her teeth.

It was Ryin.

“Hello?” Zoie answered, her mouth still minty.

“Can you come get me?” Ryin’s voice cracked on the other end, dry, hoarse, and hollow.

Zoie’s stomach dropped. “Ryin?” Her voice sharpened. “Where are you?”

“Bus stop. Near Westview Plaza.”

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I—I just really need you to come get me,” Ryin whispered. “Please.”

“I’m on my way,” she said without hesitation.

The line went dead before Zoie could ask anything else.

She didn’t bother changing clothes. She just grabbed a hoodie, slid into her mom’s nursing Crocs, and tiptoed past the living room.

Her mom was still curled up under a blanket, the TV on mute, the air thick with the scent of Jamaican Fruit incense.

Zoie eased the front door shut behind her, slipped into her mother’s Jeep, and drove.

***

Westview was half-closed by the time she got there. The parking lot was dim. Most of the storefronts were dark.

She spotted Ryin immediately. Curled up at the bus stop. Head down. Arms wrapped tight around her midsection like she was trying to hold herself together with nothing but willpower.

Zoie threw the car into park and jumped out.

“Ryin, what the hell happened?”

Ryin looked up slowly. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Red marks stretched along her neck and jawline. Her tan puffer vest was torn at the shoulder, her cream long-sleeve shirt stained with blood and dirt. Her brown sweatpants were shredded at the knees. Her Air Maxes, one lace dragging, looked like they’d been through hell.

“I’ll explain later,” Ryin said hoarsely. “Can we just go?”

Zoie didn’t argue. She helped her up, gently and slowly, then got her settled into the passenger seat. Ryin winced with every movement.

The drive back was silent. Ryin stared out the window the whole time, her good arm wrapped across her stomach.

Zoie’s eyes kept flicking toward her, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of the scene she’d just walked into.

 ***

When they pulled into the apartment complex parking lot, Zoie parked and helped Ryin carefully out of the Jeep. She kept one arm around her as they crossed the short walkway to Zoie’s unit and slipped quietly inside.

Her mom was still asleep on the couch, her mouth slightly open now, the TV casting a soft flicker of light across her face. Zoie motioned for silence and guided Ryin past the creaky step out of instinct, then upstairs to her room.

They closed the door behind them, and for a second everything was still.

Then Ryin spoke.

“I think. . . I think he was trying to rob me.”

Zoie froze. “What? Who?”

Ryin sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes lowered. “Some guy. Behind the store. I—I don’t know what he wanted, but he attacked me.”

Zoie’s heart cracked. “Ryin. . .”

“I’m fine,” Ryin cut in quickly.

“No. You’re not.” Zoie knelt in front of her. “You need to go to the hospital. Or the police. We can file a report. There might be cameras—”

“No!” Ryin’s voice was sharp and sudden.

“Ry—”

“I said no, Zoie.” Then, softer, “Please. I just. . . I just want to sleep. I don’t want to deal with my parents. I don’t want anyone asking questions. I don’t want anyone to know.”

Zoie blinked fast. Her throat tightened. “Okay. . . okay.”

But as Ryin shifted to remove her vest, Zoie reached for her phone, turning away as if she were adjusting the lamp. She angled the screen, her heart thudding, and took a few discreet photos. Quick, quiet shots of the bruises across Ryin’s neck, the swelling along her jaw, the dirt and blood on her shirt.

Just in case.

She didn’t know what Ryin would decide tomorrow.

But if Ryin ever wanted to press charges, if they ever found her attacker, Zoie would be ready.

She helped Ryin undress slowly, piece by piece. She lifted the long-sleeve shirt and helped her ease out of the sweatpants. Her voice stayed calm. Her hands careful. But inside, Zoie was unraveling.

The second the shirt came off, she saw the full extent of the damage. Dark purple bruises down Ryin’s ribs. A long scrape along her shoulder. Blood dried at the waistband of her underwear. Her wrist had started to swell, her fingers stiff and tinged red.

Zoie kept her face neutral and swallowed hard, trying not to let her real emotions show. She snapped a few more pictures, then went to the bathroom to prepare a bath with warm water and Epsom salt.

“Get in slowly,” she said as she helped Ryin into the bath, being as gentle as possible. “This’ll help.”

Ryin nodded slightly.

Zoie sat on the edge of the tub and carefully gathered Ryin’s hair into a high bun. Her fingers worked gently, slowly and deliberately as she finger-combed the strands together, securing them with a black scrunchie from the counter.

Ryin sat hunched in the bath, knees pulled to her chest, steam rising in soft curls around her bruised skin. The Epsom salt water was doing its job, relaxing her body and loosening the tension in her muscles, but it couldn’t touch the storm in her eyes.

“You okay?” Zoie asked quietly, smoothing back a loose strand of hair at Ryin’s hairline.

There was a pause.

Then Ryin cleared her throat. “I, um. . .  I broke up with Dorian this morning.”

The words sounded stiff. Too rehearsed.

Zoie blinked. Her hands froze for half a second, then continued tying off the bun.

“Oh.” She kept her voice light. “That was sudden.”

“Yeah. . . ” Ryin said, her tone wavering. “I just. . .  I couldn’t do the distance anymore.”

Zoie didn’t respond right away. She glanced down at Ryin’s half-turned face, unreadable. But Zoie knew her. They had been best friends since the beginning of sophomore year, and Ryin had tells.

She touched her collarbone when she lied. Bit the inside of her cheek. Avoided eye contact.

Right now she was doing all three.

Zoie knew there was more to the story. Whatever happened that morning hadn’t been a clean break. And with the haunted look in Ryin’s eyes, it wasn’t hard to piece together that things had spiraled deeper than she was letting on.

But instead of pressing, Zoie gently adjusted the bun and whispered, “Breakups suck. Even when they’re necessary.”

Ryin nodded faintly, her shoulders curling inward.

“I’m sorry it happened like that,” Zoie added. “But I’m proud of you for walking away. You’ll be okay.”

Ryin didn’t answer, but her eyes closed, and Zoie saw the tension in her jaw soften just a little.

Zoie dipped the loofah into the water, then gently squeezed it over Ryin’s shoulder.

No questions.

Not yet.

Sometimes being a best friend wasn’t about demanding the truth. It was about giving someone the room to say it when they were ready.

Zoie quietly gathered up the dirty clothes, trying not to think about what they had been through. As she stepped out and began closing the door behind her, Ryin called softly,

“Hey, Zo?”

“Yeah?” Zoie replied through the cracked door.

Ryin was quiet for a moment. Zoie could hear her slight sniffles and the effort it took to steady her voice.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Zoie replied softly.

***

In the laundry room, Zoie turned on the washer and went to drop Ryin’s shirt, sweats, and vest inside.

That’s when she smelled it.

Something faint. Something familiar.

Masculine. Subtle. Expensive. Not a scent Ryin wore, and not the detergent either.

She leaned in and sniffed again.

She knew that scent. She just. . . couldn’t place it.

Not right now.

She waved it off, her heart too heavy to chase the thought.

She took her time gathering a shakeable ice pack, gauze, antibiotic ointment, and bandages from her mother’s stash.

When she returned upstairs, Ryin had finished soaking and was curled up in Zoie’s queen-sized bed, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies. Her face was turned toward the wall, her uninjured hand tucked under her chin.

Zoie had planned on tending to Ryin’s wounds, but she was already asleep.

Zoie shook the ice pack and carefully placed it on Ryin’s swollen wrist, then sat on the edge of the bed watching her. Every part of her ached for her friend. She didn’t know the full extent of what had happened, but she knew Ryin was lying about something. And whatever the truth was, it was bad.

She grabbed her phone to text Tony.

Zoie: You up? I need your help with something.

She sat there waiting until the screen dimmed. The message was delivered, but she received no reply.

Eventually her head dropped against the pillow. And somewhere between worry and sleep, Zoie drifted off, still waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come.

***

The next morning, the mood was lighter, but only just. The sharp edges of the night before had dulled, replaced by a heavy, quiet fatigue.

Zoie’s mom had already left for work, which was a small relief. No questions. No suspicious glances. But it also meant Zoie wouldn’t have the Jeep for the day.

Ryin moved slowly, her body stiff and sore. With every motion she made, she winced with pain. Her throat was raw. The bruising along it was more visible now, and her voice came out more gravelly than air.

“I have some black leggings and a grey turtleneck, and a bulky oversized sweater you can wear over top. How’s that?” Zoie turned from her closet, holding up the clothes.

“Perfect,” Ryin replied hoarsely.

“Then we can try something hot for your throat and an ice pack for your ankle.” Zoie gently took Ryin’s injured hand into hers and gave it a quick once-over. “I can try to wrap this for you too, but I really think you should get it checked out.”

Ryin shook her head. “It’ll be fine with the wrap.”

Zoie helped her dress, slipping the sweater gently over Ryin’s arms, wincing internally every time her friend flinched. The bruises were deep and dark in the daylight. Zoie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting.

They headed downstairs a little later, the air slightly warmer between them. They made tea and kept the conversation light. It almost felt normal.

Until Ryin looked down at her cup and said,

“I lied.”

Zoie glanced over, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Ryin blew on her tea and spoke with forced effort. “About how Dorian and I broke up. . . I lied.”

Zoie’s chest tightened. He wasn’t the one who attacked her, was he? The thought hit her fast and hard. She couldn’t imagine Dorian doing something like that, but then again, she might not know him as well as she thought. Could he get that angry and do this?

She set her cup down gently. “Really? What happened?”

“I didn’t break up with him. He broke up with me,” Ryin admitted. “He saw something on my phone yesterday morning. He found out I was talking to someone else at my school. He kicked me out.” She paused, her face falling. “I didn’t have any intentions of ending things when I went over that night.”

Zoie exhaled slowly, relieved it wasn’t what she had first feared. “Well. . . I already figured something else had happened besides what you were telling me.”

“You’re not mad?”

“That you lied?” Zoie raised an eyebrow. “You’re my girl, but let’s be honest. You be lying.”

Ryin gave a weak, lopsided grin. “I’m sorry.”

“I think it’s Dorian who deserves the apology.” She said it lightly, but something still gnawed at her. Zoie could feel it, the quiet sense that Ryin wasn’t telling her everything. That whatever had happened last night was bigger than she was letting on.

But Zoie didn’t press. Not now. Ryin had just gone through a breakup and been attacked, all in the same day. She needed support, not suspicion.

So Zoie pushed the unease down and shifted her tone.

“Hungry?” she asked, moving toward the fridge.

Ryin nodded. “I could eat.”

Zoie smiled softly. “Then sit down. I got you.”

As she pulled out the leftover Jamaican pumpkin soup, her mind wandered again. The bruises. The scent in Ryin’s clothes. The half-truths.

Something was off.

But she would wait.

For now, she’d just be there for her friend the best she could.