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?”

“A 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.

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 entered.

***

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 chest tightened. “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, and 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 file a report, 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. Red and purple marks were already forming along Ryin’s ribs. A long scrape ran across her shoulder. Blood had 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 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 and rehearsed.

Zoie’s 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. 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 had happened that morning clearly wasn’t just a simple breakup; the haunted look in Ryin’s eyes suggested it had gone much further than she was admitting. A small, uneasy thought crept in that she tried to push away. Could Dorian have been capable of hurting Ryin? She did not want to believe it, but the question lingered anyway.

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 respond, but her eyes closed, and Zoie saw the tension in her jaw soften just a little.

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

She wouldn’t ask any questions.

Not yet.

Right now being a good friend is more important than demanding the truth. For now she’ll give Ryin space to tell her everything when she’s 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 out 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,” she replied softly.

***

In the laundry room, Zoie turned on the washer and started dropping Ryin’s clothes inside. As she picked up the vest, she caught a faint smell of cologne.

She brought it closer and smelled it again.

It was familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she knew it from.

Too tired to think much about it, she tossed the vest into the washer with everything else.

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, wearing a pair of oversized sweatpants and a robe. Her face was turned toward the wall, her uninjured hand tucked beneath her chin. 

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

She 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. Somewhere between worry and sleep, Zoie drifted off, still waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come.

***

Ryin looked worse the next morning.

The bruises around her throat had darkened overnight, and every time she moved, another part of her seemed to hurt. Even her voice sounded worse.

Zoie’s mom had already left for work. At least they wouldn’t have to answer any questions, but without the Jeep, they were stuck there for the day.

Zoie searched through her closet and pulled out a black tracksuit. The pants were loose, and the jacket would be easy to slip on without hurting her too much. She grabbed a scarf from the closet too.

“This should be comfortable,” she said, laying everything beside Ryin. “The scarf will cover your neck.”

“Perfect,” Ryin replied hoarsely.

Zoie helped her into the tracksuit, taking her time whenever Ryin flinched. The bruises had grown darker overnight, and seeing them clearly in the daylight made Zoie’s stomach tighten.

Once Ryin was dressed, Zoie took down the bun she had put in her hair the night before. She gently worked her fingers through it, then arranged the hair over Ryin’s shoulders.

“Keep it down,” she said. “It’ll help cover the sides.”

Ryin nodded.

Zoie wrapped the scarf loosely around her neck, careful not to pull it too tight. Between the scarf, her hair, and the jacket, most of the bruising was hidden.

Zoie gently took Ryin’s injured hand and looked it over. “I can wrap this for you, but I still think you need to get it checked out.”

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

Downstairs, Zoie made them both tea. She talked about school and whatever else came to mind, careful not to bring up the attack. Ryin answered when she could, and for a little while, neither of them mentioned what had happened.

Then Ryin looked down at her cup. “I lied.”

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

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

Zoie’s chest tightened. Was it Dorian? She hated even thinking it, but she couldn’t ignore the possibility.

She set her cup down. “What really 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 hesitated. She didn’t want to ask, but she needed to know.

“Ryin . . .” Her voice lowered. “Was it Dorian? Is he the one who hurt you?”

Ryin’s eyes widened. “What? No!”

“No, Zoie. Dorian would never do this to me. He was angry, and he told me to leave, but he has never hurt me. Not once. He’s never even made me feel like he might.”

She paused before adding, “It was some random guy. I told you, I don’t know who he was. I barely even remember what he looked like.”

Zoie exhaled slowly, relieved it wasn’t what she had feared. “Okay. I’m sorry. I had to ask.”

“I know,” Ryin said, her voice softening. She looked down at her tea. “You’re not mad?”

“That you lied?” Zoie raised an eyebrow. “Well . . . I already figured something else had happened besides what you told me. You’re my girl and all, but let’s be honest. You be lying.”

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

“I think Dorian is the one who deserves the apology.”

Ryin’s grin faded.

Zoie still had questions, but she kept them to herself.

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

Ryin nodded. “I could eat.”

“Then sit down. I got you.”

As Zoie warmed the leftover Jamaican pumpkin soup, her mind returned to the cologne she had smelled on Ryin’s vest. She still couldn’t remember where she knew it from.

For now, she let it go.