Chapter 2: The Deal You Can’t Escape

My hands trembled as I dialed. I didn’t even know if Derek would help—after how things ended in college, I had no right to ask.

I wiped my palm on my jeans, nearly dropping the phone as I punched in his number. My breath came in short, shallow bursts, every ring stretching forever. I couldn’t help wondering how I’d burned every bridge but this one.

Back then, when I couldn’t find a job, Derek would come by and pester me. I finally snapped and told him to meet me in the bathroom to settle it with fists.

It was reckless—I knew I’d never beat Derek. He wasn’t the type to let things slide, and I was coiled too tight, lashing out at the only person who still cared.

I swung once—wild, desperate—but he caught me, pinning me to the tile before I could even breathe.

His grip was iron-strong, pinning my wrists to the cold tile. I could feel the heat of his anger, his pulse thudding beneath his skin. For a moment, I was honestly scared.

He didn’t hit me. Instead, his voice came out low, rough:

"Nate, if I didn’t like you, I’d fucking kill you today."

The words were ragged, but the look in his eyes was something else—something I didn’t want to name.

Then, ignoring my struggles, he shoved me into a bathroom stall and kissed me—hard.

His hands were everywhere—possessive, desperate. The echo of our fight bounced off the graffiti-scarred walls. I tried to fight back, but he was too strong, and a part of me—a small, shameful part—didn’t want to.

Derek kissed me like he was angry—biting, bruising. My lips stung, but he wouldn’t let go. His mouth pressed down my neck, my collarbone—his hands weren’t idle either…

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, throwing harsh shadows across his jaw and my flushed skin. I could hear the hum of the vent, the distant buzz of voices outside. The world shrank to that stall.

If I hadn’t started crying from fear, I think Derek would’ve gone all the way.

The first tear burned down my cheek. Suddenly, everything went quiet. Derek’s hands froze, and for a second, he looked more lost than angry—like he surprised himself.

Seeing my tear-streaked face, his hands dropped. He leaned against the stall door, pulling out a cigarette with shaking fingers.

He didn’t speak for a while, just watched the smoke drift toward the ceiling. The bitter tang of tobacco mixed with sweat and the metallic scent of fear. I could barely breathe.

Under his stare, I fumbled with my shirt buttons, ducking my head, wishing I could disappear into the wall.

I’d been stupid to call Derek out. Not just because of his family’s pull in Chicago, but because even two of me couldn’t match his strength.

His father’s name could get anything done in the city. I was an idiot to think I could win. All I’d done was poke a bear—and now I was paying for it.

After finishing his cigarette, Derek finally spoke, voice slow:

"Nate, was kissing me really that unbearable? You’re crying like you got sucker punched."

His voice was almost gentle, but the challenge was there. I felt the weight of his disappointment, heavy as a winter coat.

I couldn’t answer. Once I’d stopped crying, I just kept my head down, silent—afraid if I spoke, I’d say the wrong thing. But Derek took my silence as an answer anyway.

He sneered, stubbed out his cigarette, and said through clenched teeth:

"Fine, Nate, you’ve got guts."

He flicked the butt in the toilet and slammed the stall door behind him. I waited until the echoes died before I could move again.

I listened to his boots stomping down the hall, and only then did I let out a shaky breath. The hum of campus drifted back—distant, like nothing had happened.

After that, Derek never came back to the dorm.

His bed stayed empty, sheets untouched. His posters disappeared. The air felt thinner without him—relief and regret tangling together. I told myself I was better off. I never really believed it.

It’s only been a little over a year. I was desperate—if Derek didn’t help, who would?

A year gone, and I’d managed to push everyone away. I stared at my phone, willing him to answer, my heart pounding.

As I debated hanging up—thumb hovering over the red button, heart pounding—he picked up. Derek’s voice was lazy, with a hint of satisfaction he didn’t bother to hide:

"What’s up?"

His tone was familiar, a little too amused. I could hear traffic in the background—maybe he was driving somewhere expensive, somewhere I didn’t belong.

I gripped the phone tight and asked, careful:

"Derek, can you lend me some money?"

The words felt like glass in my throat. I could almost see his eyebrow arch on the other end.

Derek didn’t answer. The silence stretched. Around me, the collectors watched, eyes hungry. If he said no, I was done.

I glanced up—Malone tapped his knife on the table, the others whispered. Sweat gathered at the back of my neck. The silence ached.

The room felt suffocating. I wiped my palm on my jeans, trying not to look desperate. I could feel my dad’s gaze, too, waiting for the verdict.

Just as I thought Derek would refuse, he chuckled:

"Nate, if you want money, what can you give me?"

His voice was slow and playful, like a cat with a mouse. I knew what he wanted, and shame burned up my neck.

I pressed my lips together:

"I can give you a higher interest rate than the bank."

I tried to sound steady, but my voice shook. Derek never cared about money—I was just stalling, hoping for mercy.

He sneered:

"Nate, you know what I want. I don’t care about the cash. You don’t even have to pay me back, but what I want, you have to give me too."

His words were blunt, no room for misunderstanding. The dare in his voice was unmistakable. I swallowed hard.

"Think carefully about what you can offer me for the money. I don’t like to force people."

There was a softness under the threat, like he wanted me to choose. But really, there was never a choice.

Derek fell silent, letting me stew.

The seconds dragged. My mind spun, the room growing colder. Was this my life now—selling myself for someone else’s screw-up?

At least with Derek, I had a chance to walk away someday.

I swallowed and said:

"Okay."

Just one word, but it felt like jumping off a cliff. I closed my eyes, bracing for what would come next.

Derek laughed quietly:

"I’ll transfer the money now. In two days, I’ll have someone pick you up. Pack your things. Nate, don’t try to run, or I’ll lose my mind."

He spoke like it was already settled, his tone sliding from amused to something colder. I shivered, but nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.

"Yeah. I won’t run," I said honestly.

I knew what Derek was capable of. Running wasn’t an option.

I’d seen what happened to people who crossed him. It wasn’t worth it—not for me, not for anyone.