Old Debts Are Hard To Forget

Elle.

It's four am by the time I finally get back home only to find that my door is unlocked.

Not that there's much to steal anyway, but if someone is desperate for some expired ramen, and an ancient space heater that sounded like it might explode every time I turned it on, then yeah—my crappy apartment just might be a jackpot.

Strange. I'm pretty sure I locked up before I left. Why the hell is it ope…

Realisation stops me dead in my tracks.

Fuck, what day is it?

Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I tap on the cracked screen, and any hope I have completely shatters the moment I see the date on my screen.

Shit.

Suddenly, the air in my lungs turns thick, and a tight knot starts to form in my chest as the feeling of pure suffocating dread spreads through my bloodstream.

How could I have let myself forget to plan for his arrival?

It's already too late now. Zoey and Cleo didn't live close by and the club was closed. Considering that every penny I made went into my savings and my Get Out funds, a motel was also out of the question.

Guess I'll just have to deal with it.

Inside, the smell of alcohol assaults me with a vicious sneer. Bottles litter the floor next to the only couch in the room, some full, most empty. The TV is on, and a match from the last football game is playing on screen.

My uncle is slumped over on the couch like he never left. His shirt is stained with liquor and some type of red sauce. One of his arms hangs off the arm of the couch with a bottle still clutched in his grasp.

Great, he's asleep, Now if I can just…

“Anne,” he calls out as I try to sneak past him undetected.

Again with that name.

My full name was Annabelle, but my uncle decided Anne sounded better—so that’s what he called me. I hated it, not just because he preferred it, but because every time he said it felt like he was branding me with something that wasn’t mine.

Closing my eyes, I clenched my jaw as I slowly turned around to find his gaze already on me, a slow disgusting smile splitting his face.

“There’s my favourite little girl,” he slurs, dragging out each word like an overly performative dad after one too many beers at a barbecue. He pushes himself to his feet, taking a swaying step forward, “You're back late Where've you been?”

“Working.”

“Working hard I bet.” His eyes trail down my body, lingering a bit too long on my chest. I'd changed from my work attire into something a bit more comfortable. Sweatpants and a loose shirt. It was far from exposing yet somehow his gaze made me feel worse than when I'm stripped bare performing in front of neon lights.

“You got my money?”

I shove my hand into my pocket and pull out four crumbled fifty-dollar bills and hold them out to him without a word.

His lips curl in disdain “That all?”

“It’s what I made tonight,”

It's not. Not even close.

But there is no way in hell I am letting him get his slimy paws on all my money.

He snatches the cash from my hand, counting it slowly before huffing and shoving the bills into the back pocket of his faded jeans.

“I have an early shift tomorrow” I inform him, “Can I go now?”

His eyes drag over me again, slower this time—too slow. “ Sure. But first, be a doll and make me another drink, will you?”

Like he needs anymore.

I grit my teeth, forcing a tight-lipped nod before turning toward the kitchen. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time, crawling over my back like insects.

At the counter, I grab an almost empty bottle of whiskey and pour its remaining content into an empty glass. I look back at my uncle and find him in the spot where I originally met him on the couch. His eyes are glued to the screen, completely enraptured with the game.

Now's my chance.

Turning back, I lift the lid of the sugar jar close to the beaten-down toaster and exhale when I find the stash of sleeping pills I'd left there untouched.

Thankfully, my uncle had little interest in this corner of the house. Unfortunately, his curiosity always seemed reserved for the places I most wished he'd avoid.

Like my room, for instance.

Grabbing three pills, I crush them up and dump them into the glass, stirring until every bit of the substance dissolves into the drink.

I wipe my palms against my sweatpants, suddenly aware of how damp they are. You'd think I'd be used to the nerves that came with drugging my uncle by now

I'm desperate to get this over with so that I can finally curl up in bed and forget about what an awful day I've had but a gasp rips from my lips when I turn and find my uncle standing directly behind me.

Shit.

His gaze drops to the glass in my hand, a sneer already forming at his lips “What did you add to my drink?”

My fingers instinctively tighten around the glass, and all at once, I forget how to breathe.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

He tilted his head, eyes flaming with anger. “I saw you add something to my drink."

Maybe it's the fact that his speech no longer slurred, or maybe it's the way the room suddenly felt too tight to breathe in, but all I wanted to do was run. Run from him. Run from all of this.

I swallow, “I didn't add anything to your drink…” his hand comes down on my face. Hard.

I collapse to the ground, glass crashing and shattering into tiny jagged pieces beside me. Pain radiates from my cheek, sharp and burning and I think I taste blood.

“You think I'm stupid?”

Just grit your teeth and bear it.

“No,” I answer in a broken whisper, flinching when I try to push myself up.

He kneels over me, fingers twisting into, my hair as he ya,nks me back hard until my neck strains under the pressure, and it feels like it might snap. “You trying to poison me you dumb, fucking cunt?” he spits,

“No, I would ne..” he twists harder, silencing me.

“Stupid girl" he growls, breath hot and sour against my face. “You think you can kill me? You’d be dead in a gutter if it wasn’t for me and this is how you repay me ?”

Tears prick at my eyes, but I force them back. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

“Try this again and I'll fucking kill you. You hear me?”

Despite the strain, I manage to nod and he lets me go, pushing away from my body.

“Clean this mess up”

He shuffles back to the couch, muttering under his breath. I don't bother to make out what he's said and begin cleaning up the broken glass and whiskey soaking the floor. My face throbs and the taste of blood lingers in my mouth.

Hopefully, I don't get a bruise. Because that would mean I'd have to skip work tomorrow, and I'd hate for that to happen since money right now was tight and non-negotiable. I gather the last shard of glass in my palm and head for the trash just as a knock on the door resonates in the air.

“That must be your aunt. I'll get it. You stay there and clean up this mess.”

How noble.

Tossing the shards into the trash, I wipe my hands on a fresh towel and begin making my way back to the living room—only to freeze when I see who is standing at the door.

Spoiler alert, it isn't my aunt.

“Who the fuck are you?” my uncle barks, puffing his shoulders.

He looks genuinely confused by the person standing in the doorway, unlike me whose entire body lights up in recognition.

It can't be..

“There you are,”

Yup, it most definitely is who I think it is.

Mystery man towers over my uncle, eyes narrowed and an unmistakable air of authority mixed with danger clinging to him like a second skin. In the last few hours since I last saw him, he's managed to pull a complete 180. Gone was the man who asked to touch me and told me lies I asked for and in his place stood someone unfamiliar.

His gaze shifts, and without giving it much thought, I spin on my heel and dart into the kitchen, crouching behind the half wall that separates it from the living room.

I hear my uncle scoff. “Whatever you’re selling, I ain’t interested—”

“Well then it's good I'm not here to sell anything, isn't it?” There’s the sound of measured footsteps, then his voice again “May I come in?” I hear the creak of the floorboards as he steps over the threshold.

What is he doing here?

I'm sure I never told him where I lived and Roxy would never do that to me.

Would she?

“Look, I already told you, I'm not buying anything”

“And I told you I'm not selling. I’m simply here to collect what you owe me,”

“Bullshit. I don’t owe you anything,” comes my uncle's instant defence, and I immediately know it's a lie.

“Oh, but you do,” Mystery man replies. I peek out again and find him reaching for a paper in his pocket. He unfolds it and holds it out for my uncle to read.. “You signed this six years ago.”

My uncle squints. “ I've never seen that shit in my life.”

A muscle ticks in the mystery man's jaw. “Never, huh. Then how come your signature is right here,” he taps a spot on the paper twice,

My uncle shrugs, “Look, you can't expect me to remember everything I sign, Mr uh…”

“Aaron.”

Aaron. The name suits him.

What the hell am I thinking? Focus.

“Right well, like I said, I don't remember signing that paper.”

“Of course you don't. They never do,” Aaron sighs, then meets my uncle's eyes. “Does the name Rican O'Sullivan ring any bells?”

My uncle’s eyes widen, and in an instant, recognition washes over his features, followed closely by a wave of pure, unmistakable horror.

“Judging by that expression on your face I'm going to take a wild guess and say yes.”My uncle stumbles back, accidentally bumping against nothing and falls flat on his ass. Aaron watches the sight with an expression that's both amused and slightly irritated.

I wasn't particularly familiar with the three Mafia families that ran the streets of Chicago but I'd be lying if I said I didn't know who Rican O'Sullivan was. From what I'd heard, he'd passed away a few years ago and was immediately replaced by his son, whom he'd been secretly grooming for years to take over.

“Jesus Christ,” my uncle breathes, clutching the side of the couch like it might somehow help him. “You’re his kid aren't you?”

"Looks like you're not entirely stupid" The sarcasm in his tone is unmistakable. Uncle Finn blinks up at him, pale and trembling. It's the first time I've seen him as anything but the drunk I know him to be and it is without a doubt the single most satisfying moment of my life.

“Look I'm going to be straight with you. I don't exactly have the money at the moment but I'm sure we can talk about this, maybe even work something out.”

“It's been six years, Finn. I neither have the time nor the patience required for a conversation.”

Aaron advances towards my uncle, who scrambles backwards on the floor like a man trying to outrun death itself. “P-please,” he stammers, “There's got to be something we can work out.”

His back is pressed against the couch, completely cornered.

Both of them are close enough that if either one of them were to turn around, they'd see me peeking, so I decide to crawl deeper into the kitchen to avoid both their gazes. Unfortunately, my plan is cut short when a sharp pain shoots from my palm.

“Bloody hell” I hiss barely in a whisper, but it's loud enough.

I immediately clamp my lips shut but it's too late. The damage is already done.

I know this because Aaron, in the next second, is no longer at my uncle's side, no, he's crouching in front of me, a slow, predatory grin splitting his face as recognition sparks in his eyes.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

Fuck.