Bambi
The apartment was too quiet that evening.
Mateo had left hours ago, saying he needed to "clear his head," which usually meant heading to Lucas's place to complain about life and pretend he wasn't drowning us all. The silence felt thick without his noise filling every corner. Heavy. Predictive.
I was folding laundry on the bed — Mateo's shirts, Jade's sweaters, my work apron still smelling faintly of spilled drinks — when I noticed Jade sitting by the window, the light from the window bounced off her beautiful brown hair, for a while now i've been noticing things about her that i shouldn't. how she smirks when she wants to impress me, how beautiful she is when she packs her hair into a bun or what she looks like wearing just her sports bra and sweats slouching off the couch, her small waist and toned stomach and that one time she was drunk and got so close to me my heart skipped. she stood by the window, phone in hand, absolutely still.
Too still.
"Jan?" I called softly.
She didn't answer.
I walked over and gently touched her shoulder. She flinched — only a little — then locked her screen too quickly.
My stomach dipped.
"What was that?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said, too fast, too sharp. "Just spam."
I raised a brow. "Spam doesn't make you breathe like that."
She exhaled shakily, as if my words punctured something she was holding together.
Finally, she handed me the phone.
One message glowed on the screen:
"I'll pay you good for company."
Sent from an unknown number.
It felt like the air was sucked out of the room.
"Jade…" I whispered.
Her eyes were glassy, tired, defeated. "We're three months behind on rent, Bambi."
"I know. But this isn't the answer."
She said nothing.
"You can't be serious," I pushed. "There's other ways. There has to be—"
"No." Her voice cracked with frustration, with fear. "There isn't. I've tried everything. Jobs won't call. The landlord threatened eviction again. And Mateo—"
She stopped.
We both knew the rest.
Mateo wasn't helping.
Mateo couldn't help.
Mateo wouldn't help.
My chest tightened. "Jade… this could hurt you."
She looked at me then — really looked — brushed the hair in front of my face to the back of my ears and I saw the storm she'd been hiding. Guilt. Shame. Resolve.
"He said he'd pay almost our full rent in one night." Her whisper trembled. "One night, Bambi."
I sank onto the bed. My hands trembled in my lap. "I can't let you do this alone."
Her expression faltered, surprise flickering through her grief. "Bambi, no. No— that's not why I told you."
"But if you go," I said, swallowing hard, "it doesn't feel right leaving you alone to carry it."
She knelt in front of me, taking my hands. "I don't want you to do this. You're the last good thing we have left." My stomach twisted inside realising that what I feel isn't valid with the situation at hand
"Not if watching you break destroys me," I murmured.
Her breath hitched.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The distance between us felt electric and terrifying. Mateo never understood this connection, this quiet space we shared. He never even noticed it.
Then Jade whispered the words that tipped us both over the edge:
"I'm scared."
That was all it took.
I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to hers. "Then we do it together," I said.
Her breath shuddered against my cheek. "Bambi…"
"Together," I repeated. "If this is what keeps us alive."
She squeezed her eyes shut. A tear slipped down her cheek.
That night, she went first. Alone.
I waited at home, pacing, glancing at the clock every five minutes, half praying she'd come back whole, half praying she'd change her mind.
She didn't.
When she returned at 2:41 AM, her makeup was smudged, her eyes hollowed, but she walked straight into my arms without a word. I held her until she stopped shaking. Too stunned to even ask what had transpired for her to look like this
Two days later, I joined her.
And just like that, our lives bent into a shape we never imagined.
At first, Mateo didn't notice.
He stayed out late, slept through mornings, asked all the wrong questions but none of the necessary ones. He thought we were "acting weird" because we were stressed.
But one night, he came home early.
Jade was in the bathroom washing off a man's cologne, she always felt disgusted by the men she slept with. I was counting cash at the table, hands trembling.
Mateo stood in the doorway, watching us silently.
"What's all that money?" he asked.
My heart stuttered. "Tips."
"For what?" His tone sharpened. "You told me the bar hasn't been busy."
Jade emerged, hair damp, eyes wide when she saw him and forgive me i must add she looked ravishing.
Mateo's gaze moved slowly from the water on her neck to the stack of bills in my hand.
"Tell me," he said quietly.
He never asked gently.
He always demanded.
Jade stepped in front of me, shielding me, shielding herself. "Mateo, just—"
"Are you sleeping with other men for money?"
The words hit the room like a bullet.
I felt sick.
Jade froze.
Mateo's expression twisted into something ugly, something wounded and furious.
"You're both doing it?" he hissed.
Neither of us answered. Our silence was confession enough.
He laughed — a hollow, disgusted sound. "Unbelievable. You go behind my back? You— you spread your legs for random men instead of asking me for help?" Pacing he let out a scream "I almost killed Lucas when he said it."
"You can't help!" Jade snapped, voice breaking. "You haven't helped in months!"
Mateo flinched.
I stepped forward, voice shaking. "We did it to survive."
Mateo stared at us, betrayal burning in his eyes — not because of the danger we faced, or the pain we carried, but because we'd done something without him.
Something he couldn't control.
And that night, everything changed.