Julia, who owned a mid-range car, had taken it to the auto shop. Brian had swapped her flat tires with the spares last night, but of course, that couldn't stay like that forever. The original had to be fixed or replaced.
"Welcome, young lady. What was the problem again?"
asked the shop owner. Julia explained the situation and asked for a new tire. The man just said, "We'll handle it," and Julia stepped outside.
She lit a cigarette and sat on a bench at the corner. She watched the workers and thought to herself how they tolerated such heavy labor. She'd never done any hard work herself—her life had been in schools. It had already been three years since she graduated from college, and yet she still hadn't found the career she wanted. Each puff of her cigarette dragged her deeper into that thought spiral. She had to get her own financial independence at some point. Still living with her mom and her sister, and now pushing 25, was starting to make her feel restless.
As she kept smoking on the bench, she took off her cap. The ash from her cigarette, which she hadn't flicked, fell on her pants. Quickly, she brushed it off so it wouldn't burn through. Across the street, a man around 40–50 years old, filthy from work, was staring at her with a grin. One of his front teeth was missing, and the rest were clearly yellowed and spaced apart. Julia looked back at him and thought, "Funny to you, motherfucker?" Of course, she didn't say it out loud. Still, she could feel his eyes crawling under her skin.
Her phone ringing pulled her away from that thought.
"Hey Maria, what's up?" she answered. It was her fraternal twin, Maria.
"When are you bringing the car back?" Maria asked, sounding tense and impatient.
"I'm changing the tires now, I'll be home once I'm done."
"Well hurry the fuck up already," Maria snapped, her tone sharp and annoyed.
"What, you dying or something? Chill, I'll bring it," Julia shot back. But then Maria started seriously scolding her, saying she was reckless with the car, selfish even. Julia just listened quietly, waiting for Maria to finish her rant and hang up.
Then an Audi A4 pulled into the same shop where that toothless man worked. The car caught Julia's eye. While Maria was still bitching in her ear, Julia thought, "If I had a car like that, I wouldn't have to listen to this bitch nagging me all the time."
When she saw who stepped out, she froze. It was Brian.
Brian had come to get the mirror he broke last night fixed. He looked like he knew everyone there, shaking hands, joking around. Julia watched from her bench, debating whether to go up and talk to him. He'd caught her attention hard the night before—his distant, cold demeanor mixed with that weird kindness when he helped her. She wanted him to notice her, but she didn't want to just walk up. She wanted it to look coincidental. Which, to be fair, it actually was.
So she stayed where she was, crossing her legs, leaning back, making sure her cleavage showed just enough, waiting for him to notice.
Brian, in his loose black pants, white Lacoste sneakers, and a white T-shirt, had just gotten a haircut. He stood out. While fixing the strap of his watch, his eyes landed on Julia. A woman sitting alone outside would catch anyone's eye, but a woman with cleavage that obvious? Hard not to stare. He didn't look away until he lit his cigarette. "Is that the girl from last night?" he wondered.
Julia waved at him just then. The toothless man shot her a jealous look, and Brian started walking toward her. As he got closer, there was this strange tension in the air. He didn't hold eye contact much, glancing around instead, until he finally reached her.
When he did, he smiled. Julia smiled back. He reached out his hand, and as he shook hers, he asked,
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
Their hands lingered together. Julia laughed lightly, "I'm here to change the tires. And what do you mean 'what am I doing here'? Did you already forget you swapped my tires last night? Hahaha."
Brian laughed too, sliding his hands into his pockets. He kept smiling, looking around. "I thought I fixed it properly, that's why I was surprised."
"You did, but I don't trust a spare tire. That's why I came to get the original fixed."
"Ahh, I see. Makes sense," he chuckled, sitting down beside her mid-sentence.
Julia asked, "So why are you here?"
Brian leaned forward on the bench, elbows on his knees, eyes on his car getting worked on. Julia shifted, pulling her legs up onto the bench, hugging her knees. Her short tights stretched over her thighs, pressing her chest together under her cropped black top. A white cap sat on her head, matching her white sneakers and long socks.
"Broke my window last night, by accident," Brian said. He leaned back, taking a quick glance at Julia in the silence.
"Haha, how'd you even manage that?" she asked, half teasing, half flirty.
"Honestly, no idea. Must've been spaced out," he replied, grateful she didn't ask why.
"Brian Easton, huh?" Julia said suddenly with a smile.
Brian turned, smirked. "Glad you remembered."
"Well, you were all over the news yesterday. How could I forget?"
Brian felt a wave of ice run through him. "What is she, some special agent spying on me? Chill, Brian, chill the fuck out."
"There's nothing I can do," he finally said, "you just live with what comes your way."
"Yeah, and also… we get what we deserve," Julia answered.
Her words made his stomach twist. He forced himself to ask, serious, "What do you mean by that?"
"Don't take it wrong," she rushed to explain. "It's just something my dad used to say."
"I'll fuck your dad, bitch," Brian cursed inside his head. He stood up, ready to leave.
"See you around," Brian said, squeezing his hand before he pulled away.
"Wait, please don't take it the wrong way, I didn't mean it like that," she called after him.
"Nah, it's fine. I didn't," he muttered, but he was already pissed. "I just need to be by my car." And he walked back inside, Julia's regretful eyes following him.
"Fucking whore. Saying shit like 'people get what they deserve' to me? Fuck outta here." Brian tought.
When he got home, his mother had already put Love to bed. It was around five in the evening. As Brian stepped outside his front door, he watched the people passing through the neighborhood, memorizing the new ones who had just moved in. The way people looked at him—like he was some kind of freak—pissed him off. The American media couldn't shut up about the suicide of Michelle and Theo, and Brian's name being tossed around as a murder suspect only made things worse. Naturally, his neighbors were disturbed. They avoided making eye contact, some even bowing their heads as they walked past him.
Brian hated it. He wasn't used to people fearing him. But his recent temper and edgy behavior weren't just making him look dangerous—they were pushing people away. Take Julia, for example. She had feelings for him, sure, but deep down she was scared of him too. The words she'd said earlier today weren't meant as an insult or a jab. She had just repeated one of her father's old, famous sayings, but Brian had taken it the wrong way.
Then there was Scarlett. Scarlett had fallen for him hard, in a way that was both obsessive and dangerous. Brian couldn't reciprocate those feelings, and he knew two people carrying that kind of toxicity couldn't last. So he cut her off completely. He had used her once for an alibi in the bar's cameras, then dumped her. Scarlett cursed him out, sure, but she didn't seem like she'd rat him out. She didn't hold a grudge. In her eyes, Brian was a soulmate. She chalked their encounters up to fate.
These thoughts spun in Brian's head like a storm. Julia didn't even cross his mind anymore; he'd been furious with her earlier and erased her from his thoughts. But Scarlett—Scarlett lingered. Last night, after smashing his car mirror, when he muttered, "What do I have to do to find love again?"—Scarlett was the first person who came to mind. And yet, deep down, it wasn't love he felt for her. It was trust.
He wasn't going to kill anymore. That much he knew. And if that was true, then keeping any connection with Scarlett didn't make sense. The trial was over, he'd walked free, and no one knew the full truth except him and Scarlett.
"Do I even need her? Do I want her?" he asked himself. The questions kept circling. Love didn't mean what it used to. He wasn't looking for butterflies or passion anymore. When it came to someone he might marry one day, he wanted loyalty, understanding, and above all—trust. Love was too fragile, too fleeting. You never plan it, you can't stop it, and you sure as hell can't control it. The very people you swear you'll never fall for are often the ones you end up hopelessly drawn to, once you actually see them for who they are.
Finding work wasn't easy either. Nobody wanted to hire a suspected murderer. But Brian kept reminding himself: I was cleared. He walked around with his case files tucked under his arm, pulling them out for anyone who doubted him. "Look, here's the verdict. I was proven innocent." Some people eased up when they saw it; others just didn't want the risk. His record in New York didn't help either—getting into a fight with a foreman, mouthing off, all of it left employers steering clear.
"Motherfuckers," Brian muttered as he stepped back into the house. The cold had frozen his hands, and he went straight to the radiator to warm them. Julia's image flickered in his mind—How the hell was she walking around in shorts in this cold? he thought bitterly. His mother's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Hey, sweetie. Welcome home," she said.
"How was your day, honey?" she asked as she sat beside him, smiling. Brian stared out the window above the radiator, lost in thought. "It was fine, Mom," he said, though anyone who knew him—especially his mother—could see the lie. She slid closer, took his hands, kissed them softly.
"You sure about that, kiddo?" she asked.
No, I'm not. I killed two people, he thought bitterly. But he only nodded, then pushed himself up to head upstairs and change. As he reached the steps, his mother's voice stopped him.
"Brian, come sit down. Let's talk." Her voice was heavy with both sadness and seriousness.
"What's there to talk about, Mom? I'm tired. I'll just change and rest a bit. And you should go too—Dad's waiting for you." He climbed the stairs. His mother rose too, stepping to the base of the staircase, but didn't follow. She just stood there, watching.
In the shower, Brian turned the music up loud, lit a cigarette, and slid into the tub. He puffed smoke, soaked in the hot water, and let the sad song drown his mind. But it didn't bring peace. The voices in his head wouldn't shut up. He turned the song off, lit another cigarette. As the second drag filled his lungs, he heard a voice.
"Finally. I was waiting for you to turn that off."
Brian's eyes shot open. He bolted upright in the tub. And there she was—Michelle. Leaning casually against the faucet, staring at him.
"What the fuck is happenin' to me??" Brian stammered, panic etched across his face.
Michelle laughed softly, almost mockingly. "Didn't you miss me?"