Chapter 67 Weirdos Who Stare.

Chapter 67 Weirdos Who Stare.
~SCARLETT.

The air thinned.

No... no, no, no.

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

My lungs seized. My heart stuttered, then collapsed into a frantic, gasping rhythm. The edges of the world blurred: colors bleeding together, sounds stretching and snapping like elastic. The ground felt miles below me.

This isn't real.

My chest strained for air, but each inhale was like dragging breath through cloth. My eyes fluttered, refusing to land on anything. The backyard, the crowd, all of it smeared into chaos. A nightmare. Or worse... a punishment I hadn't earned, but couldn't escape.

And then came the voices.

Too many.

Too close.

Too loud.

Too fast.

"Red?"

Lucas.

Closer now. Gentle. A hand brushed my arm. "Hey... hey, are you okay?"

My mind was blank. Words wouldn't come.

"Is she alright?" someone asked behind him.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Lucas, what's going on?"

"I don't know!" he snapped, panic rising in his tone.

I forced a single word out, barely audible. "Bathroom."

More breath than sound. But enough.

Lucas moved to lead me away, but the sound of a biting voice brought him to a standstill.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," his mother muttered, sharp as glass. "You brought this into our family space? A girl who's clearly unstable?" She scoffed, voice rising. "God, Lucas... what did I tell you about dragging disaster into our lives?"

"I swear to God-" Lucas began, bristling.

"I'm just saying, this is exactly the kind of nonsense I warned you about."

Their words swirled in a haze I could barely process. Then came a soft sigh, and a small, warm hand slipped into mine. "I take you," a quiet voice said.

I blinked down to find Caleb gazing up at me, green eyes calm, serious.

"I know the way," he added. "Come on."

Thinking wasn't an option. I just let him pull me forward.

We crossed the backyard in silence, my feet dragging through grass and gravel.

Up a few steps, through the back door, and into the house.

The hallway smelled faintly of old wood and lemon cleaner. My vision swam, my limbs heavy and uncooperative, like they belonged to someone else. Behind us, I could still hear Lucas arguing with his mother, voices sharp, fading with each step.

I wasn't sure how far we walked, only that eventually, we stepped into a room, and Caleb gently led me toward a bathroom.

He released my hand and looked up at me, solemn.

"You stay here," he said seriously. "I be in the room just right there. When you're done crying or throwing up or... whatever it is, you can come out. I wait, okay?"

My lips parted, but no words came. I just nodded.

Nodding back like we'd just sealed an important deal, he said, "Okay. I close now."

The door closed behind him. And I crumpled to my knees on cool tile, palms braced on the sink.

How?

How could the universe be this cruel?

Why me? 

Why Lucas?

The guy I grinded on at The Velvet Fang... the one I used to piss off Liam.

He was Caleb's big "brudda"?

How??

My thoughts fractured.

What if he recognized me?

Panic tore through my chest, fast and merciless. My mind burst into worst-case scenarios like confetti tossed at a funeral.

What if he tells Lucas?

What if Lucas tells her-the woman who put her own husband behind bars?

What if they call the police?

What if I get buried in the system, disappeared by the kind of money that makes people like me vanish?

"No," I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut. "Stop. Just stop."

Maybe... maybe he didn't recognize me. 

Kids forget things all the time, right? 

Perhaps I was just another smudge in his memory. 

Perhaps he never made the connection.

But I had to be certain.

Pushing myself upright, I wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs. Breathed... once. Twice. Again. 

I would talk to him. Carefully. Casually.

Smart.

I opened the door.

The guest room was sunlit and quiet. A quilt the color of a July sky covered the bed, and toys were neatly tucked into a wicker basket.

Caleb sat cross-legged on the rug, fiddling with something small-too shiny-between his fingers.

When he saw me, he stood, slipping his hands behind his back.

"All better?" he asked. "Your face isn't funny now."

"Yeah." My voice came out rough. "Thank you for helping."

He shrugged. "People help," he said, then stepped closer, stopping right in front of me. His tone shifted, more serious now. "Sorry 'bout my family. They're... weird. And loud. Especially that one lady with the yelling lips."

I stared at him. "You mean your Aunt Sylvia?"

He nodded, wide-eyed. "She's scary. Like a turkey with lipstick."

I almost laughed. "Right..."

And just like that, I started to breathe again.

He didn't remember. He wasn't saying anything.

Just being a kid. A normal, sweet, precocious kid.

He was just a little boy. He'd probably forgotten the whole thing.

I exhaled slowly.

It's okay. It's going to be okay.

After today, I'd break things off with Lucas... gently. No drama. No regrets. Then I'd never have to see Caleb, or this family, again.

Crouching slightly to meet his eyes, I tried to sound warm. Easy.

"I'm Red," I said. "Your brother invited me to-"

But I didn't get to finish as his mouth curved, not into a child's grin, but something older, crueler.

"I know who you are," he said in a low voice. Then he brought his hands out from behind his back, revealing the shiny object he'd been fiddling with.

A folding box cutter. The blade, half-extended, glinted in the light.

"Mommy says never forget the bad lady at the door."

Blood roared in my ears.

"And you're gonna learn," he whispered, "what happens to weirdos who stare."