Brenda wanted a normal school year. Instead her mom died.
Salma needed space from her sister and terrible ex. Or else she'd lose her mind.
Delilah didn't think she'd have any more problems after moving far from her hometown. That was until she becam...
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❝In the life of everyone there is a limited number of unhappy experiences which are not written upon the memory, but stamped there with a dye; and in long years after, they can be called up in detail, and every emotion that was stirred by them can be lived through anew; these are the tragedies of life.❞
—The Autobiography of An Ex-Colored Man by James Weldon Johnson [highly recommend]
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Recap: Salma overheard Hector stating that he was the one who caused the crash, the crash that caused Jaxon to be seriously injured and leading to him no longer being able to rely on racing as his form of income. Salma previously refused to share her space with Jaxon, but Scott assured her that the plan was already set and that she would be sharing the basement level.
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✋ SALMA ✋
"Light brown hair, brown eyes...anything else you want to say about the suspect?" The police officer asked. I was at the station in downtown Dallas, detailing to the law enforcement what I witnessed inside the parking lot of Tom Thumb.
"You work at this location here?" The cop handed over a sheet of paper, scribbled with an address I watched him copy down from his monitor.
"Yes, that's the address," I said, handing him back the paper. Using my other hand, I steady my trembling fingers. I was still buzzing from the feeling of almost being caught, almost getting tangled up in a drama that had nothing to do with me. "I've seen him before, though."
I tell the officer the first time I came in to contact with Hector. His eyes shift, wondering if he should believe me when I'm finished speaking.
"You're positive he was the same person you knew said almost ran over Jaxon Miller?"
"Yeah. I didn't get really close up to him, but I recognized him."
My grand escape was due to pure luck, I'd say. When Hector detected someone was in the garage, listening in on them, I quickly flashed on my light - pocked behind a car - and shouted that I was a security guard. Hector's friend ran first, causing a chain reaction. Hector was back in his car, peeling out of his parking spot, and out of there before I could write his license plate numbers.
"You gotta be sure," the officer told me. "You weren't close, so you could've confused him for someone you knew. Memory is a faulty thing."
"Yet memory is still reliable enough to lock someone these people in here," I countered, bitter for my own reason. God, why did I even come here? I wasn't being taken seriously. I'd gone through his questionnaire without hesitating, yet still his gaze didn't hold any confidence.
