I was with Hugo for two years, although he was part of my life for far longer. He too was older than me, but only by eight years. My parents were uninvolved when I was growing up, and I found ways to get myself into trouble. Hugo worked with my dad before he branched out on his own, starting a much different business. Even back then, he had an eye on me in a way that now screams predatory. When I was an attention-hungry teen, I loved his flattery.

Hugo was powerful. He wasn’t as physically intimidating as Murph, but it was all in the way he carried himself. He could make me do anything he wanted, and for the first few years of our friendship, I honestly believed he cared about me. He wanted me around him at all times. If I was away from him, he would text or call me incessantly.

As I got older, his constant focus began to feel like a noose around my neck—to the point where I couldn’t breathe.

Then Hugo’s business-life took over, and I lost the charismatic boy I fell in love with. Even with the red flags of his manipulation, it was the things he did on the sidelines that drove me away.

I honestly thought he owned a nightclub. It was a seedy hole in the wall in Newport that was popular among high schoolers for the low cover and nonexistent carding policy. Then, kids started turning up dead or missing, and somehow Hugo always had an alibi. It was never his fault, his club, or his drugs.

And when his excuses stopped covering the lies, he expected me to.

A low rumble from far behind me on the street pulls me out of my deep thought. I know it’s Murph before he peels up to the curb next to me. I half-expect him to blow past without another thought, but he comes to a stop and stares at me.

“I’d rather walk, thanks,” I say without looking at him. He and I are still parading around this awkward relationship of lust and hate, and I honestly wonder if we had started on a different foot if we might be a little more amiable to each other. But as it is, he only sees me as a flake who plays with men and steals an old lady’s money. And to me, he’s a spiteful loner who doesn’t trust anyone and is probably great for a one-night stand.

He’ll never know the truth about me because I could never let him in enough to. I can’t be planting roots here anyway. Once Hazel goes, I’ll be on the run again. And I can’t guarantee my next situation will be as lucky as this one.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, walking his bike with both legs on the ground slowly rolling himself forward.

“Nothing. I’m just enjoying the walk.”

“Okay, then.”

Just when I expect him to ride off and leave me here, he shuts off his bike, kicks out the kickstand and leaves it between two parked cars on the street. He jogs up next to me.