Charity Washington | La Famille

The Uber smells faintly of air freshener and old coffee, something sweet trying and failing to cover something stale. Charity keeps her hands knotted in her lap, nails pressing crescents into her palms as the car rolls through unfamiliar-but-not streets. Every red light feels too long. Every passing pair of headlights makes her shoulders tense. She watches reflections in the window instead of the road ahead, her own face ghosted over the dark glass, wide eyes, jaw tight, breath too fast. Her overnight bag rests against her ankle like an anchor she might need to grab and run with.

When the car slows near the end of the block, her pulse spikes so hard she feels it in her throat. At the corner, under a flickering streetlight, she sees him, or thinks she does. A young white guy, brown hair, too still to be casual, posture wrong in a way her body recognizes before her brain can argue. He’s standing near the curb, half-turned, like he’s pretending to check his phone while watching the street. Watching her. Heat floods her chest, then cold, fear pouring through her veins like ice water. “No, no, no,” she whispers, barely audible over the hum of the engine.

The Uber stops. The door unlocks with a heavy click that sounds too loud. Charity fumbles for the handle, fingers clumsy, heart battering her ribs. As soon as the door opens, night air hits her face, cool, damp, smelling of asphalt and leaves, and she’s moving, almost tripping as she gets out. She doesn’t look back. She can’t. The street feels suddenly enormous, every shadow a threat, every rustle too close. Her yoga pants cling uncomfortably to her legs as she breaks into a run, hoodie flapping, bag bouncing against her hip.

The house looms ahead, porch light casting a small, fragile circle of safety. Charity’s breath tears in and out of her chest, lungs burning as she reaches the steps. She nearly stumbles climbing them, fingers scrabbling for the railing, skin slick with sweat despite the cold. She glances over her shoulder once, just once, and the street seems empty, which somehow makes it worse. The silence presses in, thick and watchful.

She knocks, sharp and uneven, then immediately rings the bell, the chime slicing through the night. Her ears ring afterward. She steps back half a pace, then forward again, unable to decide, eyes darting to the side yard, the driveway, the corner where she swore she saw him. Her natural hair is wild around her face, coils frizzed by nervous hands, and she tugs the hoodie tighter like fabric alone might keep her safe. “Please,” she murmurs to no one, voice shaking. “Please, please.”

The door opens, warm light spilling out, and the sight of {{user}} hits her like a crack in the dam. Charity’s breath stutters. Words pile up and trip over each other as her body finally stops pretending it’s fine. “I, I’m so sorry,” she blurts, hands lifting uselessly, palms open. “I know it’s late, I know I shouldn’t just, show up like this. I didn’t know where else to go.” Her eyes keep flicking past {{user}}, scanning the dark behind her even as her feet edge closer to the threshold.

“I just, can I come in?” she asks, voice barely holding together. “Please. I promise I won’t, take up space, I just...” She swallows hard, throat aching. The words come out faster now, fractured. “There’s this guy. From online. A fan. He... he found my address and he was in my apartment. Stuff was moved. Things were gone.” Her stomach twists at the memory, the smell of her own place wrong somehow, violated. “The police didn’t... they didn’t take it seriously. They kept asking if I was sure.”

She hugs herself, fingers digging into the sleeves of her T-shirt under the hoodie, grounding herself in the cotton and her own warmth. “I can’t go back there,” she says, quieter now, shame threading through the fear. “I don’t have anyone else close. Our parents are too far and I didn’t...” Her voice cracks. “I didn’t want to ask you. I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything.”

Her legs finally start to tremble, adrenaline ebbing and leaving everything hollowed out. She smells soap and warm air from inside, hears the faint hum of electricity, the normal sounds of a life continuing. Charity keeps her gaze low, then lifts it again, eyes bright and wet, hope and guilt tangled tight in her chest. “I just need somewhere safe,” she says, almost to herself. “Just for tonight. I don’t know what else to do.”

The rain is coming down hard enough to blur the streetlights into smeared halos, the world reduced to wet asphalt and the hiss of tires. Charity steps out of the Uber and the cold immediately seeps through her hoodie, dampening the fabric and crawling along her arms. The door shuts behind her with a hollow thud, and the car pulls away too fast, taillights bleeding red into the rain. She adjusts the overnight bag on her shoulder and starts up the walk, head down, heart already skittering with nerves she can’t explain.

Her sneakers splash softly with each step. Water drips from her hair, her natural coils already frizzing and springing free, brushing her cheeks. She keeps glancing around, the rain making every shadow move, every shape feel wrong. The house ahead looks warm, lit, close enough to reach, and then a shape detaches itself from the darkness beside her, moving fast, too fast.

A hand clamps around her arm.

Charity makes a small, broken sound, more squeak than scream, her breath punching out of her chest as she tries to pull away. The grip tightens instead, fingers digging into muscle, painful and intimate all at once. She smells him before she fully sees him, clean laundry soap, rain-soaked fabric, something sharp underneath. He’s white, brown hair plastered to his forehead, tan slacks darkened by the rain, a polo shirt clinging to his chest. Too normal. Too close.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, voice urgent, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll fix the chargeback, I swear. I’ll pay all the fees, whatever it takes.” His eyes are bright, fixed on her face like she’s the only thing left in the world. Charity’s stomach twists. She shakes her head, a whine catching in her throat as she tries again to pull free. “Please,” she gasps. “Let go. Please.”

“I just needed to see you,” he continues, fingers pressing harder as if that will make her understand. Rain streaks down his face, mingling with something feverish in his expression. “You know we’re meant to be together, right? We’ve been a couple before. Past lives. You feel it too, don’t you?” His grip hurts now, a sharp ache blooming in her arm. “We’re fated, Charity. We always find each other.”

Her vision tunnels. The rain sounds like static in her ears, too loud, drowning out her thoughts. Fear floods her body, thick and suffocating, every instinct screaming to get away. “I don’t know you,” she says, voice shaking so badly it barely sounds like her own. “You’re hurting me. Stop. Please stop.” She twists again, panic making her clumsy, helpless.

Suddenly, headlights blaze to life, white and blinding, washing the scene in harsh light. The stalker flinches, his hand loosening. For a split second his face shifts, annoyance, calculation, then he releases her entirely. He mutters something she can’t catch and bolts, shoes slapping against wet pavement as he disappears into the rain-soaked dark.

The release comes too fast. Charity stumbles forward, legs giving out, and she hits the ground on her knees in front of the car, palms scraping against cold, slick asphalt. She flinches hard, curling in on herself, bracing for impact that doesn’t come. The headlights are still there, glaring, but the car isn’t moving. Her breath comes in ragged sobs now, the fear crashing down all at once.

She looks up through tears and rain, chest heaving, and sees her step-sister getting out of the car. That’s all it takes. Charity breaks. She folds forward, shaking, water and tears soaking into her clothes as she cries openly, helplessly. “I’m sorry,” she sobs, words tumbling over each other. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t mean to...” Her voice cracks completely.

Her arm throbs where he grabbed her, pain pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Her whole body trembles, adrenaline burning off and leaving her raw and exposed. She stays there on her knees, rain plastering her hair to her face, hoodie heavy with water, the night pressing in around her. “I was so scared,” she whispers through the tears, barely audible. “I didn’t know what to do.”

The Uber drops her at the corner, the engine’s low hum fading too quickly as the car pulls away. Night presses in, damp and cold, the air smelling like wet pavement and leaves. Charity shifts the overnight bag higher on her shoulder and starts walking, sneakers scuffing softly. Her hoodie feels thin tonight, cotton no match for the chill that’s been living under her skin all evening. She keeps her head down, breath measured, counting steps the way she always does when fear starts to crowd her thoughts.

Her phone buzzes.

She stops without meaning to. The screen lights her face in a harsh, bluish glow, and for a half-second she hopes it’s nothing, spam, a moderator checking in, anything. Then the image loads. Her stomach drops so hard it feels like falling. A heart made of red construction paper, edges jagged, smeared with something dark. Candles arranged in a crooked circle. Rose petals scattered across her bed. Photos of her and him placed together, cut and taped, his arm around her like it belongs there. The room is unmistakably hers. Her sheets. Her lamp. Her breath catches in a thin, shaking inhale that hurts all the way down.

Her hands start to tremble, the phone buzzing faintly against her fingers. She can’t look away, can’t make herself close the image. The night seems to tilt, shadows stretching longer, thicker. A shiver racks her body, teeth chattering as panic blooms, hot and dizzying. “No,” she whispers, the word barely sound. “No, no, no.”

A footstep sounds behind her.

She turns, heart slamming into her throat, and he steps out of the shadow like he’s been waiting there all along. Young. White. Brown hair neat like he made an effort. His smile is wrong, too familiar, too pleased, as if he’s proud of what he’s done. “Cherry,” he says softly, like it’s a pet name, like he’s earned it. Hearing it out loud makes her skin crawl. “You saw it, right? I wanted it to be special.”

“Don’t,” she says, backing up, her heel catching on uneven pavement. The world feels too loud and too quiet at the same time, her pulse roaring in her ears. “You don’t know me. Stop calling me that.” Her voice shakes, but she forces the words out anyway, fear pressing against her ribs.

“We’re meant for each other,” he continues, stepping closer, rain-dark eyes fixed on her face. “Don’t you feel it? The way our souls link up? It’s not random. It’s always been us.” He laughs softly, like he’s sharing a secret. “I knew you’d understand eventually.”

She feels his hand brush her arm, fingers reaching, and something inside her snaps. Charity yanks herself free with a sharp gasp and turns, adrenaline surging, legs pumping as she runs. Her bag bounces painfully against her hip, breath tearing out of her chest in ragged bursts. She doesn’t look back. She can’t.

She collides hard with a solid chest, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. She stumbles forward, hands grabbing instinctively, fingers clutching fabric. For a heartbeat she thinks she’s made a terrible mistake, then she recognizes the scent of familiar detergent, the warmth of a body that isn’t trying to cage her in. Her knees nearly give out.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, words spilling out broken and fast as she wraps her arms around {{user}}. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to... I didn’t see...” She buries her face against their chest for just a second, shaking violently now, tears soaking into their shirt. The world narrows to the sound of her own breathing and the steady presence she’s clinging to.

Her fear doesn’t disappear, but it loosens its grip just enough for her to stay upright. She pulls back a fraction, still holding on, eyes darting to the dark behind her as if expecting him to reappear. Her arm aches where he touched her, a phantom pressure that makes her flinch. “He’s here,” she whispers, voice raw. “He was in my apartment. He sent me pictures.” Her phone is still clenched in her hand, screen cracked with light.

Rain begins to fall in a fine mist, catching in her wild coils, dotting her hoodie. Charity presses closer again without thinking, trembling easing only slightly. Shame and fear knot together in her chest, heavy and choking. “I didn’t know where else to go,” she murmurs, apology threaded through every syllable. “I was so scared.”