Phoebe sprinted down the empty streets, her heart pounding louder than the sound of her footsteps echoing against the pavement.
The night air was crisp, biting at her skin as she glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting Curly to be right behind her.
She felt as if the shadows themselves were closing in, reminding her of how dangerously close she had come to being trapped.
"Oh god! What was I thinking?" she thought frantically.
She considered bolting straight to the police, but the idea quickly faded. The evidence she had—whispers, conspiracy and vague threats—felt flimsy, wild claims that would only draw more questions and scrutiny.
What would she even say?
"Hey, officer, my cheating boyfriend's been acting weird, turns out he's on drugs. Also, there's this girl who blew up the school. Prove it? She threatened my best friend and I. Motive? Uhhh. Oh yeah, she's doing cybercrime for our psychopath classmate cause her dad owes him money?"
She shook her head, pushing the panic down deep. "No, I need to think first, I need to think somewhere safe."
That thought led her to Arnold's house.
She made the executive decision to override Arnold's recent bad judgement call, he was the only person she felt could help him.
As she approached his house, she pulled out her phone and dialed his number.
One. Two. Three. Each failed attempt left her more desperate, and by the time she hit the fifth call, frustration boiled over.
"Agh, come on!"
She took a deep breath, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, then picked up a small stone and tossed it at his window. It missed the first time, but the second attempt it hit the glass with a soft clank.
Dogs howled in the distance.
The window opened slightly, and Arnold's groggy face appeared, squinting into the dark.
"Phoebe?" he mumbled, confusion lacing his voice. "What are you doing here at this hour?"
"Let me in!" she whisper-yelled urgently, glancing nervously down the street.
He quickly went down to open the front door, ushering her inside.
Once in the safety of his room, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. But the heaviness in her spirit didn't ease.
"Arnold…" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "You won't believe what's happening."
He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "What's going on? Is everyone ok? Are you hurt?" he asked, concern etching his features as he pulled on a t-shirt.
Taking a deep breath, Phoebe spilled everything—the encounter with Curly, Lila's secret alliance with him, and the reason for even finding it all out: her heart-wrenching fight with Gerald. "I thought I could fix things after our argument, but now… I don't even know if I can face him again."
Arnold listened patiently, his expression pensive.
He brushed his hair back worriedly, trying to put the puzzle together.
"Lila is working with Curly. Ok, if all of that is true, my grandparents bank accounts should be wiped clean… the tenants too. As far as I know, nobody has raised any alarm since she was here. I guess the only way to find out for sure is to ask them in the morning."
Phoebe nodded.
Her heart sank as she realized the implications. "What if Curly comes for us?"
Arnold reassured her "You're safe with me."
"And… Lila?"
"What about her?"
She shifted uncomfortably not knowing how to ask what she really wanted to ask. Arnold always kept all his cards to his chest and she did not want to leave anything to chance.
"Nothing happened." He offered with a directness that shut down any further questions. He had read her mind. "I'm not into her like that."
Relieved, she felt a lot better about her new ally. Vulnerability bubbled to the surface, she looked down. "Why do you think Curlys doing all of this?"
A memory of Curly insisting they stay away from his base resurfaces in Arnold's mind.
"Last I spoke to him he said we needed to stay away from his place."
"We?" Phoebe enquired.
Arnold cussed himself internally. "Gerald and I."
Tension filled the room. "You knew about Gerald's drug habit?"
"I did. At first I didn't but when I realized it I couldn't stop it, it just seemed like one day he was fine and the next he was on them. No matter how much I tried he wouldn't talk to me about it, about why." Arnold confessed. "I feel bad for letting him get this far."
Surprisingly Phoebe agreed "I didn't see him struggling either. He seemed fine. Happy. But he wasn't. It all went under my radar and I spent most of the time with him. You couldn't have known."
Arnold felt exonerated, relieved from the guilt of something that haunted him.
"Im sorry, I couldn't bring myself to tell you," he admitted. "I knew it would mess everything up but it was easier to keep you from seeing all that than to just tell you what you deserved to know all along."
"It was Gerald's responsibility to tell me," Phoebe quipped. "He kept it all from me, I would have loved to be there for him, help him. I thought we could survive anything. But if he's not in this with me, I can't force him."
Arnold nodded. "You should get some rest. First thing tomorrow we can determine if the moneys all there." He said. "No matter what happens, we will figure this out."
"Thank you, Arnold. Really," she replied, feeling a mix of relief swell inside her.
For the first time that night, she felt a flicker of hope. She had carried heavy thoughts over the past week. The emotional aerobics of being deliriously happy one second, the next suspicious and the next crying painful tears; it was all so exhausting.
She was tired of being strong and sad.
In this moment, the weight of her fears and troubles lightened. It felt good to release it all. It felt really good to let someone see her, and let them take over for once.
As if pulled by an invisible force, she leaned closer, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Arnold's gaze softened, the realization of what she was about to do dawning on him.
Phoebe felt her heart race in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating, she hesitated for a moment, thinking it wrong to take advantage of a moment like this just so they she can feel something.
She needed to feel warmth, and Arnold, with his understanding eyes and patient demeanor, was that warmth right now.
Their lips met in a slow, tender kiss—an intimate connection that held the promise of solidarity. In that moment, it felt like they were allies against the chaos surrounding them, a team forged in vulnerability and trust.
The world outside faded, and when they finally pulled away, breathless, Arnold had his hands on her waist.
He could see the hurt still lingering behind her composed face—the hurt Gerald had left behind, the unanswered questions, the sleepless nights.
And so he held back, stopping but not fighting her advances. He had dreamt and fantasied about this moment a million times but he did not want it to be tainted by regret tomorrow.
He searched her eyes for any sign of doubt, but all he found was a silent plea for him to continue.
She straddled him, perching intentionally on his lap.
"Phoebe, are you sure?" His voice was soft, as if saying it out loud would break whatever fragile thing this was between them.
He was the only thing she was sure about.
"I'm sure," she whispered, taking her shirt and jeans off. He sat in awe, admiring her perfect form, wondering if it was another one of his dreams.
She kissed his neck and felt his hardness grow against her.
He took his clothes off and closed the distance, pressing his lips to hers in an unrushed fashion. Every touch, every kiss, was slow, almost agonizing in its gentleness. Arnold was careful, too careful, as if afraid to break her small frame, but Phoebe wanted to be broken—just not by the sadness anymore.
He responded with a quiet exploration of his own, slipping his fingers over her mound and rubbing with intentional rhythm.
Her breath hitched with every twirl, her desire growing. She entered a dreamlike, blissful state of ache, her wetness throbbing with want.
His mouth cupped her breast and she let out tortured squeaks of encouragement.
Outside, the night remained dark and uncertain.
