I lifted my head to study his face, looking for remnants of who he used to be.
The first time I met Crew was at a lavish party several years ago, where other socialites ridiculed me. Back then, I lived with my grandfather in a small town, and he was my only companion. He didn’t get the fashion trends among young women, and since my tuition had drained most of his savings, I never asked for anything extra. I wore the colorful but budget-friendly clothes he bought me with gratitude.
Grandfather didn’t quite get why jeans were so popular; sometimes, he even sewed clothes for me himself, insisting that bright colors were best for lively girls.
When the Snyder family took me back in, my fashion sense hadn’t quite caught up, and I felt awkwardly out of place.
Mom sent Kaliyah to guide me, but she was elusive, leaving me to figure things out on my own. That led to the ridicule.
Back then, I was insecure and didn’t know how to stand up for myself. It was Crew who dispersed them, his words sharp enough to nearly bring them to tears.
He spoke to me sincerely then.
“Why are you so shy? Don’t be scared. If someone bullies you, bully them back. Hit them if you have to.”
“What if they’re afraid of me and don’t want to be my friend?” I asked.
“Do you want to be bullied, or would you rather they’re too scared to mess with you? Who cares if you have no friends? I’ll be your friend.”
I held onto those words for more than five years, but eventually, Crew publicly denounced me, calling me a bully.
But they were the ones who started it.
The sharp angles of Crew’s face no longer showed the kindness and protectiveness of those early days. All that remained was disdain and impatience. He stood over me, urging.
“Have you thought about it? Don’t be greedy.”
With my hands clasped behind my back, I used my good right hand to rub the deformed pinky of my left, the dull ache a constant reminder of what I endured because of him.
In my desperation, I had blurted out my identity, even sobbing Crew’s number to the loan sharks—a number I'd memorized—only to be shattered by his response.
“I don’t know any Elisabeth Snyder. The Snyder family’s daughter is Kaliyah Knight.”
Not only that, he riled up the lenders, provoking their wrath, which they then unleashed on me. They forced me to slap my own face until it was swollen beyond recognition, pain shooting even into my gums.
Eating became an ordeal; even dinner rolls were too hard. They stomped on them, filthy and dark, and shoved them into my mouth.
The memory alone made my stomach churn again.
Suppressing the urge to retch, I pressed hard on my dislocated pinky to stay grounded.
“Sorry, I don’t want anything.”
Crew’s brow furrowed, suspicion sharpening his gaze, laced with a silent warning.
“Don’t come back to me later, causing trouble. I don’t have the patience for that.”
I nodded faintly, eager for him to leave. “I won’t.”
He didn’t push further—maybe he never intended to give me anything anyway.
“Make sure you don’t.”
He walked away but paused, his back turned to me, voice heavy.
“That necklace was meant for Kaliyah. Don’t go bullying her again.”
Before I could respond, he was gone, striding decisively away.
