Chapter 2 Bread and Advice

Tia's POV

I wake up to an empty side of the bed and a full ache in my face. For a moment, I don't move. Eyes closed, listening.

No shower. No TV. No footsteps. Just the low hum of the AC and the dull thud of my heartbeat behind my left eye.

When I finally stand in front of the mirror, I hesitate. Then I look. As expected, my eyelid is swollen, the skin around it darkening. My cheek looks tight and somewhat red. There was nothing new about the girl staring back at me in the mirror. She always appeared whenever Jordan flexed his hands on me.

I rinse my mouth, splash water on my face—then suck in a breath when it hits the bruise. I stop there. The hoodie hanging behind the door is the closest thing I have to armour. I pull it on and drag the hood forward until my face sinks into shadow.

I don’t bother with the fridge since Jordan isn’t home but it doesn’t stop my stomach from growling in protest. I grab my phone and slip out.

Morning light floods the street—too bright, too open. I keep my head down as I walk, hood up, like I'm hiding from the sun. Each step pulls at my ribs. I focus on the rhythm—left, right, left—until I'm standing in front of Hannah's door.

I don't think. I knock.

She opens with a wide smile. "Tia! You didn't even—"

I slip past her before she finishes and head straight for the kitchen.

"Good morning to you too," I say, already opening her fridge. "What do you have? I'm starving."

"There's bread," she says, shutting the door behind her. "Milk too. Wow. At least pretend you came to see me."

"I came to see both," I mumble, already biting into a slice.

She leans against the counter, arms folded, watching me. "You look rough," she says lightly. "Did you even sleep?"

"I'm fine." I don't look at her. "Just tired."

"Tia." Her voice flattens. "Take off the hood."

"It's comfortable."

"It's suspicious." She retorts.

I sigh. "Hannah—"

She steps closer. "Off. Please."

I lower the bread slowly and push the hood back. Her reaction is instant. Her brows pull together, eyes widening just slightly.

"You're joking."

"I wish I was." I say, returning my focus back to my bread.

"Tia..." She lifts a hand like she might touch my face, then stops halfway. "He hit you again."

"Can we not do this right now?" I reach for the milk. "I haven't eaten."

"What caused it this time?" She asks.

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

I chew, but the bread tastes like nothing. "Same story," I say after a moment. "I breathed wrong. The end."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be." I say.

She exhales, dragging a hand through her hair. "You walk in here like this—" she gestures at my face "—and you want to eat and gist like it's normal? It's not normal, Tia."

"I don't have anywhere else to go." The words come out quieter than I expect. "You want me to do what? Just leave? And go where?"

"Here," she says immediately. "You can stay with me."

"And when he comes looking? When he blames you?"

"I'll handle him."

I huff. "You say that now but only coz you don’t know him, the real him."

Her jaw tightens. "But he keeps crossing lines and you keep letting him. He’s going to kill you if this keeps up."

"Why are you talking like he's a monster?" My voice sharpens. "He gets angry, yes. Then he calms down. People fight all the time."

"You're not married," she says. "Right now, you're a girl in his house and he pays all of your bills. It’s obviously what gives him this much power over you."

The words land heavier than if she had raised her voice.

"That's not love, Tia. That's being stuck."

"That's easy for you to say," I snap. "You have a job. Parents who help. A boyfriend who actually treats you well."

"I worked for that," she says, softer now. "And it’s not like I depend fully on them, they only support me." She watches me for a second. "You're not useless, you know. You're good with computers. Phones. You just... stay in the background."

"If I'm so gifted," I say, picking at the edge of the bread, "what exactly am I good at?"

She hesitates, then shrugs. "You always figure tech stuff out faster than me. There are freelance jobs online. Small remote things. If you actually search, you'll find something."

"I don't even have a laptop."

"I do." She nods toward the bedroom. "My old one. It's slow, but it works. You can use it."

I stare at the crumbs in my hand.

"I'm older than you," I mutter. "Yet you sound like my big sister."

"That's because I'm tired," she says. "Tired of watching you let him decide what you are."

Silence stretches between us.

"Hannah," I say finally, exhaling. "Help me with the system."

Her mouth curves slightly. "Good."

She disappears into the bedroom and comes back with a scratched laptop. She drops it onto my stomach as I settle into the couch.

"Ouch."

"It's too early to sleep on my couch," she says. "Even if you're jobless."

I snort. "You're so kind."

"You'll thank me later." She slips into her heels, grabs her bag, checks herself in the mirror.

"I have clients today. Zach's not coming, so you have the place. Wi‑Fi password is the same. Use it well, okay?"

"I'll try."

"Do," she says, heading for the door. "Trying hasn't been working."

The door shuts behind her, leaving a faint trail of perfume. The flat goes quiet.

I sit up, pull the laptop onto my knees, and open it. The fan whirs, slow and tired. The screen flickers, then steadies. I connect to Wi‑Fi and open a browser.

"Remote jobs. No experience." Results flood in.

I click one.

Customer support – two years' experience required.

Next. Virtual assistant – proven track record.

Another. Data entry – portfolio needed.

I move from one tab to another, scanning the same words over and over. Experience. References. Portfolio. Proof of something I don't have.

After a while, the text blurs. My eye starts to throb again. I close the tab. Then the laptop. It rests on my lap, warm and useless. I did try, I think. It's not like I didn't.

A car passes outside. Somewhere above, a tap drips steadily. I stare at nothing. If the world doesn't have space for a girl like me, then maybe I'll have to carve one out.

I just don't know yet what I'll use as the knife.