ABBY:
They say when someone shows you who they are, believe them. But what do you do when you want so badly to believe they’re something else?
Deolu had become my safety net—or so I thought. He helped me get a small job at a local café. Nothing fancy, just waiting tables and cleaning up, but at least it was something. I started making a little money and began to feel like I was getting back on my feet. He never asked me for anything, and that in itself felt like a miracle. He cooked sometimes, made me laugh, and was a good listener.
One night, we were walking home from the café when he stopped and said, “You know I really care about you, right?” I nodded, not sure where it was going. He continued, “I know you’ve been hurt, lied to, betrayed, and I want to help heal that—but healing has to go both ways.” I asked what he meant, and that’s when he said it.
“I want you to meet someone. He’s a friend of mine. A big guy. He runs things. All you need to do is go with him for dinner, look pretty, smile, and keep him company. No pressure, just one evening.”
My heart sank. There it is, I thought. The price tag. The hidden transaction. I kept walking in silence, and he didn’t press it. But the seed had been planted, and I knew now what Deolu really was. The question was—what was I going to do about it?…hmmmmm
CHRIS:
The last camp before the water. That’s what they called it. But it didn’t feel like any “last stop” I imagined. It was chaotic, overcrowded, and tense. People from different countries huddled around fires, some waiting days, even weeks, for their turn to cross.
The dinghies were nothing more than glorified rubber balloons. Each was meant for ten people, but they loaded fifteen, sometimes twenty. “The water is calmer at night,” the guide explained, “so we move then.”
I looked at the flimsy raft and felt my stomach twist. This wasn’t a boat—it was a gamble.
That evening, the guide approached us. “Tonight’s your chance. One raft is going. I’ve secured spots for you and Thomas. But it’s your call.”
Thomas looked at me, pale but determined. “If we’ve come this far, we might as well finish it,” he said.
We both knew what that meant—there might not be another chance. So we packed what was left of our food, tightened the straps on our backpacks, and joined the others at the shoreline.
The guide handed us two orange life jackets, most of the foam worn out. I looked out at the black sea, endless and unknowable, and I whispered to myself: This better be worth it…
hmmm…
