Paying My Savior in Milk Money

That was the fourth time Chase denied holding any feelings for me in public.

By then, Id already learned to look away before the words even left his mouth.

The music in the VIP booth was deafening, vibrating right through the soles of my shoes. He was slouched back in the corner of the leather booth, lazily flicking his Zippo lighter. "A girl like Sylvie?" He laughed as the flame flared up, casting a sharp shadow over his smirk. "Not a chance."

The stares of the people around us felt like tiny needles pricking my skin.

At two in the morning, I was at the 24-hour convenience store, warming up a carton of milk in the microwave.

Suddenly, the glass door rattled violently as someone threw it open.

It was Chase. He was leaning heavily against the metal frame, his knuckles split and dripping fresh blood, the cuff of his jacket torn open. Outside, the yellow streetlamp stretched his shadow into a broken, stumbling line.

"The guy who drove you home," he rasped, his voice raw, a bead of blood rolling down the back of his hand and dripping onto the linoleum floor. "Who was he?"

I kept my eyes on his raw knuckles, calmly unscrewing the cap of my warm milk. "You're bleeding."

He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with a desperate, suffocating grip. "I asked you a question, Sylvie."

I looked down at the tear in the skin near his thumb, oozing red.

So the rumors were true. He really had gotten into a fight. And it was because of me.

Chases hand was still bleeding.

I pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and held it out to him, but he didn't take it.

"You need to clean that," I said quietly.

Instead of letting go, his grip tightened, his dark eyes burning into mine. "Who drove you home?"

Outside, under the amber glow of the streetlamp, his shadow seemed to tremble.

I slowly spun the warm milk bottle between my palms. "A coworker." I looked back at his bruised hand. "You were fighting."

He finally released my wrist, letting out a dry, raspy laugh that scraped against the quiet store. "Yeah."

"Why?"

He averted his gaze, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "None of your business."

I turned away, scanning the shelves for a box of Band-Aids and a bottle of antiseptic. As I rang them up at the counter, his voice cut through the silence.

"Sylvie."

I kept my back to him.

"What if I said..."

He choked on the words, the sentence dying in his throat. The only sound left was the low, electric hum of the store's air conditioning.

The next afternoon, his friend Luke was smoking on the fire escape when he saw me and called out. "Did Chase scare you last night?"

I shook my head.

He flicked the ash from his cigarette and laughed. "Don't mind him. Hes always been like that. Some guy was hassling his childhood sweetheart, Chelsea, and Chase just lost his mind. Hes protective like a feral dog when it comes to her."

I nodded. The milk crate in my arms suddenly felt incredibly heavy.

When I turned the corner of the stairwell, Chase was standing there. There was no telling how long hed been listening. Luke cleared his throat awkwardly, muttered an excuse, and slipped away.

Chase stepped down the concrete stairs, stopping right in front of me. The cheap Band-Aid on the back of his hand was already peeling at the edges.

"Ask me," he said.

"Ask you what?"

"What you didn't finish asking last night."

I looked at him, watching the shadow of his long lashes cast over his cheeks. "Do you like me? Even just a little?"

His throat moved. Then he smirked, the corners of his mouth turning up in a slow, infuriating curve. "I don't like you at all."

I squeezed the box of milk tighter against my chest and brushed past his shoulder. "Fine. I don't like you either."

The motion-sensor light on the second-floor landing was broken, forcing me to fumble for my keys in the dim gray shadows. His heavy footsteps followed me up, stopping on the step just below mine. In the darkness, his breathing sounded thick.

"Sylvie."

"Yeah."

"Turn around."

I didn't move.

His hand reached out, brushing against my wrist. His fingertips were burning hot.

"I really don't like you," he muttered, repeating the lie like a mantra.

I turned around to face him. His eyes were wide, catching the faint light from the streetlamp outside. "I hear you," I said softly.

His fingers tightened around my skin, then slowly let go. "Stay away from that guy."

"You don't own me."

He stepped closer, his warm breath fanning across my forehead. "Yes, I do."

A sliver of moonlight spilled through the dirty windowpane, highlighting a raw scratch near his collarbone. I reached out, my fingertips grazing the bruised skin. He went completely stiff.

"Does it hurt?" I whispered.

He didn't answer, his quiet, ragged breath washing over my hand.

The keys slipped from my fingers, clattering softly against the floor. He bent down instantly to retrieve them. When he stood back up, his forehead brushed against my chin. We were too close.

I took the keys from his hand, turned around, and unlocked the door. He stood out there in the hall for a long time.

By the time I finished my shower, my phone screen was glowing on the nightstand. A text from him: Goodnight.

I didn't reply.

I bumped into him the next day in the dining hall. He was carrying a tray, a fresh Band-Aid neatly applied to his knuckles. As we passed each other in the narrow aisle, his hand grazed the back of mine.

"It hurts," he murmured suddenly.

I turned to look at him. His eyes were fixed on the wall opposite us. "My hand, I mean."

"Oh."

I glanced down at his tray. His lunch was completely untouched.

That afternoon, Luke cornered me again during study hall. "Chase was standing outside your building until two in the morning."

I kept turning the pages of my textbook, trying to appear unaffected.

"Chelsea is leaving the country," Luke added.

My pen froze against the paper. "And?"

Luke shrugged, leaning back. "And hes been acting like a lunatic for the past forty-eight hours."

It was pouring by the time the final bell rang. Chase was waiting right outside my classroom, holding out a large black umbrella.

"Take mine."

"What about you?"

"I'll run."

Drops of rain were already dripping from the damp tips of his dark hair. When I reached for the umbrella, our fingers brushed. He was freezing.

"Let's walk together," I said.

He blinked, caught off guard.

The umbrella was small, leaving his left shoulder completely soaked as we walked. When we reached the convenience store, I stopped. "Let's dry off inside."

Under the warm fluorescent lights, tiny water droplets clung to his long eyelashes. I grabbed a dry towel from my bag and handed it to him. As he vigorously rubbed his hair dry, his collar shifted, exposing a nasty purple bruise near his collarbone.

"Another fight?" I asked.

His hands froze. "Yeah."

"For her?"

The towel slipped from his hands, landing on his shoulders. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and wet. "For you."

"Why would you fight for me?"

I unscrewed the cap of a water bottle and handed it to him. He swallowed hard, his throat moving as he took a sip. "I didn't like the way he looked at you."

"Was he another guy bothering your precious Chelsea?"

He choked on his water, coughing violently. "Who told you that?"

"Everyone's saying it."

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "It wasn't about her."

"Then who?"

He stared at the display of potato chips, refusing to meet my eyes. I took the towel and slowly folded it. "Fine. Keep your secrets." I turned to leave, but his hand shot out, catching the edge of my jacket.

"It was you."

I spun around. The tips of his ears were burning red. "That guy in the alley... he touched your hair."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. His grip on my jacket tightened.

"So you beat him up over that?"

"He shouldn't have touched you."

A sudden urge to laugh bubbled up in my chest. "Chase."

"What?"

"Is this your version of being jealous?"

He let go of my jacket instantly, as if the fabric had turned to hot coal. "Don't flatter yourself."

I placed a bottle of milk in the microwave, watching it spin behind the glass. He leaned against the tiled wall. "Sylvie."

"Yeah?"

"What if..."

The microwave dinged, cutting him off. I pulled the warm bottle out, and his words hung unfinished in the air. "What if what?"

He took the bottle from me, our fingers lingering against the warm glass. "What if I said yes. What if I am jealous?"

I looked up, searching his face, but he quickly looked away. "Just kidding."

The rain had stopped. He pushed the heavy glass door open. "Keep the umbrella."

"What about you?"

"I'll run."

He stepped into the wet glow of the streetlamp, then suddenly stopped and turned back. "That guy..."

"He's my cousin, Tyler," I said.

He froze. "What?"

"The guy who touched my hair. My cousin." I pointed to the bandaged hand. "You fought him for nothing."

He stared at his bandage, a slow, ridiculously boyish grin spreading across his face. "Worth it," he muttered.

He turned and bolted into the misty night, his damp white shirt clinging to his back.

Later that night, my phone buzzed on my pillow. My knuckles hurt.

I texted back: Good. You deserved it.

Three seconds later: Cold-hearted.

Then another: You still owe me for the milk.

I sent him money through Venmo, but he declined it instantly. Pay me back tomorrow. In person.

Between classes the next day, he slouched against the edge of my desk. "My hand hurts."

"Let me see."

He held his hand out obediently. The Band-Aid was peeling again. I pulled it off, revealing a scratch that was already mostly healed. "Liar," I muttered.

He immediately flipped his hand over, catching my fingers in his. "It hurts like this."

His palm was burning hot. The teacher walked in, and he let go of my hand, but not before brushing his thumb gently over my knuckles. It was a featherlight touch.

He was waiting by the door after the final bell. "Time to pay me back."

"How?"

He handed me a cold carton of milk. "A fair trade."

I took it, but he didn't let go of the other side. "Sylvie."

"Yeah?"

"I think I might..."

Laughter erupted from the back door. Luke threw an arm around Chases shoulder, dragging him back. "Yo, Chase! Chelseas looking for you."

Chase's face instantly hardened, his warmth vanishing. I pulled my hand back, the carton suddenly feeling icy in my palm. He was pulled away into the crowd. Chelsea looked back at me, offering a polite, soft smile.

I turned and walked down the stairs alone.

There was a massive line at the boba shop down the street. Someone pushed past me to cut in line, but I didn't have the energy to fight it.

"Let her go first," a voice rasped behind me.

Chase was panting, his chest heaving as if hed run the entire way. The guy who cut in looked at Chase's expression and quietly stepped back.

"Aren't you supposed to be catching up with your old friend?" I asked, placing my order.

Chase pulled out his wallet before I could reach for mine. "Done."

"That fast?"

"We didn't have much to say."

Chelsea came running up behind us, her eyes red and puffy. "Chase..."

Chase immediately stepped in front of me, shielding me from her view. "Go home, Chelsea." He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the shop.

"I didn't pay for my drink," I argued.

"My treat."

"I don't need you to buy me drinks."

Chelsea followed us outside, reaching out to grab my arm. "Sylvie, please don't misunderstand."

Chase immediately knocked her hand away, his voice cold. "Don't touch her."

Luke wandered over, a smirk on his face. "What's this? A rekindled flame?"

Chase kicked his shin. "Shut up and get lost."

Suddenly, Chelsea threw her arms around my neck, pulling me into a tight hug. I went completely rigid. "Take care of yourself," she whispered, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

Before I could process it, she let go, turned, and ran down the street.

Chase and I stood there, staring at each other. "I think she hugged the wrong person," I muttered.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Maybe."

The barista handed over my drink. I struggled to poke the straw through the plastic lid. Chase took it from my hands, tore the tip of the paper wrapper off with his teeth, and poked it through perfectly before handing it back.

"Gross," I teased.

"Clean as a whistle," he laughed.

His phone buzzed relentlessly in his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it to silent. "Is it about her flight?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Aren't you going to say goodbye?"

"No." He kicked a stray pebble across the pavement. "It has nothing to do with me."

Later that night, he sent a photo of the airport departure terminal. So you went after all? I texted.

Dropping off my dad.

Oh.

A second later, he sent his real-time location. He was directly outside my building. I pulled back the curtains and looked down. He was standing beneath the streetlamp, waving up at me.

Come down.

Why?

You haven't finished paying me back for the milk.

I threw on a jacket and headed downstairs. He was holding a plastic grocery bag packed to the brim with milk cartons.

"How long is this going to take?" I asked, looking at the bag.

"We have all the time in the world," he murmured. His eyes were bloodshot.

"Have you been crying?"

"Just the wind," he said, quickly turning his head away.

The plastic bag rustled between us. "When she hugged you," he said softly, staring at his shoes. "What did it feel like?"

"Soft," I replied simply.

He made a strange, slightly disturbed face. "That sounds incredibly weird coming from you."

I laughed, and the tension broke as he smiled along. But then his smile faded, and his shoulders slumped. "Sylvie."

"Yeah?"

"I actually"

Luke came skidding up on his motorcycle, the engine roaring. "Chase! Chelseas trying to reach you!"

Chase swung his hand back and smacked Luke hard on the shoulder. "Can't you see we're talking here?!"

Luke rubbed his shoulder, looking deeply offended. "What are you hitting me for? She just wanted to know what gate she was at."

Chase ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Can't she read the giant screens herself?"

Luke rolled his eyes and rode off. The plastic bag of milk was still dangling from Chases fingers. I reached out and took it from him.

"Go," I said quietly.

He didn't budge. "If I go, you'll think there's something between us."

"There's already too many rumors," I said. I turned around, clutching the bag of milk, and walked toward the entrance. He called out my name from the sidewalk, but I didn't look back.

A text arrived late that night: She boarded.

I read it, but left it on read.

The next morning, Luke showed up at my classroom door. "Chase told me to drive you home."

"I don't need a ride."

"Hes terrified you're mad at him," Luke said with a grin.

"Why would I be mad?"

His motorcycle was parked at the end of the block. Luke tossed me a spare helmet. "Hop on. It's on my way."

The engine rumbled loudly under us. As we sped down the street, Luke yelled over the wind. "Honestly, Chase is just like this."

"Like what?"

"A coward." I gripped the metal grab bars of the seat. "Hes crazy about you, hes just too chicken to say it."

"Hes in love with Chelsea," I shouted back.

Luke let out a loud laugh. "How many years ago was that?"

He pulled up outside the local convenience store and killed the engine, taking off his helmet. "Sylvie, you two need to stop playing these stubborn games."

I pushed the glass door open, and he followed me inside. "He sat at the gate all night," Luke said, leaning against the counter.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Do you really not get why he picked that fight?"

"He said it was because of me."

"Exactly," Luke said, tapping his cigarette pack against his palm. "Look, his parents divorced when he was a kid. Chelsea lived next door and used to bring him dinners so he wouldn't starve."

My milk finished warming.

"When her family moved away, he was devastated for a while. But that was a lifetime ago." Luke took a sip of his own drink. "That's in the past."

I unwrapped a pastry.

"These days, you're the only person he talks about," Luke smiled. "It's Sylvie this, Sylvie that. Honestly, it's exhausting to listen to."

Outside, the streetlights were flickering to life one by one. Luke dropped me off right outside my door. "Get inside safely."

"Thanks, Luke."

"Don't sweat it," he waved. "See ya tomorrow."

The apartment hallway was pitch black. The moment I slid my key into the lock, the door swung open. My mother peeked her head out. "Who was that guy who dropped you off?"

"A classmate."

"Another one?" she asked, her eyes scanning the street below. "That motorcycle looked expensive."

I brushed past her into the apartment. "Don't start."

She followed me into the small kitchen. "What about the guy with the sedan last week?"

"That was Tyler. My cousin."

"Don't play dumb with me," she said, rinsing an apple under the tap. "It doesn't hurt to make friends with boys who have deep pockets."

I kept my mouth shut.

She handed me the apple. "What's his family do?"

"He's just a classmate."

"Just a classmate driving you right to our doorstep?" She smiled, a calculating look in her eyes. "Don't waste an opportunity."

I retreated to my bedroom, locking the door behind me.

My phone screen lit up. A text from Chase: You home?

I didn't answer.

A minute later: Luke said he dropped you off.

Then: Why are you ignoring me?

The window was open, a cool breeze rustling the curtains. I typed a long reply, deleted it, and settled on a simple: Yeah.

He replied instantly. Still mad?

No.

See you tomorrow?

Yeah.

The bubble indicating he was typing appeared, lingering for several minutes. Finally, he sent: Goodnight.

In the middle of the night, a quiet knock rattled the front door. I unlocked it to find Chase standing in the dim light of the hallway, his hair messy.

"Is your mom asleep?" he whispered.

I nodded.

He handed me a small paper bag. "What's this?"

"Band-Aids," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was just passing by."

I took the bag, noticing the scratch on his knuckles had split open again, leaking fresh blood. "Did you get into another fight?"

"No," he said, looking away. "Just clumsy."

"Are you twelve?"

He leaned his shoulder against the drywall. "Too many guys are looking at you."

"What does that have to do with you?"

He stared down at his sneakers. "I don't like it."

"Why are you being so stubborn?"

He snapped his head up, his dark eyes locked onto mine. "Because I am." The paper bag crinkled in my hands. "Sylvie."

"What?"

"I'm serious."

I looked down at the smear of red on his hand. "Let's go to the clinic and get that cleaned."

He shook his head. "It's fine." He turned to leave, but I grabbed the edge of his jacket. "Wait. Let me get my keys."

He froze, staring at my hand on his sleeve.

The neighborhood clinics neon sign was still buzzing. The doctor applied antiseptic, making Chase hiss through his teeth.

"Get into a scrap?" the doctor asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Just clumsy," Chase muttered.

The doctor chuckled. "Clumsy enough to split your knuckles open twice?"

I remained silent, watching from the corner.

It was past three in the morning by the time we stepped back out onto the quiet streets.

"That guy with the bike," Chase said, breaking the silence.

"What about him?"

"Don't ride with him anymore."

"Why?"

"It's dangerous."

I stopped walking and looked at him. "Chase."

"Yeah?"

"You are incredibly difficult."

He smiled, a soft, genuine look in his eyes. "Only with you."

The yellow streetlamps cast our long, overlapping shadows on the asphalt. When we reached my building, he paused. "Go on up."

"What about you?"

"I'll have a smoke and head out."

I watched him pull a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, flicking his lighter several times without success. "Don't smoke," I said.

He paused, his thumb resting on the lighter. "Are you bossing me around?"

"Yes."

He slid the pack back into his jacket pocket. "Fine."

He turned to leave, but I called after him. "You still owe me milk money."

His eyes lit up in the dim light. "I'll pay you back tomorrow."

A guy with bleached blonde hair was lingering near the alley after school the next day. "Hey, beautiful, let's hang out," he sneered, blocking my path. I tried to walk around him, but he stepped in my way.

Chase materialized from behind, pulling me back until I was shielded by his shoulder. "Back off," Chase snarled.

The guy laughed, sizing him up. "And who the hell are you?"

Chase's fist clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. I wrapped my hand around his wrist. "Don't," I whispered.

The guy stepped closer, a smug grin on his face. "See? The lady has manners."

Before he could finish his sentence, I drove the heel of my boot straight into his kneecap. He let out a pathetic shriek, collapsing onto the pavement. I grabbed Chases wrist and bolted. We didn't stop running until we were two blocks away.

Chase was out of breath, a massive, disbelieving laugh escaping his chest. "You're savage."

I let go of his wrist, catching my breath. "I had to be. I wasn't going to let you get a police record over some creep."

He rubbed his wrist, looking at me with newfound respect. "That kick was incredibly precise."

"I took self-defense classes years ago."

He raised his eyebrows. "How much more is there to know about you?"

"Plenty."

We walked side-by-side down the sidewalk. His fingers lightly brushed against the back of my hand. "Next time, let me handle it."

"Handle what?"

"Protecting you."

I stopped and looked at him. "I don't need protecting."

"Yes, you do."

"I really don't."

He stopped in his tracks, his expression turning serious. "Sylvie."

"Yeah?"

"Let me chase you."

I kept walking. "Don't be ridiculous."

He caught up easily. "I am going to chase you."

"You think you can keep up?"

"Let's find out."

The bright lights of the convenience store welcomed us. He ran inside and emerged with a bottle of warm milk, his hands trembling slightly as he handed it to me.

"Step one."

"What's step one?"

"First step of chasing you."

I took the bottle. "Chase."

"Yeah?"

"Were you like this with Chelsea?"

He froze. "Like what?"

"Viciously persistent."

He shook his head. "No. Never."

"Really?"

"I swear," he said, scratching his head. "I was young back then. I didn't know anything."

I took a sip of the milk. "And now you do?"

"Yeah."

"What do you know?"

He looked directly into my eyes, his gaze steady and intense. "I know exactly who I like."

I turned and headed into the stairwell. He followed me to the bottom step. "See you tomorrow."

"No, you won't."

"Then the day after."

I looked back at him. He had a goofy, helpless grin on his face. "Goodnight, Sylvie."

My phone buzzed in my hand. How's the milk?

I replied: Average.

I'll get you something else tomorrow.

Whatever.

Another text: That blonde guy...

I'll be careful.

I'm walking you home from now on.

No.

Yes, I am.

I locked my screen and drifted off to sleep. My dreams were filled with the sound of the wind rushing past my ears as we ran.

Finals week was creeping up, and my textbooks were giving me a massive headache. Chase slid into the seat next to mine. "What are you stuck on?"

"Everything."

He took the book from my hands and flipped to the syllabus. "This part isn't going to be on the exam."

"How do you know that?"

"The teacher outlined the key chapters."

I stared at him. "When?"

"Last week. When you were out sick."

He pulled a notebook from his backpack and tossed it onto my desk. "Copy mine."

His handwriting was incredibly messy. I flipped through the pages, squinting. "I can't even read this."

He leaned in closer to point at the page. "Oh, that's a mistake." He pulled out a pen to correct it, his arm brushing against mine.

"You're warm," I murmured.

"Deal with it," he said softly, continuing to explain the formula. His breath fanned against the side of my face. "Do you get it?"

"A little."

He patiently started from the beginning again.

After the final bell, he caught my arm. "We're going to the library."

"Why?"

"Tutoring."

"Are you going to charge me?"

"Yes."

"What's your fee?"

He pretended to think about it. "A boba."

The library was dead silent, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he guided me through the chapters. I couldn't stop yawning.

"Focus," he whispered.

"I'm exhausted."

He lightly flicked my forehead with his finger. "Wake up."

I glared at him. He let out a quiet chuckle. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'll look at you however I want."

By the end of the session, my notebook was covered in circled formulas. He finished the last problem and closed the book. "Got it?"

"Pretty much."

"What does 'pretty much' mean?"

"It means I've got it."

He packed up his things. "Don't cry when the grades come out."

"I'm not going to cry."

"We'll see."

"Not happening."

After evening study hall, he shoved his notebook into my arms. "Keep it."

"I don't want it."

"You have to take it."

"Why?"

"Because I'm looking out for you."

The wind was blowing through his hair as we stood under the streetlamp. I clutched the notebook to my chest. "Chase."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

The tips of his ears turned a shade of pink. "Don't mention it." He turned and walked away, then stopped after a few paces and looked back. "Same time tomorrow."

"Okay."

He trotted back to me. "Just 'okay'?"

"I understand."

He smirked. "Better."

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Text me when you're home.

I replied: I'm home.

That was fast.

I flew.

Impressive.

He stopped me right outside the classroom before the exam started. "Don't stress."

"I'm not stressing."

"Your hands are shaking."

"I'm just cold."

He took my hands in his, wrapping his warm palms around my fingers. "How about now?"

"Now they're freezing," I teased.

He laughed, letting go of my hands. "Wait for me after the test."

"No."

"You have to."

The exam paper had several questions hed spent hours explaining to me. I let out a massive sigh of relief as I handed it in. He was waiting in the corridor.

"How did it go?"

"It was fine."

"Which means you aced it." He handed me a cold carton of milk. "Your reward."

"Just this?"

"What else did you want?"

As I reached for the carton, he suddenly leaned in close. A soft, warm pressure brushed against my cheek. I stood frozen in the middle of the hallway. He was already running down the corridor.

"Chase!" I yelled.

He looked back at the top of the stairs, a wicked grin on his face. "Now we're even!"