"Oh, and we already found out where you work. We'll be stopping by in a couple days, have a nice little chat with your boss. See if they really want an employee who stages accidents to shake people down."
I slapped his hand away and screamed.
"Get out! Get the hell away from me!"
Rodney's face went dark. He grabbed my wrist.
"We were being nice to you and you spit in our faces? You want us to throw you in the car right now?"
I thrashed, but I wasn't strong enough. It was useless.
My wrist ached where he squeezed it.
People around us were still filming. Still watching.
Nobody spoke. Nobody helped.
In that moment every shred of humiliation and rage surged up inside me—then sank all at once.
I stopped struggling. Just stared at the three of them.
Then at the ring of phones pointed at my face.
Rodney flinched under my gaze and let go.
He swore under his breath but didn't step forward again.
I said nothing. Turned around and walked home, one step at a time.
Shut the door. Threw all three locks.
I leaned against the door. No tears. No shaking.
The grief and the panic from before had pulled back like a tide going out.
I walked to my computer and sat down.