You and Greg had connected a few months ago, and while "friends" felt a little generous given how little you actually communicated, it was enough.

Everything had started to spiral for you. The financial strain had been building for a while, but the final blow came when you were fired from your job. A few days later, you were kicked out of your apartment.

You bounced between friends' couches, the insecurity gnawing at you as each day seemed to drag on longer than the last.

Greg, on the other hand, had been getting checks from Tom—ridiculous sums of money. Tom never explained why Greg was suddenly swimming in cash, but Greg didn't ask questions.

All he knew was that it was easy money, and he'd become good at playing the game—good enough to offer you a place to stay, with you cleaning up and making dinner, while Greg took care of the rest.

You hesitated, but in the end, you agreed. The offer was a lifeline—simple, straightforward.

The first few weeks went smoothly. You kept Greg's apartment in tip-top shape, transforming it into a home with carefully chosen meals every evening. It was the routine you needed to distract you from the frustration of your failing job search.

But slowly, the pressure of unemployment wore on. You lost motivation, and the Netflix bingeing became longer. Greg noticed, but he didn't press too hard.

That night, Greg had come home late, reeking of alcohol and something else. He had been at a party with Kendall, with Greg being tasked to babysit him. Kendall was coked out of his mind, so in a desperate attempt to get a handle on the situation, Greg also snorted some lines—doing drugs for the first time.

The anger Greg had been trying to ignore since the party and the conversation with Kendall about saving face for the family by getting clean welled up, and Greg had to let it out somehow—by starting an argument.

"Jesus Christ," Greg muttered under his breath as he grabbed a beer from the fridge, his voice sharp. You kept watching Netflix, silent. "You still on that same goddamn couch?”