Juliette’s boyfriend James, owes money. And she was expected to help pay back. In cash, or in kind.
I used to imagine a different future with James. That day we got the keys to our Toa Payoh flat, I remember how the afternoon light hit the empty rooms, casting long shadows across bare floors that seemed full of promise. We’d count our dollars together at the kitchen table, his salary envelope next to mine, calculating what we could afford that month.
Cash? In white envelope?
Zhun bo? In this day and age?
Yes. It’s rare, but i work frontline retail, James did plumbing.
Our boss still prefer to deal with cash. Money is money. I couldn’t care less if he paid me with two dollar bills as long as he pays on time.
Money is very tight for a young couple who just graduated from poly and decides to move out.
Sometimes it came down to choosing between a new pillow or an extra tray of eggs, but whatever we decided, we decided together. For those first few months, I actually believed the word “we” meant something.
But teams don’t last when one side stops playing.
James lost his job about six months ago. He said it was restructuring, that his boss was biased, that it wasn’t his fault.
Inside my head i was thinking, what kind of complicated restructuring would a 3 man plumbing company go through?
I know James, he has a stubborn streak and an attitude to match. He can be nice, but there will be times when he’s just an asshole. He said he will find a job soon and ease the burden i was shouldering.
I believed him then, told him we would manage. I thought he would get back on his feet quickly. But weeks became months, and the man I loved started to shrink into the sofa, his world revolving around the TV, his phone, and the friends who came knocking with beer cans in plastic bags.
It wasn’t just that he stopped contributing, he was also consuming more than before. The fridge that I stocked with my salary was raided within days.
He had no qualms ordering delivery with my card, telling himself, ‘It’s just until I find something’.
He liked to host, too, what he called “just a few bros coming over” translated to four or five loud, hungry men crammed into our small living room, drinking and laughing like they owned the place.
And who paid for all that? Me.
The one still dragging myself to work every morning, catching the MRT, running on kopi and stress.
I grew tired. My patience stretched thin. Our fights became routine,same words, same accusations. Me, nagging him for being a burden; him, accusing me of being stingy, unsupportive, ungrateful for his “company.”
I hated the sound of my own voice then, sharp and shrill, but I hated his indifference more. He had this way of brushing everything off, as if I was the unreasonable one, as if expecting him to try was some kind of cruelty.
That night, it boiled over.
The quarrel started over money like always. He wanted fifty dollars to “settle something” and I refused.
I told him I had bills piling, utilities, broadband, mobile phones, and i had even borrow a few hundred from my sister to tide things over.
I snapped at James, telling him my pay wasn’t dropping from the sky like magic, that I was tired of carrying both of us. He snapped back, his voice rising above the whir of the ceiling fan.
Words flew like knives. I didn’t hold back either.
Then he stormed out, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled. Said he was going down to the coffee shop for a drink, said he couldn’t stand the sight of me.
I let him go. I even felt relief for a while. The silence after the door clicked shut was almost sweet, like a wound that finally stopped throbbing. I thought maybe he’d come back drunk, maybe he wouldn’t come back at all.
Both felt like blessings honestly.
A few hours later, I didn’t expect the knock at the door. James had brought his keys
At first it was soft, polite even. Then firmer, louder, like a fist that wasn’t asking but demanding. I wiped my hands on a towel, annoyed, thinking James had forgotten his keys again. But when I opened the door, three men stood outside.
They weren’t strangers. I had seen them before, lounging in my living room, clinking cans with James, their laughter spilling into the corridor. But tonight, they weren’t laughing.
Their faces were tight, eyes hard, mouths set.
Seng : Yo Juliette…James around?
Juliette : He’s not here.
They exchanged looks. The tallest of them leaned closer, his breath carrying the bitter smell of alcohol.
Beng : He owe us money. Not small sum, you know. Since he not around, maybe you can help cover first.
Help cover first. That came with a full stop, not a question mark.
Something inside me broke then.
The world I had been balancing suddenly tilted.
My chest tightened. I felt the weight of it pressing down, heavier than anything I’d carried before. James hadn’t just been lazy. He hadn’t just been careless. He had dragged me into something darker, something I wasn’t prepared for.
And in that moment, standing barefoot at the doorway of our cramped flat in Toa Payoh, with three men blocking the corridor light, I realised things are probably going to get a lot worse before it gets better.
Coming soon