Текст книги "Naked"

Автор книги: Stacey Trombley

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

He laughs. “Oh, I will. You’ve been a bad girl, Exquisite. But don’t worry.” He glances back to the school. “They’ll all know your real name soon enough.”

“What?” I ask.

“Unless you’d prefer to keep it between us.” He grins. “But you have to stop running from the truth. It’s who you are. No more pretending.”

I shake my head. “It’s not who I am anymore.”

He laughs, like I’m a little child, then lunges at me.

I spin away, but he’s too fast. His body slams into mine, and we both fall to the ground. Pain ricochets up my arm and head, making me dizzy, but I manage a scream. Not just a yell, but an animalistic scream that I swear should shatter the glass of the school. It doesn’t.

My scream does nothing.

No one is coming.

He grabs my arms and pins them against the ground. Pins me.

“You can run from the cops,” he says breathlessly. “You can run from your pimp, but you can’t run from me.”

“No!” I cry out. I can’t go with him, I won’t. I’d rather die now.

I claw at his face, tearing at anything I can get my nails into. Warm blood drips onto my face, but he doesn’t stop pulling at my dress, doesn’t even scream or groan.

Is this part of what he likes? Causing me pain? Forcing me to do what he wants?

Then I see the lights, hear the siren. I don’t know how cops could be here so fast. How they could know I need help. A spotlight shines from the car and onto us. The janitor pauses. Through the bright light, a cop comes toward us.

Will they understand what happened? Or will it be like always? Will they blame me? Tell me I was asking for it?

The janitor’s grip on my arm weakens a little as he looks up, surprised, and I manage to rip my arm free and push the base of my palm up to his nose. I hear a crack, a scream, and his blood splashes onto my arm. I spin away, but he grabs me.

“You tell them nothing. I have more. More I can tell them.”

The cop comes to a stop in front of us. His face is obscured by the bright light.

“Step away from the girl.”

I know that voice. He speaks with such confidence, such certainty, that a pulse of strength rushes through me.

“Officer, we were just—”

The figure doesn’t let him finish. He punches the john in the face, which gives me a free moment, and I’m able to get away from him and stand beside my hero.

He’s not a cop. It’s Jackson.

“Get the hell out of here,” he says.

He must have brought his father’s cop car close and turned the siren on when he saw what was happening to me.

I take a few steps back, but I don’t want to leave Jackson with the janitor.

The janitor chuckles as he realizes Jackson’s real identity. “How cute, your boyfriend came to the rescue. Even after I told him the truth.”

“Jackson, let’s run. We can get away,” I whisper, hoping he’ll listen.

“No, I’m not letting him get away.”

“Don’t be stupid, boy.” The janitor stands tall. “You can’t compete with me.”

He steps forward, and I know he’s too big, too strong. I’m scared. Scared that he’ll hurt Jackson. Scared he’ll force me to admit to Jackson more than a hint of the truth. Scared that Jackson won’t win this fight.

The janitor lunges at Jackson, and I yell, a desperate scream.

What do I do? Run for help? Join Jackson and fight the janitor?

Jackson takes a hit across his jaw, but he bounces back and tackles the janitor to the ground. They roll over each other, and then the janitor is on top of Jackson and raising his fist—

Someone reaches down and pulls the janitor off Jackson with more power and anger than I’ve ever seen, even from pimps. It’s a man in a blue uniform. And not just any cop. It’s Jackson’s father.

“Get off my son!” He flings the janitor off Jackson, then pins him to the ground.

There are more red and blue lights, more cars, more men in uniforms. Everything happens so fast. Three men struggle with the janitor, and another rushes to help Jackson, who’s bleeding from his lip but seems fine.

Then there’s a crowd, kids from the dance filing out into the parking lot to watch the excitement.

“We had a deal, Exquisite! You owe me!” the janitor yells as he’s wrestled and cuffed.

Two officers pull him toward a cop car.

Another to the side says, “You have the right to remain silent—”

“She’s a whore!” the janitor yells. “I was just getting what I paid for!” He starts laughing as the cops shut the door on him.

I shiver and then collapse onto the ground, unable to stop the tears as they drift down my cheeks.

The police eventually come over to me, give me a blanket and ask if I’m okay, who they should call for me.

“My mom,” I manage to squeak out.

Alex, Jen, and Marissa are the only faces I recognize in the crowd around me. I thought I understood them, but I can’t read their expressions. After everything we went through together… Shit, was that just a little bit ago? I’d love to think my past doesn’t make them hate me.

All I know is that everyone now sees me for who I really am.

I don’t expect them to understand. How could they?

Jackson stands beside me the entire time, and I can’t even thank him for what he did, because I can barely keep up with the police questions. I’m not sure even I understand what I tell the police, but Jackson helps me to explain as much as he knows, and I guess what I say about the janitor makes enough sense, because finally they tell me it’s okay. We’re done for now. We can talk more later.

Jackson’s dad doesn’t seem too happy. His face is like cold stone, and then he rushes toward Jackson, and I almost leap forward to come between them, tell his father that it’s not his fault. I can’t stand him getting into trouble because of me.

But I find myself staring, surprised when Jackson’s father wraps his arms around his son.

Finally, my parents come to pick me up and take me home. I wonder if they’ll ever let me out of the house again after this. Guess I wouldn’t mind if they didn’t.

When we drive out of the school parking lot, there’s still a crowd of about a hundred people, some parents, but mostly kids still in their homecoming finest. I see them whispering, some of them sad, some shocked, some excited, probably that they got to see something so dramatic in real life or that they’ll have the best drama to talk about in school on Monday.

I can only imagine what they’ll say. I don’t know how much the witnesses heard, but I know it was too much, and soon the cops will know the full truth. Soon, they’ll all hate me.

It’s my fault for coming back here.

It’s my fault for thinking I deserved a second chance.

Chapter Thirty-Three

When I finally make it home, my mom’s worried gaze bores into me. My father shakes his head like he always knew I would end up in trouble. Like it was inevitable. It always is when I’m involved.

They talked to the cops, but they don’t know the full truth. They know a man attacked me in the school parking lot after homecoming. They know Jackson tried to save me. They know the cops now have the man in custody.

But they don’t know that this man wasn’t just a creepy janitor. They don’t know that I’ve slept with him before in New York and that he paid me. They don’t know that’s what he wanted from me now.

And it’s probably best that I’m the one to tell them. I’ve lost every bit of power I thought I had. At least this way, I’m asking for whatever punishment I get.

I won’t hesitate. I’ll tell them before we even go inside.

But as soon as I’m out of the car, my mother wraps me in her arms and holds me all the way into the house. My father glances at us, his anger palpable, but my mother doesn’t seem to care right now whether he’s angry.

I want to stop her. I need to tell her what happened. She deserves the truth. But her arms around me turn me into a sobbing mess.

She helps me to my bedroom, like I can’t walk or something. She does know I’m not injured, right? The blood on my arm is from the janitor. It’s not mine.

“Lie down,” she says. “Rest.”

“Wait,” I manage to say. “Mom. There’s something I need to tell you, about tonight, about that man…”

She shakes her head and shushes me. “It doesn’t matter, not right now. He’s in custody, you’re safe, and you need to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

I swallow and let her tuck me in like I’m five years old, and then I let my body collapse in exhaustion.

As I’m falling asleep, I hear my parents whisper-arguing about letting the dog in to sleep next to me. Apparently my mother wins, because a few minutes later Zara is licking my face and trying to jump up on the bed with me.

She ends up jumping up by my feet, and I scoot to make enough room for her. She lays her head against my thigh, and that’s the last thing I remember until morning.

When I finally wake up, I sneak down the hall to find my mother. She’s rolling some dough behind the counter but looks up and smiles when she sees me. I don’t know where my dad is, but it’s better this way. I’ll tell her first. And maybe then, when I tell him, it won’t be so bad.

“Hi, sweetheart, how are you feeling?”

I attempt a smile. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She nods and puts down the roller, then wipes her hands on the towel by the sink. “What do you need to tell me?”

“It’s about last night. About that man.”

I need it to be me that she hears it from first.

“Okay, sweetie,” she says, sitting down beside me, brushing my messy hair down calmingly.

“He wasn’t just the janitor. He…he was one of the men from New York.”

She pauses, and I can feel her entire body tense up. “You mean…”

I nod, tears rushing to my eyes.

She takes her arm from around me and presses it to her mouth. Her eyes squeeze shut and push a few tears down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper, but she doesn’t respond. Maybe it’s the first time that she realizes that I’ll never be normal, not really. Because the horrible things in my past will never really go away. There will always be something coming back to slap me back to reality.

I’m a whore. That’s all I’ll ever be, no matter how hard I try to pretend—

Someone grabs me violently by the arm and whips me around. I face my father, terror rising in my throat.

“What did you just say?”

“Daddy?” I manage to get out through a sob.

“Martin!” my mom yells.

“You’re telling me you brought one of those men back with you?”

“No…” I murmur, but there’s no denying it.

My mother rushes forward. Zara barks and growls from the hall, and my father shoves me from him. I nearly fall into the corner of the wall.

“Martin, stop!” my mother yells again.

He pauses for only a moment, as though shocked that she said anything. “Don’t you realize what she’s done? I warned her what would happen. I warned both of you.”

Zara’s barking continues as he approaches me. As he unbuckles his belt.

I wince, already preparing for the blow.

He curls the end of the belt around his hand. “You brought this on yourself.”

He raises the belt—

My mother screams and charges into him. She’s not nearly strong enough to overpower him, but he’s taken off guard, and he falls into the wall.

“Don’t you touch her,” my mother says just before he slams her into the wall and they both fall to the ground. He presses her down by her upper arms and pauses, looking at his wife openmouthed. He definitely didn’t expect his obedient wife to fight back, like ever. He pulls back after a second and grabs the belt, tightening the end of the belt around his hand. “You brought this on yourself.”

It happens so fast that I can’t stop him, can’t step in for her the way she did for me. The belt whips through the air and lands on my mother’s forearm—which covers her face just in time—with a sickening crunch. Zara jumps forward, snarling and snapping at his feet. He kicks her away. I scream and throw all my weight into my father. Before I even know it, he slams me into the wall, and my head hits with a bang and a flash of white-hot pain.

Zara barks again and leaps at him. Her big jaws just barely miss his forearm as he twists out of the way. She stops and stands between me and my red-faced father. She barks at him, threatening him to try again.

“Down, Czar!” he commands, but Zara doesn’t even flinch. Her bark turns to a snarl, and my father clenches his fist.

Then the doorbell rings.

Everything freezes.

My father pauses and looks to the door. My mother is still on the ground, tears in her eyes.

“Nora, get the door.”

She wipes her face, then nods and pulls herself up to answer the door. She doesn’t bother fixing her hair, and I wonder if that’s on purpose. Zara licks my hand to see if I’m okay, her eyes still studying my father. I pet her head. She proved herself today.

“Hi. Are you Mrs. Rodriguez?” I hear a deep voice ask. “I just came by to see if Anna’s doing okay.”

There’s a pause at the door, and my father and I look at each other. He waves his finger over his mouth, a gesture to stay quiet.

I wait for my mother to assure them everything is fine, but we can’t take visitors.

This is just a temporary pause before I get my punishment.

I used to think it was punishment for being me. But now I see the rage in him. The desperate desire for control he’ll never have. I couldn’t control whether the janitor came for me. I couldn’t control whether Luis wanted to sell me. And I can’t control whether my dad wants to hit me.

“Not a word,” my father whispers to me.

He stands to the side of the room, out of sight of Jackson’s dad but close enough to hear whatever my mom says.

“Anna’s…” Her voice trembles. She looks over and sees my dad, who wags his finger, and she gives a quick intake of breath. “She’s not really up for a visit right now.”

“Mrs. Rodriguez, is everything okay?”

She nods quickly. Too quickly, it seems to me, and Jackson’s father must see it, too. He glances down, takes in my mother’s full appearance. And that’s when he notices the still-fresh mark on her arm from my father’s belt.

“Mrs. Rodriguez, if there’s anything wrong, all you have to do is ask me to come inside.”

My mom looks at my father, and I think it will be like always. But then she looks at me, and her face hardens.

“Please come inside,” she says. “My husband is—”

My father registers the betrayal she’s about to commit and grabs her by the arm. “You bitch,” he says, pulling her inside—

Jackson’s father moves like lightning. He grabs my father, removes him from my mom, and pins him against the wall.

“You do realize I can arrest you for domestic violence, right?” he yells at my father.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” My father’s yells are muffled by the wall.

Is Jackson’s father always like this? That quick to act? Or had he already suspected my father was abusive? Maybe all this time I thought we were so good at hiding who we really were, but the truth was obvious to everyone but us.

“Nora, do you want me to take him?” he asks.

She swallows and looks at me. Then she turns back and nods.

We watch as my father is cuffed and thrown into the back of Jackson’s father’s cop car. I’m not sure what to think about this. Does my father deserve to be arrested? I don’t know.

As soon as the cop car is out of sight, I say, “Dad was right. It was my fault.”

My mother turns and looks me in the eyes for a second. Then she wraps her arms around me again and squeezes me tighter than I’ve ever been hugged. I hug her back, even though I’m not really sure what it means.

She pulls away, not to retreat but to put her hands around my face. “Don’t you ever say that again. You didn’t ask for this.” Her lips quiver. “You only wanted to be loved.” She pulls me back into her arms. “I’m sorry, Anna. I should have been there for you sooner.” Her voice falls apart, a quaking mess, and she sobs into my shoulder. “I should have done something. I should have…” She pauses, then simply says, “I love you.” She presses her mouth into my hair and whispers it over and over again.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

And for the first time, I believe her.

My memories of New York will always be there, and they might always be stronger. But today, I sleep better than I ever have. My brain is on overload, shutting down to protect itself—it’s about time.

A couple of times, my mom knocks on the door to let me know someone called for me. First Jackson, just to let me know he hopes I’m okay. Then Marissa, Alex, and Jen.

Oh, crap. I hope they’re okay. I hope the plan went okay. I hope Marissa is free of Brandon. I hope Jen no longer feels afraid.

I hope they’re all okay, even if I won’t ever be.

I don’t wake up in time for school the next day, but again, my mother says nothing. She just lets me sleep.

I put Zara outside, because I’m pretty sure I’d be torturing her if I didn’t get her to the bathroom, then I head back to my room.

I’m not sure how much longer I’ll stay like this, avoiding everyone. A few times, my mom lets me know my friends called to check on me, but I’m not ready to talk to them. I’m not ready to face their reactions to the truth.

The next day, the phone rings around noon, and my mother answers close enough to my bedroom door that I can hear her talking.

“She’s fine. She’s in her room.”

My first thought is of Jackson, but he’d be at school now.

Then there’s a light knock.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” I say, even though I’m not sure that’s true.

“It’s Sarah.”

I open my mouth to yell something back, but that’s not what I expected to hear, so I answer the door. “Sarah?”

Why do I feel like it’s been years since I’ve seen her? It’s only been a few weeks.

My mother hands me the phone.

“Hello?”

“Anna!” She sounds tired but happy it’s me. “I heard about what happened. Are you all right?”

“I’ll live. I always do.”

“I’m on my way there if you’re up for a visit. We’re going to have a long talk. It’s been too long. I should be there in less than an hour.”

“Oh,” I say awkwardly. “You’re already on your way?”

“Yup.”

“Okay,” I say, secretly happy she’ll be here. As much as shutting myself off from the rest of the world is effective, I’m lonely and bored and starving. And at least I know Sarah doesn’t hate me for the truth.

“Are you hungry? Would you like to get dinner when I get there so we can talk? Or is your mother cooking?”

“Um, I don’t think so. Dinner would be okay, I guess.” I don’t tell her that I haven’t eaten in days, practically.

“Good, be ready in about forty-five minutes.”

My mother is very tense when I hand the phone back to her. There’s more than one thick line on her forehead.

“Sarah’s coming. She’s going to take me to dinner. That okay?”

“Oh.” She straightens. “Do you want to go?”

The question knocks me for a loop. What do I want? The very idea feels weird.

“Yeah. It would be nice to see her.”

“Then you should go. Maybe she can help you talk about some of these things.” She looks away, then turns back and quickly adds, “If that’s what you want.”

I go back to my room and search through my clothes for something to wear. Is it better to wear something Sarah bought me or some of my new things? I go for a happy medium, one of the tops my mom bought with a sweater Sarah bought over it.

Then I stand in the kitchen for a moment, trying to think of something else to do while waiting for Sarah.

I do want to talk to her. I need to. But what will I say? She’s been okay with the truth so far, but there are some things not even she knows about.

Finally the doorbell rings.

My mother answers the door, and I notice she’s put on fresh makeup. She looks much better now than she did when the call came. In fact, she looks better than she ever has. I don’t know when my dad’s coming back, but maybe that doesn’t matter. Today, Mom seems truly alive.

Sarah and my mother exchange a polite greeting, then Sarah asks me if I’m ready. I nod and walk out with her, sending a smile to my mother as we leave.

The car ride is silent except for when Sarah asks me what I want to eat. The rest of the ride, I just watch the houses as they fly by. We end up going to Friendly’s, which is a cheesy little restaurant. It’s the place you take your little brats after soccer games, but it’s good food, so whatever.

When we sit down, we don’t start talking immediately. She orders some coffee, and I get a Coke. Then, once our drinks arrive, she starts asking me questions. Lots of questions. They start off small, simple.

“How has everything been?”

“What’s your favorite subject in school?”

“I see you got a new top.”

But when they don’t get much out of me, she goes straight to the real things I knew she’d want to talk about.

“Your mother mentioned your father’s not home right now.”

I look at the table. “Is that all she said?”

“She said he has some problems. And the police had to get involved.”

“Is that what she said? That they’re his problems?”

She shrugs. “Yeah.”

“What did you tell her? You’ve always got something to say.” I know how harsh I sound, and I want to say I’m sorry, but she doesn’t seem to take offense.

“I told her if she wants some help, I can put her in contact with a therapist. Someone to help her. You. Your whole family, if that’s what all of you want.”

“Great,” I say. “More talking.”

“What about you? How do you feel about him leaving?”

“I’m glad he’s gone.”

“Because of what happened after homecoming?”

“You know about that, huh?” I say, looking down at my sandwich. I guess I knew she would. That’s why she came, right? That why I wanted her to come. It’s just that now, I sorta wish we could skip that part of the conversation.

She nods, a sign for me to continue.

“Yes, I went to homecoming and had fun, up until the part when the janitor attacked me, and now everyone thinks I’m still a whore, and he came after me because I was asking for it, or something.”

I can see the concern on Sarah’s face, but she stays calm. “But you didn’t. “

It’s not a question, exactly, but she’s clearly asking me to defend myself. Like she knows the answer, but she needs to hear me say it.

I swallow. “No. I didn’t.”

“The police have looked into his history. He’s got a background of violent behavior, but nothing that indicated why he would risk coming after you where he works. It’s unusual. Most of the time, pedophiles who actively abuse children have a history. Prior offenses. But he flew under the radar. To think that he was a janitor at a high school the entire time…”

It’s now or never. “He wasn’t just the janitor,” I say.

She puts her hands around her coffee cup, like she’s suddenly cold and needs to absorb its warmth. “Who was he?”

“He used to see me in New York. He used to…you know. That’s why my dad was so angry. It’s like I brought him back with me.”

Sarah’s gaze doesn’t break, but she bites her lip awkwardly, thinking.

“How did you feel about seeing him here?” she eventually asks me.

“What do you mean, ‘How did I feel?’ He attacked me. What don’t people get about this? They think I asked for that? That I asked for all of this?”

I know she doesn’t mean any of that, but the words are out of me before I can stop them. Because people do blame me. Or they will. As soon as they know the truth.

“Some people might think it’s your fault,” Sarah says calmly. “I don’t. But I need to make sure I understand it completely. I can’t keep you safe until I know if this man was a friend or someone you might want to protect.”

“Protect? He’s disgusting. I’d lock the key myself if I could.”

She reaches over the table and rests her hand on top of mine. “Actually, you can. If you really mean it.”

“What?”

“If he was one of the men who paid Luis to sleep with you, your testimony can put him in jail.”

I look up. “What about Luis? Won’t they use my testimony against him, too?”

She takes a deep breath. “The way the system works is they need evidence to put people in prison. There’s a chance they’ll both go free without your testimony.”

My hands start to shake. “Both of them? Even the janitor?”

She holds on tighter to my hand. “Even the janitor.”

“But he came after me at school. Everyone saw it.” For better or worse.

“Yes. They saw him come after you. But that doesn’t prove that he was going to rape you. And it doesn’t prove that he ever did before.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s the same for Luis. We’ve found that we don’t have any proof that he’s solicited sex for you, that he was your pimp. He’s saying that the men you slept with, well, it was all your choice.”

I look back and forth. It’s like I’m pressed against a wall, nowhere to go. My choice? He’s saying it was my choice for all of those men? All of the johns. Including the janitor.

I had to sleep with those men. We needed the money. But I didn’t ask for the janitor to become obsessed with me. I didn’t ask for him to come after me now.

How am I supposed to explain that to anyone? They’ll tell me I asked for it. If I didn’t want him to come after me, I never should have said yes. Not even once.

Luis knew that. When he saw what happened, how the janitor beat me up, he threw the janitor out and told him to never come back. Doesn’t that count for something?

“Can’t someone else testify against him?” I whisper.

“If you won’t testify, they’ll probably ask the janitor to. They’ll offer him a deal. Admit his guilt, but get reduced time in jail for coming out against Luis and telling everyone what happened to you.”

“So what does this mean? That I’ll get in trouble?”

“No, no. You’ve done nothing wrong. You were—and are still—under eighteen and under the age of consent in New York. The trouble is, or should be, all on the men who’ve had any sexual contact with you. It’s just that we can’t give them justice without a little help.”

The waitress comes back now to see if we want to order some food, and I use the time to let what Sarah’s asking settle over me.

She wants me to testify against Luis.

My heart is pounding; my eyes are wide. I don’t know what to do, what to say.

Sarah asks the waitress to give us some time alone. When the waitress is gone, Sarah turns back to me.

“Anna, listen.”

I stand up and look at her. I like Sarah, a lot. But I love Luis, or I did, I don’t know. He hurt me when he threw me out. But that doesn’t erase everything he did to take care of me. He was good at first. He cared at first. Surely everything that came later doesn’t erase how we were at the beginning.

I can feel the tears welling in my eyes.

She grabs my arm softly, which makes me feel like it’s defeating the purpose. “No one is going to make you do anything, I promise.”

She lets go of my arm, but I don’t move. Finally I sit back down, but I’m still breathing heavily. Nothing about this is okay.

“It doesn’t sound like you have a problem putting the janitor in jail,” she says.

“He deserves it,” I say.

“Okay. Why is Luis so different?”

I open my mouth to speak, but I close it. Now I’m afraid of what I’ll say. If I say the wrong thing, they’ll use it against me. Against him. He’ll go to jail.

The only way to make her understand is to tell her the truth. Even if she’ll find it impossible to believe.

“Luis was my boyfriend, not my pimp.”

“But he sold you to other men, made you do…”

“No! He never made me do anything.”

“But he pushed you.”

“Please,” I say, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. “Stop, I can’t do this.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she says in a whisper. “I don’t mean… I’m not trying to hound you, or question you. I just want to understand, Anna. The way I see it, he used you. You were just a child. I wish you could see that.”

I shake my head. That was always the problem—everyone saw me as just a child. Luis was the only one who treated me the way I wanted to be treated.

“I’m going to ask you one last thing, Anna, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

When I don’t speak she takes it as consent. “Did you want to sleep with those men?”

My heart drops. No. I want to yell it, scream it. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!

But I don’t. I can’t.

I get up and walk out into the parking lot alone.