Текст книги "Obscured"

Автор книги: Tara Sue Me

Соавторы: Cat Waters
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Chapter Nine

It’s early morning by the time Theo finally rolls over and goes to sleep, but I’m not tired. There’s not a part of me that isn’t aching, yet it isn’t pain that keeps me awake. It’s the realization deep within my soul that if I don’t leave, Mike will kill me one day.

When I was new in the business, I thought the danger would come from one of the men he set me up with. After all, you never fully know the danger that might reside in a person. Now, with years behind me, I believe I have the ability to read people.

Police officers worry about people shooting them. Firefighters might get caught in an uncontrollable fire. Hell, from what I've read, even CEOs have dangerous jobs; a good number of them die from coronary disease. How many prostitutes die on the job? I bet no one has ever run those stats.

Because who would miss a whore?

I stare up at the ceiling, and not only do I hate my life, I hate myself.

So now what? I ask myself. Are you going to just keep on doing what Mike wants you to do, or are you going to make something happen? Take control of your life?

It’s fear that keeps people where they are. Even if things are bad, at least they’re familiar. I keep staring at the ceiling, and it finally hits me that if Mike’s going to kill me anyway, I might as well die trying to get away. Beats putting up with men like Theo every day and night of my life until Mike decides I’m not even good for that anymore.

It’s a morbid thought, but it’s what makes me creep out of bed and pull on a pair of jeans and T-shirt. I don’t take anything else. If everything goes as planned, I won’t need my things anyway, and if it ends badly... well, it won’t matter.

I don’t even take the room passkey with me. I tell myself there’s no going back. I know exactly where I’m headed and what I’ll find.

For the first time in ten years, I start to feel alive. Excitement pounds through my body, and I feel so light I swear I float down the elevator and toward the main entrance. No one even looks twice at me. Before I exit, I stop below one of the numerous video cameras and flip it the bird. “Fuck you, Mike,” I mouth.

The temptation to run is strong, but I walk slowly to my destination. Behind the hotel, a small building lent itself to storage. I have in my possession a key, thanks to one of the security guys.

The truth is, I’d stolen it from him. But seriously, even if you list out all my vast number of sins, I doubt that one would even make the top twenty.

While Mike never paid us anywhere near what he said he would, he did on occasion pass us cash. And cash adds up over ten years. I don’t use a bank because one of the girls did that and her account was mysteriously emptied. Likewise, Mike would find it if I kept it in my apartment, after all, the place is technically his. As I let myself into the building, I try to calculate how much money I’ve saved. My best guess is ten thousand. Nothing to sneeze at, surely, but a sad, sad amount when you think long and hard about it. Was I truly only worth a thousand dollars a year?

The metal door closes behind me with a clang, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the low light. There’s a small flashlight that I hid on a previous visit behind some boxes and I smile as my fingers wrap around it.  The faint light trembles as I aim the flashlight to the row of crates along the back wall. Ten thousand dollars isn’t a fortune, but it’s enough for a plane ticket out of Vegas and rent money for a short while.

I tentatively push aside the crate in the far right corner, and the entire time my mind spins with all the places I can go. Not the South. Maybe someplace completely different, like Indiana.  I can start over in Indiana, maybe work on my GED, get a job at a clothing store, a grocery store, a bookstore! My heart pounds as I imagine my new life.

With the crate out of my way, I wiggle the loose wooden wall panel.  Will I settle in a big city, like Indianapolis, or go somewhere smaller? I can’t decide. Maybe I’ll rent a car once I land and check out  a few places.

Hi, my name is Athena and I’m from Indiana.

I like the way it sounds in my head, and I giggle at the possibilities.

There’s a hole a rodent made years ago behind the loose panel, I reach into it, feeling around, but my fingers only brush empty air. I frown and shift my weight.  Wiggle my fingers deeper.

Nothing.

Oh, no.

The flashlight falls from my hands and I struggle to fit both hands into my hiding spot.  It has to be there.  It just has to be. Ten thousand dollars doesn’t just disappear.

“Be there. Be there. Be there.”

I rip the panel off and try to pry up the floorboard. Maybe it somehow got buried.  Mentally, I calculate how long it’s been since I’ve added money to my nest egg.  Three weeks ago. No longer than four.

My fingers finally settle on a piece of paper. Heart beating wildly, I jerk it out, grab the flashlight, and read.

Do you think I’m stupid, Athena?

“No.” The paper slips from my hands. “No, no, no, no, no.”

I drop to the ground, choking back tears I know are going to fall anyway. Who would take my money? Who even knew where it was? The security guy I lifted the key from, Mike, or Harris?

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Gone is gone, no matter whose hands it went through to get that way.  My fingers scratch uselessly at the dusty floor, and hot tears stream down my face. Indiana will never happen. There will be no bookstore, no rental car. There is here and me and the men. I’ll never leave.

“I don’t want to be here,” I half whisper, half choke. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know it’d be forever.”

I’m not sure how long I sit there. By the time I finally emerge from the dark storeroom, there is a hint of the coming dawn teasing the horizon. There are people around, but no one seems to notice me, though I know I’m a sight with the puffy, red eyes.

I don’t know where to go. I can’t go back to the hotel. I can’t even go back to my apartment. So I walk. And walk. With my head down, I can be anyone, going anywhere.

I wish I could walk forever. If I had my ten thousand dollars I would. But thoughts of my lost money bring the tears, and I sniffle, trying in vain to hold them back.

I look up to make sure I’m alone and unnoticed and find I’ve walked further than I thought. The hotel stands miles behind me, and tourist traffic has dwindled down to almost nothing. I take stock of my surroundings and head to a nearby public park.

I tell myself I’ll just sit and think for a bit. Try to decide what to do while not thinking about how I lost ten thousand dollars overnight. But, of course, that isn’t going to happen.

“It’s Vegas, right?” I ask out loud.“Happens all the time. Probably a lot more than ten thousand.”

I laugh, but it’s not a happy sound that comes out of my mouth Matter-of-fact, it scares away the flock of pigeons who boldly approached to see if I had food.

“Sorry,” I say, as they flitter away. “I didn’t have anything anyway. Can’t afford it.”

How is it possible one person can make so many mistakes?  I catalogue them: leaving for Vegas in the first place, trusting Mike, thinking my money was safer in the storage building and not my apartment. I sigh. No one’s doing but my own. Make your bed and you have to sleep in it and all that jazz.

“Not that I do much sleeping,” I mumble to myself.

“Talking to yourself?” a soft southern accented voice asks from behind me. “I’ve heard it’s only dangerous if you answer.”

I jump off the bench and spin around.

Isaiah stands behind the bench, hands in his pockets and his signature smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Instead of answering, he comes around the bench, lifts an eyebrow and, at my nod, sits down. “I found this park a few weeks ago. It’s not far from my condo.  I like to come here early in the morning when it’s just me.”

“Sorry I interrupted your private time.”

“There’s no reason to apologize. What brings you out this early?”

He saw me at dinner with Theo, and Isaiah is smart man. He already knows what I am and what I do.

“I’ve had a bad day.”

He gives a low whistle. “And it’s only five in the morning. That’s really bad.”

He means it as a joke, but his words bring back just how alone and destitute I am. I’m not able to stop the sob that rips through my throat.

I drop my head into my hands and give into the tears once more.  I curse myself for being such a crybaby, but that doesn’t stop the tears. I cry, not caring that Isaiah is there, not caring if he gets up and leaves. Somehow, the cry is restorative. As the sobs lessen, I’m aware of  a presence beside me. I sniffle and glance out of the corner of my eye. Isaiah. He hasn’t left.

“Better?” he asks.

I shrug.

“Here.” He hands me a cloth handkerchief. I take the soft piece of material and run my thumb along the monogrammed ISM. Isaiah Samuel Martin. I’m not sure what surprises me more: that Isaiah carries handkerchiefs or that he’s letting me use it.

I hold it back out to him. “I’ll mess it up.”

“It’s just cloth, Athena. Wipe your eyes, blow your nose if you want. You’ll feel better.”

I dab my eyes, just using a corner of the cloth.

“For goodness’ sake.”  He snatches the handkerchief from me with one hand, holds my face with the other, and proceeds to wipe my face himself. All the time under his breath, he’s mumbling. I hear something along the lines of ‘stubborn woman’ and ‘piece of cloth’.

His hands are soft and gentle against my skin. When he brushes the handkerchief under my eyes, I close them, relishing his warmth. His touch is so different from what I’m used to. His fingers make me think of comfort and affection and something else that causes my stomach to flip flop.

“There,” he whispers, and I open my eyes to find his face mere inches from mine.  His hand still cups my chin, and his thumb traces my cheekbone.

“Thank you,” I answer in my own whisper.

He swallows, glances at my lips, and drops his hands. “It was nothing.” He scoots away as far as possible.

I glance down at my hands, unable to meet his expression. I hate that he’s sorry he touched me. Even though we are alone in the park, it suddenly feels too stifling. I need to leave. To get away. Figure out what I’m going to do. I stand up.

He holds out hand. “Don’t leave. I moved away because I didn’t want you to think I was coming onto you.”

“I’d never think that.”

“Sit down and tell me why today’s so bad.”

I don’t want to tell him too much about Mike. I don’t know how close they are ,and I’m not stupid. I keep it simple. “I want out.”

He nods. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, it seems. I’ve managed to save some money over the years. Not a lot, but enough to get me out of here. I went to get it,” my voice drops, “it’s gone.”

“All of it?”

“All of it.” I reach into my pocket. “There was a note.”

He takes it from me and reads with a solemn expression. “Who would do this? How could anyone do this?”

“Real easy like.”

His eyebrows wrinkle up. “It has to be someone who’s watching you.”

“I have a few ideas, but it’s nothing I’m in a position to pursue.”

He sighs. “You should call the police.”

It sounds just like something a naïve know-it-all would say. “Did you miss the part about me not being in a position to pursue anything?”

“I guess I need you to explain it to me, because the way I see it, you’re the victim of a crime and it’s the police department’s job to help you.”

I glare at him, but can’t find it in my heart to be angry. I guess for some people, life really is that black and white. Too bad the rest of us have to live with all the different hues in between.

“Look,” I finally say when he continues to look at me with his hopeful expression. “I know you weren’t born yesterday, and that in your world life is full of this is right and this is wrong, but you have understand that most of us live somewhere in between the two. The police won’t listen to me. Even if they did, I have no way to prove that money was mine or even existed in the first place.”

He drums his fingers on his thigh, and I see his mind spinning with ideas, possibilities he could offer. “I could talk to Mike –”

“No!” I jump up. I tremble just thinking about him talking to Mike. Of what Mike would do after.

“Mike and I are close, and he’s powerful. He’ll help, I’m sure.” His expression looks decided. “I’ll just explain –”

“What part of no don’t you get?” So much for keeping Mike out of the conversation.“You don’t know how Mike is. What he’s capable of.”

“He’s a good man. He’s helping me.”

“He’s evil.”

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

I stomp over so I’m in front of him and place my hands on my hips. “You don’t believe me about Mike, and yet you think the police will believe someone stole ten grand from me?” I snort. “Yeah, I’m going to the police department. Right now. Know what? Forget I brought it up. I got myself into this, and I’ll deal with it.”

“I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.”

My breathing is deep and heavy. “I just thought if anyone would believe me, it’d be you.”

His eyes lock onto mine. “I believe you.”

I sit down beside him again, making sure not to touch him in the process. “I’m still out ten grand.”

Somehow, it feels better knowing he believes me. Granted, it doesn’t feel good enough to make up for losing all my money, but I don’t feel quite so alone. “I’m right back where I started.”

“No. You’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m worse off. Before, I had money.”

“Don’t you see?” he asks. “You’ve made an important decision. You decided to get out. To leave.”

“Lot of good that’s done, right? I can’t leave if I don’t have the means.”

“I don’t see why you can’t just walk out.”

“And go where?” I sigh. “It’ll take me another ten years to save that much money again. I don’t think I’ll last that long. And I tried to leave once before.”

He looks at me warily. “What happened?”

At the moment, I want nothing more than to soak in a hot, steamy bath. I feel so dirty. Truthfully, though, anything would better than sitting here talking about things I’d rather forget.

“I’d been in Vegas about a year and a half.” I close my eyes, picturing the one other time I’d gathered up the nerve to leave. “I had a pocket full of cash and thought I’d head back home, try to finish school. But as I waited for the bus, I knew I didn’t have enough money and that’d I’d be right back to selling myself.”

“What did you do?”

I shrugged. “When the bus left, I was still here. Choking on exhaust fumes and trying not to look at Mike’s self-satisfied expression when he walked outside to take me back.”

“You never tried to leave again?” Isaiah asks.

“I thought about it a time or two, but never acted on it.” I never told anyone so much about me, not even Vicki. Of course, I don’t share with him how Mike forced me to show my ‘gratitude’ when he took me back.

“After a while, it gets easier to stick with what you know. The way I saw it, I had a nice room, food, clothes.” A tear forces its way through my eyelids, even though I close them tight. “I just had. . .  I just had to give pieces of myself away, night after night after night.”

“Athena.” He scoots closer to me, reaches out his hand.

“Don’t touch me.”

“I’ll get you out,” he says in a low voice. “I will.”

“I’m not your problem.”

“I never called you a problem.”

I turn to face him fully. “But that’s what I am, aren’t I?” He’ll never admit it, but he doesn’t have to. I’m so tired of being seen a problem. I want to stand on my own, make my own choices, live my own life.

“You obviously need a place to stay. You can stay with me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the preacher bringing the hooker home will really make the neighbors pleased.”

“Fortunately, I don’t live my life trying to make my neighbors happy.”

I don’t even try to stop my sarcastic laugh. “And don’t forget what your congregation will say because I’m not sure what Jesus would do, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t involve Mary Magdalene, the Vegas Strip, and a condo.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

He doesn't see it. I have to be ridiculous. It’s the only thing keeping me from succumbing to another crying fit. Or maybe he does see it, because he doesn’t wait for me to reply but takes me by the elbow.

“Come on,” he says.

“Where are we going?” I try to yank my elbow away, but he’s stronger than he looks. His fingers have a grip on me, and he’s not letting go. You don’t get that strong from sitting around meditating your way through life and writing sermons.

“Home,” he says, and he loosens his grip a bit.

“I told you that’s a horrible, rotten idea.”

“And my other choice is what? To leave you here?”

Anyone else would. Anyone else would jump at the chance to leave me in the park. I don’t like the hope that sparks inside my chest. I tell myself he’s doing it because he’s a preacher and he has to. That he wouldn’t leave a dog alone in the park. But it does no good. The hope is there, and like I’d recently discovered, hope is a dangerous thing.

Chapter Ten

He doesn’t talk while we walk to his condo, which is fine with me. The silence allows me time to think. I wonder if Theo is awake and what he did when he saw I’d left. Does Mike know yet? Chills run up and down my arms at that thought, and I actually look over my shoulder, half expecting him to be there.

If I manage to stay out of his grasp, how long will I live looking over my shoulder? It’s a sobering thought, and, truthfully, one I didn’t think of when I decided to run.

But...

Am I’m really worth Mike’s time and effort to track down? He has money coming in from everywhere; I’m just a speck of dirt in his sandbox. I probably bring in pennies compared to his other sources of income. No, I don’t think financially I’m that much of a loss for Mike.

The cost to his pride is another issue altogether.

He may be willing to overlook my disappearance if he looks only at the money, but I’m willing to bet he won’t. He’s been in control of my life for ten years. He isn’t about to give that up. He’ll track me down to save face, and he won’t stop until he finds me.

Isaiah walks with confident steps away from the park, his hand still cupping my elbow. I’ve brought him into this mess with Mike, and now he isn't safe either.

He turns down a street I don’t recognize. How sad is it I know so very little about the city I’ve lived in for ten years? So many places I’ve never been: places I’m not welcome at or that I never have time to visit. There really is life beyond the Strip. Mike keeps us on such a short leash, probably because he knows if we saw everything, we’d never be content with him again.

Though I’m not sure content is the correct word.

It’s not too much longer before we reach a set of nondescript condos. They’re older and look a bit sad and rundown. The roofs need repair and paint is peeling in several places along the wooden trim. It’s definitely a lower-middle-class neighborhood. Most of the cars parked in the spaces are older models, and many have dings and scratches. But for me, the entire scene represents freedom and a new start.

“It’s not much, I know.” He fumbles in his pocket for keys.

“It’s perfect.”

An old lady walking a tiny dog turns the corner, and her eyes latch onto me at once. I groan. I’m wearing jeans and a tee, but I’m sure she knows exactly how I earn my living. After a few years, we all seem to take on a certain look or have a certain vibe. At least, that’s the way I feel. The dog barks and pulls at his leash as they get closer.

“Your neighbors are going to think you’re paying me by the hour.” I fidget in an effort not to pull at my shirt. I’m just an average woman, standing here doing average things.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but you look like you’ve been to hell and back. Highly doubtful anyone is going to think you’re leading me down the road to ruin.” He waves to the lady. “Hello. Beautiful weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

“It’s Nevada.” She pulls the dog to a stop, which only makes him bark more. “It’s hot.” Her hawk-like gaze travels up and down my outfit. Her nose wrinkles, and she turns to Isaiah. I guess the average vibe didn’t work. “I don't normally see you out when I walk.”

“I’m usually out by six-thirty,” he says with a smile, but it’s not the smile I’m used to seeing. It’s fake and doesn’t light up his face.

The three of us stand there. She’s not moving, and Isaiah isn’t opening his door, though he has found the keys.

“Beatrice Brightman.” She breaks the silence and holds out her free hand.

“Athena Hamilton.” I shake her her hand. “I’m an old friend.”

Her expression says she doubts that very much, but is far too polite to mention as much.

“Let’s get you situated,” Isaiah finally says and unlocks the door.

Beatrice’s mouth drops open, and I take the opportunity to get a word in. “Nice meeting you.” I glance down at the still-yapping dog. “And your dog.”

She huffs, but pulls the little monster along, continuing on her way.

Isaiah watches her with an amused expression. “Lovely lady.”

“You’re a pastor. You’re not supposed to lie.”

He laughs and opens the door, stepping aside to let me pass by him. It’s smaller than my place, filled with secondhand furniture, and someone on the floor above us is bouncing a basketball.

An old couch, probably slipcovered so often no one knows its original color, takes up most of the living room. I sit down; it’s comfortable, though. He settles beside me and the couch shifts slightly under his weight.

My gaze falls on the one picture he has out. It’s of his mom.

Isaiah's mother is descended from what we called Southern royalty.  She can trace her family tree through several Confederate officers and her great-great-something fought the British in the Revolutionary War. I remember her as stark, stiff, and never without a strand of pearls.

My family wasn't rich, but my father worked as a manager in her in-law's company, and that made us acceptable enough in her eyes. My mom spent a lot of time trying to measure up to Mrs. Martin's exacting standards of Southern Womanhood. She always wanted the frosting on the cupcakes to be just right and the cucumber sandwiches to be cut just so.

“How is Mrs. Martin these days?” I ask.

There’s a brief flash of surprise in his eyes, but it goes away when I nod to the picture.

“I haven’t talked to her since I moved here. She’s upset I decided to live in Sin City.” He checks his phone and types something in. “Said if I had to be a preacher, couldn’t I go somewhere worthwhile like the Congo?”

“She’d hate for you to go overseas.”

“Of course. But it’s more impressive to the Ladies Garden Club members if your son’s a potential martyr in the wilds of Africa than if he’s living the good life in Vegas.”

“Your mom’s sick.”

“I like to say she’s misguided.”

I shrug. “Same difference.”

He glances at his phone again. “I can’t convince you to go to the police? You honestly think they’re going to turn a blind eye?”

“No, I think they’d hold me, call Mike, and release me into his custody.”

He shakes head. “If you’d just —”

I slam my hand onto the couch arm. “How many times do I have to say it? He buys the police. I’m such an idiot. I worried the entire way over that I was putting you in danger by being here, but I get it. Mike could show up with his entire entourage and you’d think he was coming for dinner.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. No more Mike.”

“Thank you.”

“If you don’t mind a question, though, why did you stay so long?”

“I had nowhere to go. Still don’t really. I can’t live here forever. What am I going to do?”

He hesitates before reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t know, but we’ll think of something.”

“There’s one thing I’m good at. One thing I know how to do.”

“No.” His voice carries more force than I’ve heard before. “You’re not going back to that.”

“I’d say I’m not your problem, but I think we’ve had that conversation before.”

“You’re a fast learner.”

“So I’ve been told.”

His lips look soft, and I wonder how they’d taste. I’ve never wondered that in all the years and with all the men I’ve been with. Most of the time when I kiss a man, I taste alcohol. I bet Isaiah would taste like nothing I’ve ever had. Nothing I can even imagine.

He clears his throat.

I sit back. “Sorry.”

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair.

“You need to get that mess cut,” I say.

“I know. I need to find someone here to do it.”  He shakes his head. “Haven’t had it cut since I moved here.”

“I can do it.” The words come out before I have time to think about them.

“Really?” His eyes widen in surprise.

I wave absentmindedly. “Sure, I did some of the girls’ hair. Some of them said I did really good.” I squint my eyes and force my gaze on his hair. “I think I could trim yours without doing much damage.”

His lips uplift into a smile and I can’t decide if he’s trying to figure out how to let me down easy or trying to convince himself it’s okay for a hooker – ex-hooker, I correct myself – to cut his hair.

I study his hair. It’s so thick, I can only imagine how it would feel sliding between my fingers.

“Just a trim above your eyebrows.” I tilt my head. “A bit off around your ears. The neck though.” I reach without thinking and lightly brush where curls touch the nape of his neck. He jumps at the feel of my fingers. “Sorry.” I scoot away.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s just. . .”

“I know.” I feel bad. I didn’t meant to make him uncomfortable. “I forgot. I wasn’t thinking.” I want to keep the mood light so I add, “I think my own hair is in need of a cut.”

You can’t run from your past. I know that. Can’t escape it, either. Have to face it. Very well, I can accept that. But that doesn’t mean when I look at it, I have to recognize it.

“I see it as rearranging the future a bit.” I pull my fingers through my hair. “Besides, this way I’ll be less recognizable.”

He doesn’t appear sold on the idea, and I can’t imagine why not. By changing my hair, I’ll be taking a step in a new direction. A new me starts with a new look, right?

“Do you really think it’d be that easy?” he asks.

“What? Coloring my hair? Of course it’s that easy. You can buy hair color anywhere. The hard part’s deciding what color.” I dig my fingers into my messy waves and fluff them. “I’m thinking red or brunette. How about you?”

He gaze is fixed on the wall behind me.

“Isaiah?”

He slowly looks at me. “I wasn’t talking about the color.”

“Okay, fine. What were you talking about?”

“Do you honestly think anyone who knows you would be fooled by a change in hair color? Especially someone with a more intimate knowledge of you?”

“I highly doubt I’m that memorable,” I reply. “To most of them I was just a warm and willing body.”

His phone rings then, and he glances down at the display and frowns. “I have to take this. Make yourself at home.”

He walks into what I guess is the bedroom and closes the door, leaving me alone in the living room. I try to wait for him to get back, but my eyelids are so heavy, like all at once my body realizes how long it’s been awake, and it’s protesting staying that way. Was it only last night I had dinner with Theo? It seems as if it were days and days ago, not mere hours.

I yawn really wide. There’s no sound from the room Isaiah went into. I don't know if he's still on the phone, but I don’t want to bother him if he is. I’d like a blanket, but his condo is truly a bachelor pad, and there’s not one to be found. I draw the line at looking through his closets.

My eyes struggle to stay open as I toe off my shoes and curl into a ball on the couch. I’m asleep within seconds.

***

Isaiah wakes me gently sometime later.

“Athena?” He rubs my shoulder. “I hate to wake you, but I’m afraid if I don’t, you won’t sleep tonight.”

I groan, not ready to face whatever the rest of the day holds, but I sit up anyway. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

Wow, I slept longer than I thought I would. He’s standing in front of me, and I smile at him. “I don’t know if I said it already, but thank you. I know you didn’t have to take me in.”

“You’re welcome. Now you’ve said it, so you’re not allowed to thank me again.”

I stretch. It feels so good to wake up and not dread the coming hours. My entire body feels light and the more I think about, the more it seeps into my brain that I’ve really left. I don’t have the money to fly to Indiana and I may never work in a bookstore, but Mike doesn’t own me anymore. He no longer gets to dictate what I do. The realization stuns me.

For the first time in ten years, my life is mine.

“That’s an awfully big smile,” Isaiah says.

“I’m free.”

“You are.”

I sigh and lift my arms above my head in an even bigger stretch. “I’m free.” I like saying the word: free, free, free. My stomach growls.

He actually laughs this time.

“I’m also hungry,” I admit.

“I can help with that, too. It just so happens I went to the grocery store yesterday. What are you in the mood for?”

I think back to the last meal I ate. I only picked at my food during that fateful meal with Theo. Lunch before that maybe? “I don’t care,” I tell Isaiah. “Anything sounds good at this point.”

He crooks a finger at me and I follow him to the small kitchen. He opens the refrigerator and pulls out ham and cheese. Nodding to a cabinet he asks, “Can you get the bread? It’s on the bottom shelf.”

We pull out the necessary things to make sandwiches and it feels oddly domestic, but not in a weird way.

This is what my life would have been like if I’d made different choices.

Preparing a meal. Hanging out the kitchen. Making small talk about nothing at all.

You may not know what you’re missing if you’ve never experienced it, and now that I’m having a taste of normal, I want it more than anything.

I don’t talk much during lunch, my mind is still coming to terms with my new freedom. Trying to comprehend exactly what it means and I grow more and more excited with new realization.

People live like this. Everyday.

I wonder if they know how fortunate they are? Probably not, but I vow to never take it for granted. Not for an hour, a minute, or even a second. I promise to embrace every moment I have. To live.

“You’re quiet,” Isaiah says at one point.

“Just thinking.” But the old me wonders if there’s a hidden message in his statement. Does he want me to talk more? He’s been kind enough to take me into his house. I should probably try to carry on a conversation.