Every Shattered Thing (Come Alive) (26 page)

She walks out the door and I consider calling after her, causing a scene in the middle of the hospital.

Really - what can he do to me here?

But I remember the runaway status—and the fact that technically I am the one who is breaking the law. I grimace and glance at my clothes in the bag. Evidence.

“Um—did you happen to bring me any clothes?”

He blinks. "Do I look like I did? What—you try and get me arrested and now you want me to read your mind?”

I frown at his logic and shake my head.

“No...I just...don’t have anything to wear.”

“Guess you’re just gonna have to wear the robe out, then.”

“It’s 20 degrees outside.”

He cocks his hip and points his finger at me.

“You know what? You think you’re so high and mighty, with your...your friends who say they love you. Do they pay for your food? Huh? Do they make you feel pretty and loved and...and...keep a roof over your head? Do they? No. They don’t.” He takes of his jacket and throws it at me - the cigarette box stuffed in the pocket hitting my cheek.

“Wear that. It should cover your frame anyway. You look like a damn twelve year old. Why men want you is lost on me.”

I bite my tongue and move to get out of bed—my body screaming at me in protest. Now that I’ve rested and taken the time to process, my body is a lot more sore than I realized. I grimace and my dad notices.

“Stop acting like a baby.”

He reaches to grab my arm with his hand and pulls a little too hard. My legs, not ready for the pressure of my weight, crumple beneath me and I fall to the floor. Pain shoots from my bad knee and right thigh and tears start falling down my cheeks. My dad starts laughing.

“Oh this is just perfect. Go ahead. Play the fucking martyr. I’ll be waiting outside.”

He walks out of the door, muttering under his breath the whole way.

I’m not ready for this. Please. Somebody put me out of my misery. It would be so much easier
being dead.

My hands shake and I grasp for my new phone. I discreetly place it in my dad’s jacket pocket and force my body to work for me. I gingerly place my arms within the sleeves and I zip it up to hide my frame and for the first time, look in the mirror.

Shoulders slumped, hair matted, bruises everywhere, I really do look like a two-cent hooker who’s had her last trick. Dark circles surround my eyes and my cheeks sink against my face. I hear my dad talking in the hallway to the nurse and my eyes move to slits. I hate his voice. I look down at my hands, still shaking from the slight exertion. My eyes close and I imagine taking one of the scalpels and shoving it in his neck.

I take a deep breath and walk out the door, my father leaning against the wall.

“You finally ready?” He snorts. “You look horrible. Like someone ran you over with an 18

wheeler.”

I shoot daggers into his face with my eyes and smile. “Thanks. I appreciate the compliment. Can we check out now?”

“Someone already checked us out. And paid too.”

I pause before responding. “Really?”

He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “You think I don’t know who did it? You think I’m stupid? I know it was that damn couple you can’t seem to get away from.” He walks over to me and caresses my cheek. I jerk away and glare. He just smiles. “And that boy who was in your room? I’ll say it again. He steps foot on my property and I’ll shoot him. I have half a mind to go looking for him right now. Don’t test me. I own your worthless ass. This little stunt showed me I can’t let you out of my sight.”

“You can’t keep me in your sight forever. What about school? What about your work?”

The veins in his neck bulge at my questions.

“Already got it figured out. I talked to some friends for ideas. You know one of ‘em,
Marisol.”

Her name falls of his lips with a sneer. “I’m locking your bedroom door from the outside. You’ll be coming with me to work. I have a room in the back I can use for business during the day, maybe give some type of happy hour special or somethin’ to interested customers.”

I don’t even recognize him, the pure evil pouring from every inch of his skin. My heart sinks.

Rescue? Forget it. I can feel hope slipping from my grasp.

“You wouldn’t. You can’t take me out of school.”

“Oh sweetheart. I already did. Told your school you need a break for
psych-iatric reasons.
You just aren’t safe, you see. That’s all they really needed to know. No one wants a fire-cracker. Too risky.” He wipes the stray chew juice off his mouth and chuckles. “ It's okay though. You’ll be plenty busy. You have two appointments tomorrow.” He turns and starts walking down the hall towards the exit and I stare after him before hardening. It’s over. The dark tunnel beckons me, and my heart just can’t take any more fight.

I welcome the relief of giving into the despair and forget any promise of rescue or hope. Marisol was right. My life? It just doesn’t belong to me anymore. I follow my father out the double doors, away from the light and into the pitch black of night.

The metaphor wasn’t lost on me.

***

Every morning, I wake up in my own bed to my father grabbing my arms and shaking me.

“Wake up, slut. It’s time to work.” His words are the same. Short. To the point. Filled with hate and a gleam in his eye only described as monstrous. He’s not my father anymore—he’s my slave driver.

But just like his words are repetitive, so is my reaction. I crawl out of bed as best I can, closing my mind to the bruises and sharp pain radiating from my body.

One more day, Stephanie. Last for one more day.

My mantra has changed in the past week. I haven’t seen Jude, Emma or Kevin in five days. I still have the phone they gave me; it’s my lifeline. I thought I was talented during class, sneaking texts incognito with my hands in my purse and my eyes on my teacher. Whatever. That’s juvenile. I sneak texts to those who breathe life into me while others try to snuff it out.

Today is no different. Five minutes after he leaves me still in bed and groggy-eyed, he barrels into my room again, yelling at me to hurry. With minutes (and a fraction of my dad’s patience) to spare, I quietly walk out of my room and past his glare. I never speak. I have no words to say. We drive to his work—my work—in silence, my forehead pressed against the icy glass.

I miss my classes. I miss my teachers and friends and trying to fight the crowd of students in the hallway. I miss Mrs. Peabody and her eccentric way of letting me know she believes in me.

I miss Kevin. I feel my back pocket vibrate and risk a glance at my father to see if he noticed and roll my eyes at his oblivious nature. My head sinks against the glass again and I close my eyes.

Just five more minutes...

My dad slaps me out of my reverie.

“We’re almost there.”

I scowl at him and rub my sore cheek as we pull into his work. My blood runs cold at the sight of my prison—a dilapidated shed home to drug busts and rats. He pulls up next to it and shoots a glance around the road to make sure we have no curious bystanders. I see a fancy car parked to the side of the field, far enough away from the road so no one notices. It’s where my dad’s customers are instructed to park. There’s already an indention in the field from cars.

“This guy paid me almost a thousand dollars for you after watching that video I just posted on the website.” He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t disappoint.” Shoving me out the door, he guns the gas and hollers out the window. “I’ll be back later tonight!”

Just like every other day, I search for a half a second for a plan of escape. I close my eyes, allowing myself that brief fantasy of what it would feel like to have someone come rescue me.

I’m stuck in some room with a guy. He’s trying to talk to me and make himself feel better about
what’s he’s about to do. Just as he’s about to walk over to me the door bursts open, the sun shining
through and illuminating the dust and dirt and grime in the corners...

I’m cut short by a cough and I turn around. A man is standing haphazardly on the staircase leading up to the shed. My head drops and I nod for a couple seconds in self-realization.

Sighing, I push out my shoulders and lift my head to greet the customer. He’s older. Close to his forties, it looks like. Of course, his wedding ring glistens in the sun and I shake my head at the predictability.

If I had a dollar for every married man who started with the website and decided to make his way
down here to “meet” me....I just don’t understand.

I lose myself to the thoughts as he grabs my hand and leads me inside.

“I’ve waited so long to see you in person.”

I wince at the door shutting behind me—still a sound that makes me cringe. I play with the tips of my hair and look at my own personal nightmare.

My rescue won’t be coming any time soon.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The man leaves in less than thirty minutes, and I know I have a few moments to collect myself and use the restroom before another one shows. I wait until I hear the screech of his tires peel out of the gravel before I wrap the sheet around me and run to the bathroom to clean off his scent. After my shower I don’t even bother with make-up. Grabbing the cranberry pills, I pop two with as much water as possible.

Last thing I need is an infection. I walk over to the bed and collapse against the mattress. I glance at the clock on the wall and notice I have a few minutes of freedom. I pull out my phone to read the message I got on the way to work.

I scroll down and my heart jumps to see it’s from Kevin.

“morning, beautiful. u still comin 2mrrw?”

I stare at the message for a while before it registers. Tomorrow. I’m supposed to be going over to his house tomorrow.

Fuck. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving?!

My head pops up at the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires and I quickly type out a message letting him know I’ll try and think of something to get away before I see the shadow of a man walking up the stairs. Throwing my phone under the mattress, I turn in time to hear a nervous shuffle and the doorknob turn.

I cross my legs and close my eyes and focus on the task at hand.

Just make it through today, Stephanie. Just make it through today....

I lift my head and smirk.

“Another cop? Perfect. Welcome to the ring of brotherly misconduct. My name is Stephanie, but the men like to call me Violet—prevents them from having to attach me to an actual person.”

He looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

“Hi,” he mutters, his face white.

I stare at him and bite my lip. Something’s wrong. Something’s...different. He’s different.

Normally, men are clamoring to get to me on their lunch break, their one fling for the day before they return to their normally scheduled lives of families and jobs and contributions to the community. Him?

He’s...just sitting there. Bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. Hands in his pockets. Eyes anywhere but on me.

“Um...I’ve been uh...sent to...” He turns around and faces the other wall. The one opposite from where I’m sitting.

I sit there, staring.

“Um...”

He turns around, crying.

“I’m sorry. I’m...I was just sent here by Jude. I’m a lawyer in his firm and he was telling me your story...I didn’t believe him.” He rubs his hands over his face and looks at me from in between his fingers.

“What the hell is going on here?” He whispers. “You’re like...twelve.”

“I’m 17.”

“Oh.”

His voice is small. Defeated.

“So it’s true? You’re a...a prostitute? At 17?”

He sniffs and wipes his eyes on his sleeves.

“What the fuck is going on here? Where are your parents?”

I watch his face for a little while before answering. I guess I could trust him - he seems legitimately concerned. I turn around and make my way towards the bed, grabbing the sheet to wrap my self for his benefit, he’s obviously never seen a woman naked.

“What’s your name?”

“Chad.”

“And Jude sent you?”

“Yeah. He wanted to see how the system worked. He uh...reserved an hour with you under a pseudonym and told me the directions.”

My heart jumps. I finger the gold necklace he gave me that night a couple months ago while eating dinner with him and Emma.
We’ll always be here
he said when he gave it to me.

“I’m not sure how much Jude has told you, but I’m not a prostitute. Well. Not really. My dad is down the street working. He’s who set this up. He’s my pimp. I don’t get any money.”

I look out the window and notice some storm clouds rolling in.

“This whole thing started small - a little ring within the police force to keep them quiet about his abuse and neglect. Then, they started taping. My dad got a website. Downloaded pictures. Worked so well with just me they thought to add more girls. Some my age—some younger. All against their will. Decided I didn’t need school if it meant him making more cash, so he withdrew me last week.”

“How’d he manage that?”

“Told them I would be homeschooling. The administration knew I was hospitalized. My father forged a doctor’s note and told them it was for health reasons. Psychiatric rehabilitation.”

I play with the edge of the sheet and bite my lip. Looking at him, I realize I haven’t even asked some basic questions.

How do I know he’s really with Jude? What if he’s a plant from my dad to see how much
information I’d give up if asked?

My blood runs cold and I grip the sheet tighter.

“He’s trying.”

I look at Chad, my eyes shifting and disconnecting my thoughts for a brief second. I can’t even get out a full question.

“What?”

“Jude. He’s trying. He and Emma both are. People think they’re crazy, you know. I was one of them. I think that’s why he sent me out here instead of coming himself. Well, that and the risk of your father recognizing him.”