Without a word, she walks out of the motel room. I give her a good three minutes to get away, and I stare at this worthless piece of shit the entire time, thinking of him taking my little sister and then having her sold off to some sick fuck like she’s a piece of merchandise.
“Fuck you,” I say as I let my finger slip on the trigger, the silencer only sounding off a small pop. He falls back with a grunt, his body banging over the floor when it lands in a lifeless heap. I leave the motel, his phone in my pocket. With perseverance, I will work my way into this little circle and I will find her.
3
Ava
Ipickthe blade of grass from my Cabbage Patch doll’s loose braid, hardly aware of the shadow falling over the green lawn. A large hand suddenly covers my mouth and my eyes pop wide. I’m dragged to my feet and toward a car parked at the entrance of the driveway. My heart pounds in my chest, I want my daddy so I try to scream, but my cry is muffled by his cigarette-scented fingers.
“Don’t scream and I won’t hurt you, Ava,” he says. All I can see is his tie—navy and red diagonal stripes.
I kick, I scratch at his hairy arms. The heels of my Keds drag over the pavement as he carries me toward the white sedan.
He’s going to take me away. I stare at my Cabbage Patch doll laying at the edge of the yard and I keep trying to fight him, but I’m just too little.Bang. Something warm splatters over the side of my face and the man’s grip on me lets up. My ears are ringing, my heart racing.
“Look at me,” my daddy’s voice comes from my left side, and I turn to see him running down the driveway toward me, his gun by his side. “Look at me, feetheart. Just keep those eyes on me, okay?”
I nod as I wipe the sticky wetness from my cheek. Seconds later, my daddy has me in his arms, cradling me like an infant. When I reach up to place my arm around his neck, I see the blood on my hands. I go to turn my face toward the man, but Daddy shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says with such a calm about him. “Look at me.”
So I do. I stare at my father, looking at the salt and pepper stubble covering his face. Watching the blood pulse through his neck as he carries me up the cobblestone walkway to the front door and straight to our kitchen.
The granite countertop is cold under my legs when he sits me down. I glance at my white shirt. It’s spattered with blood. Daddy turns the taps, swearing beneath his breath as he reaches for a dishtowel.
“What was that noise?” My mother comes bolting down the hallway, a towel wrapped around her body, her hair still covered in suds. “Frank, what the—” Her words are lost the moment her gaze lands on me. Tears well in her hazel eyes and she covers her mouth in a gasp.
“She’s fine. Just…” He blows a hard breath out before he wipes over my face with the warm washcloth. “Just, get her cleaned up. I’ve got to go get that motherfucker off our property.”
“Ava?” Bronson waves his hand in front of my face. “You there? Jesus.” He laughs, and I snap back into the moment.
“Yeah, yeah, I just…”
The valet opens my door. My eyes are immediately drawn to his red and navy blue striped tie. And now I know why my mind took me there. That tie. Same color. Same design as the one the man who attempted to kidnap me was wearing that day.
Funny how your brain does that.
A person can become so well-versed at forgetting things, but the mind—well, it only lets youpretendyou’ve forgotten. Trust me. I know. I’ve had my fair share of fucked-up things happen to me and I’ve tried to wipe them from my memory, but all it takes is one smell, one small sound, and that incidence is dredged right back up to the surface. And sleep—that’s the worst place because all my demons come out to play at night. If I could avoid sleep forever, I would.
“You sure?” Bronson asks as he heads to the driver’s side.
“Yeah, I was just thinking about something.” I climb into his truck and the valet shuts my door.
“Yeah, no kidding.” His door slams shut. “So anyway, WJ, then the party?”
“Sounds good to me, babe.” I take my phone from my purse and quickly type a Facebook update.Going to WJ with Bronson Tatum! ;) <3
I smile because that’s what I should do. I should smile because Bronson istheguy every girl wants. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Military. All-American in every way. And he’s into me. Ishouldsmile and be that girl—that normal, annoyingly happy girl everyone thinks I should be. But really, I’m just damn good at covering up what a mess I am.
He pulls away from the curb of the restaurant and puts his hand on my thigh. That touch, I don’t like it. It feels wrong. It feels cheap.
And it is.
I’ll probably fuck him, and it will mean nothing. I’ll most likely feel bad about it tomorrow, wondering if he thinks I’m a whore, but even with that knowledge, I’ll still do it because it’s the only way I can make myself feel connected to someone. Deep down inside, I feel like it is the only way I can make a guy appreciate me, even if that appreciation is filthy. I’ve tried to figure out the psychology of it because, really, I know better. I know that fucking him won’t actually make him like me, but for those few moments right before he slips inside of me, he will want me. I will be worth something to him. I will be something he has to have, and for some reason, even though I wish I didn’t, I crave that.
We ride in silence most of the way to the park, listening to Royal Blood. He sings along, and I watch him. He’s so confident. Genuinely happy because he knows no better. The song ends and he glances over at me as he turns down the street. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.
“Thanks.”
Those are merely words. I glance out of the window, watching the row of houses end and the landscape turn to woods. We wind our way through the back part of this neighborhood, cutting the headlights when we start down the hill to the park.
