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Over time, I thought my pain would dissipate and I’d be okay, but it only continues to claw me alive from the inside out.
"Look, I know we don't know each other well, but I mean it, I’m here if you want to talk," Amara offers, reaching out to touch my arm gently. "Just know that while you’re in my club, it means you’re family.”
"Thank you," I murmur, managing a weak smile.
It’s nice to know I have support, even if I don’t want to open up to Amara just yet.
Pushing my emotions aside, I open my Coke and take a sip, reveling in how good it tastes.
“What the fuck?” I say, completely shocked.
Amara chuckles, “Yeah, the Mexican Coke’s are so much better than the ones we get in the States. Not nearly as much of that fake shit in them either.”
You think they wouldn’t taste so different, but damn they do.
We stand in the kitchen drinking our Cokes, making idle chit chat when Amara’s tone turns more serious.
“You don’t have to tell me, but I can tell something was taken from you. Mine was my dignity, sanity, and security. I was kidnapped and raped like a broodmare. It went on for ages until I was finally rescued.”
My heart aches at her words.
She wasn’t lying, she does know pain.
I lick my lips, my voice barely audible. “Something I took for granted,” I stare at the floor, unable to meet her gaze.
"Ah, I see.” Amara murmurs.
I clench my fist, digging my nails into my palm to distract me from the turmoil roaming around inside me.
I want to scream, to release all of the hurt and anger that never goes away . . . but I’m afraid it will only consume me.
Instead, I focus on breathing in and out, slowly yet steadily.
Amara speaks softly, "I hope you can find some peace here, while you’re with us."
"Me too," I admit, forcing back tears.
I don’t know if I’ll ever heal from what happened, but I think this new environment is the best thing for me.
11
Razor
From my bed, I scroll my phone looking at endless bullshit online while Oakleigh paints on the balcony.
I never knew she enjoyed painting, but after the first week here, she told me she wanted to give it a go.
I wasn’t about to stop her, and so we went further into the city to get her some supplies.
Now, half of our room is a damn art studio, but it brings a smile to her face so I’m happy.
The sun setting casts a warm glow on her, making her look like an angel.
It’s been a few weeks since we arrived here and from what she’s told me her father has started to calm down.
She calls or texts him a couple of times a week, lets him know she’s okay, but hasn’t told him she’s here with me.
I breathe in deeply, happier than I’ve been in a long time.
