AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Wasn’t before the rest.” I tapped on my head, lifting my brows knowingly, then let out another wild laugh as I ambled away, swaying as I did. “That’s all I have,” I lied. “You know how I can pay off the rest of what is owed. All you have to do is ask.”
I turned and continued my unhurried walk away when all I wanted was to run. I knew he wouldn’t come after me because I’d shorted him, just as I knew he wouldn’t let me forget tomorrow or the next day that I still owed him money.
But his words had terrified me.
Knowing Momma had taken so much more than usual scared me in a way I’d never been. I was worried about the state she would be in when I finally got home.
But girls like me? We didn’t run, and we didn’t show our fear.
Because to the world, we feared nothing and no one.
Once out of Beck’s sight, I let the crazed smile slip for a moment, and crossed my arms over my chest to ward off the chill spreading deep through my bones.
Come on, Jess. Come on . . .
It wasn’t that late, and as there had been when I was talking to Beck a few streets over, there were people around.
Head up.
Shoulders back.
Lips twisted.
Eyes laughing.
Give them what they want. Give them what they’ve come to expect from you. Give them the beauty and the crazy. Give them you.
Like any of them had ever actually had me . . .
A sharp, melodic laugh suddenly burst from my chest, and the couple walking in my direction stopped then went out of their way to avoid getting too close. But the man’s eyes devoured me, spilling secrets I knew well.
Lust. Shame. Need. Disgust. Intrigue.
That’s right. Steer your pretty little wife away from the crazy girl walking alone. But the next time you see me without her, you’ll be asking me to get into your car, begging to get off on that crazed laughter.
You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last.
I already hate you . . . just as I’ve hated all the others.
Just as I’ve hated myself for six years . . .
Pain stabbed at my chest as Beck’s words played through my mind, unwanted and incessant. “You think I’d touch a whore as fucked up in the head as you?”
His words didn’t hurt for the fact that he didn’t want me anymore—because I’d never wanted his touch. They hurt because, for the rest of my life, men would only come looking for the girl Beck had described.
No one looked for the girl buried deep inside, screaming to be freed. Begging to be touched. Begging to be loved.
No . . . because she was weak.
And weakness was a word that couldn’t exist for me. Love was another.
Beck had waited until the day I turned eighteen before he said a word to me about his feelings. And then they were there. Words he’d held back for years and was finally laying bare.
He wanted to take care of me.
He wanted to be with me and take me away from the fucked-up world I’d grown up in.
He loved me . . .
