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The gray clouds hang low in the sky. I heard last night that the rest of the winter will be mild. I sure as hell hope so. The track will only stay open if it’s warm. As I approach my car, I spot a woman with short brown hair and a blue jean jacket. I quicken my pace.
“Isaiah,” she calls out and walks toward me.
Is this lady a damn masochist? “Maybe I was too subtle in there, so I’ll make it clear. Fuck off. ”
“Please,” she says. “Please, wait. ”
With keys in hand, I point at her. “Even I know you don’t have permission to see me without one of those crazy people inside near us. In case you don’t know, because let’s face it, you wouldn’t, I’m seventeen and their ward. You are on parole, so step back. ”
I could give a fuck if she breaks rules and returns to prison, but I’ll use those laws to keep her from me. She doesn’t stop her advance. “I want to see you again. Promise you’ll let Courtney schedule another meeting. I’ll do anything for the opportunity. ”
With my key in the lock, I freeze. “Anything?”
Too much hope floods her face. “Anything. ”
“One hundred dollars in cash for each visit. Courtney never knows about the money. ”
Melanie blinks as the hope fades. She doesn’t have it. I know she doesn’t have it. It’s why I made the demand. “Why do you need the money? Are you using drugs?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m a junkie. Are you paying or not?”
She brushes her hair from her face. “I’ll pay. ”
Chapter 36
Rachel
IT’S A PAINFUL PULSE BENEATH my skull and above my brain. It radiates down from my forehead to wrap around my temples, my cheeks and my nose. Light makes the pain worse. Sound nearly kills me. This is the aftermath of my panic attack.
All off at some important meeting or game or social life event, my family is missing from the house. My lights are on, and my iPod plays softly next to the closed door of my room on the off chance someone does return home before their curfew of eleven—the boys, as sexist as it is, get an hour later than me.
The goal is to appear normal so I can cover up the migraine. That leaves me lying in bed with a pillow over my head and praying for the pain to cease.
After vomiting in my father’s bathroom at work, I cleaned myself up and returned to the conference room. Eleven pairs of eyes watched as I stood at the front, beside my mother, and announced how honored I was to speak on Colleen’s behalf.
My phone rings and the sound echoes violently in my head, yet at the same time a rush of adrenaline hits me. Isaiah is the only person who would call. I adjust the pillow so I can check the caller ID. My lips lift at the sight of his name. “Hello?”
“Rachel?” There is major question in his voice.
“It’s me. ” Just me, my painful migraine and my sensitivity to light and sound.
“You sound off. ”
I clear my throat. “I was resting. ”
“I can let you go. ”
Anxiety shoots through my bloodstream at the thought. “No. I’m glad you called. ”
“Yeah,” he says. “I wanted to hear your voice. ”
I wake up when I notice the strained tone in his voice. Suddenly my head doesn’t hurt so bad, and I edge the pillow onto the bed and off my face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. ” A car honks. “Tell me how the thing with your mom went. ”
“Good,” I say, and place the pillow back over my head. Every part of me flounders. I don’t want to lie to him, too. But if I tell him about my attacks then he’ll view me as weak, and that’ll mess up what’s between us. Maybe I don’t have to lie. I can leave some things out—just like Ethan does to me when he uses twin amnesty. “Actually, horrible. ”
I hear a car door close. “What happened?”
