Page 104 of These Secret Years

“Talent doesn’t matter if I’ve got nowhere to use it—no idea what to do with it. I let him take control of my whole life.”

“No,” she corrects me sharply. “Not your whole life. He doesn’t get to have that.”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I have to stay here. If I have to come back,” I say in a whisper.

“It makes me crazy when you talk like you don’t have choices. You do. You can go to community college. Fuck, you could go to trade school and learn how to fix heaters or something. You’ve got options. If you can’t stand this one—if you can’t do it—then stop.” She’s doing her best to sound encouraging, but her frustration with me is evident.

“Why does it sound like you want me to stay here?”

“I don’t. I literally just told you to leave.”

The thing Chelsea doesn’t understand, the one thing I was too ashamed to tell her was that Adrian isn’t only paying for me. He’s the one making it possible for my mother to work by paying for the “scholarship” my sister is using for the special school she attends. He also owns my mother’s house and is responsible for the lower rent she’s been paying. Over the last few years, he’s worked his way into every corner of my life making things possible that never would have been without him, and I certainly can’t pay for if I drop out of school and go to community college.

“How much money do you have?” she asks.

“Something like ten grand.”

“Okay, well, that’s a start⁠—”

“It’s not enough, Chelsea.”

She sighs. “Okay. What do you need? A way out or a pep talk?”

On the verge of tears again, I cover my face and hunch over even more. “I don’t know.”

She takes a beat to let me have my hopeless moment then asks, “Have you ever watched those Only Fans guys?”

“Not really. You think I should do that?” It’s not like I haven’t thought about it, but I also don’t think I have anything all that great to offer—not compared to what I’ve seen of the guys already out there.

“That’s not what I’m saying. Those guys—they’ll do anything to make their fans happy. They work for tips, and they hustle. Who knows if they’re at all attracted to the people they fuck, but they sure as hell act like they are because that gets them the tips, right?”

“What are you saying? Fake it till I make it?”

“I’m saying own it. If you’re his prostitute, and this is the choice you’re making—because, again, you have choices even if they suck—then choose it. You already know he’s an old perv, and he’s powerful, but he’s not all powerful. He uses you, you use him. Right?”

Jesus, is this what she has to tell herself to fuck the Atlanta guy? I’m not sure she’s the person I need to be talking to at all anymore. Still, she’s making a depressing kind of sense, and I blow out a breath as I rub my chest where my guard is trying to rebuild itself.

“Remember when we started running the business, and you said you wanted to be involved? You remember what you said?” she asks.

“It’s just my mouth.”

“You said they never hurt your body.” She means Quinn and Adrian.

I’m nodding. It’s true. They haven’t hurt my body. They’ve used it, they’ve defiled it, but so have I. “This is the pep talk?”

“I’m kind of getting that’s what you wanted to hear.”

It’s a horrible truth that she’s right. Adrian gets to use my body on occasion, but he lets me live my life. At least he has so far. “Okay,” I say quietly. “I have another call to make. I’m gonna let you go.”

“Okay. I’m sorry if this didn’t help.” She sounds like she means it, like she’d start over and backtrack on some things if she could. She and I are so fucked up. I sometimes have to remind myself we’re still not much more than stupid kids.

“I’m sorry nothing can,” I say, and on that bleak note, I hang up. Without stopping to think, I pull up Knight’s contact and put through a call.

He doesn’t answer the first time I try his number, but he does the second.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”