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Bag number six. The night Tom came to my room. In slow motion, I watched his hand approach me. Doubt and disbelief crept over me like the blackest of oceans. He was an adult, and I was sixteen. I inched away from him. I said stop. I told my mother, but she said it was my fault. You’re like that harlot I named you after, Delilah. You’re just like her.

That night, I ran away. I tried to take Lucy with me, but…

My throat grows tight like I’m being choked by my own memories.

Clutching at my locket, I force my brain to a new one.

Bag number eight. The night Travis hit me before passing out on the couch. I packed a bag and left, but not before burning his police uniform, badge, and antique gun collection in the fireplace.

Maybe that’s why I felt safe at the Velvet Belles. Because I finally had the power over men when all my life men have been trying to control me.

Which brings me to bag number twelve and this lonely highway.

It was in Utah that I realized I had no control. No plan. I’ve been driving aimlessly. Precisely my MO. I made some good choices in life after some bad things happened to me, so I’m hoping that this counts as a good decision.

I swallow against the burn in my throat. Anger flares inside of me. Fuck Sammy. I liked that job. I liked that life. To give it up, even for a short time, hurts.

Everything hurts. Everything’s a scream inside of me.

I’ve thought about Sammy’s face exploding over and over again. I thought about it as I stopped at a greasy diner and ate runny eggs. I thought about it as I drove up the 15, out of Idaho and into Montana. The gun. The spilled whiskey. Brains.

Tears building in my eyes, I run a finger over the cool gold of my locket. “God, Lucy Lou, what do I do? Tell me what to do.” I’m well aware I use my dead little sister as a voice of reason, a Magic 8 Ball of sorts, but it helps.

A soft whisper. Let it out, let it out.

Heaviness settles in my chest. Panic. It builds and builds, until I’m pulling my Pinto over onto the side of the road, unbuckling my seat belt, and clambering across the seat to the passenger door.

I throw it open and fling myself to the ground. I gulp crisp mountain air. My entire body shakes, threatening to combust.

Breathe, Delilah. Let’s not self-destruct in a field of cows.

I laugh like a madwoman and then I scream.

Sammy’s words echo in the back of my mind.

If you don’t run, Delilah, you are next.

What the fuck does that mean? Is someone really after me? Or was it the ramble of a lunatic?

The first time I met Sammy, he took my hand and kissed it, making some strange bow that I’d tell Melly about later. We’d laugh about it for weeks.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m Lady.” I batted my lashes. One night with this guy and my rent and car would be paid for months. “Lady Lawless. The best you’ve ever seen.”

“This one’s perfect,” Belle said, pushing me forward until I felt Sammy’s hot breath on my face. “You need her.”

“You deal in girls—so do I.” Sammy looked at Belle and grinned. “I’ll take her.”

I shiver at the memory. Exhaling a shaky breath, I stand and crawl across the passenger seat into the driver’s. I roll up the window and stare into the pitch-black night.

It’s dark, late, I’m traumatized by whiskey and brain matter, and I don’t know where I am.

I’m lost.

The thought brings tears to my eyes.

I swallow a sob and glance over my shoulder at my full back seat. I packed in a panic. Sure, I packed essentials—toothbrush, makeup, underwear, laptop—but I also packed my true loves, Strawberry Pop-Tarts, the B volume from my encyclopedia set, and my pet rat, Ratson. A small speaker for my music. My ballet flats and my stilettos.