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Unfortunately, I didn’t land in many of those homes.
The scars on my back were from my last foster father, who favored a collection of whips, belts, crops, switches, and canes—things I’m sure would be sexy in the right hands. In the wrong hands, they were nothing but pain and gouged the skin from my back until the welts turned into snow-white scars covering my already pale complexion.
One of the girls once asked me why I didn’t fight back.
I was only a child, forced to grow up faster than I should have and accept the world was a dark place full of dark people. Compared to that man, Tyson was a saint to me, taking me in and giving me a place to live I could call my own, even if it really wasn’t. In return, all I had to do was have sex with some strangers. Fair trade, right?
At least the sex was consensual.
Most of the time.
Sometimes it was even good.
The rest of the scars, well, they each had their own story. Almost my entire body was a book waiting to be read, but surely if anyone knew all the stories, they wouldn’t believe it was possible to be about one person.
Lifting the bottle of vodka before taking another painful swig, I toasted to myself for being alive.
Clive entered my thoughts, and I wondered if his offer to look after me was still open if that’s what he had meant between the lines. Maybe I’d take him up on it, and we could keep each other company. I could look after him as well—learn to cook better, wear a swing dress and heels all the time, keep the house clean, and be the fucking image of domesticated bliss. I’d never had someone to look after before, not really.
I’d tried to look after and protect Heidi and look how that had turned out.
He broke her face. Now no one wants her.
Now I didn’t even know where she was so I could say I was sorry.
These thoughts were getting too deep.
Better drink some more.
I’m amazed I could get my phone out and unlock it, let alone locate the phone number and call. Clive answered on the third ring, and I pressed the phone to my ear until it hurt.
“Evie, how are you, my dear?”
“Clive!” I cried, the sob heavy in my voice. “I’m so sorry.”
His tone changed in an instant. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Evie?” He continued to call through the phone as I sobbed against my hand, dry sobs that heaved at my chest, making it ache more than it already did.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I don’t know why I called.”
“Are you drunk?” There was no judgment in his tone, and I guess the slurring of my words was stronger than I thought. I lifted the bottle and swirled the remnants in front of my eyes. Guess I had drunk more than I realized. Oh well.
“Evie…” His voice was so gentle. Why was he being so gentle with me? Why didn’t he judge me for being in this state and hang up? Who was this man, and why did I even deserve to be talking to him? “Tell me where you are and let me come get you.”
“No, no, no, no…” I let my words trail off, slurring into silence, “You’re too good, and I’m no good. I’m sorry. Your wife must have been wonderful. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll come and get you. Please, tell me where you are.”
I gave him my address, and he promised to be right over.
God, what a mess I was, reaching out to a client I’d only met once to come and save me from my sorrows. What was I expecting him to do? To pat me on the shoulder and tell me everything would be okay? Maybe I’d suck his cock to say thank you for his kindness. There had to be something I could give him so he would keep me around. I wasn’t worth it otherwise.
Falling back onto the mattress, I felt the bottle roll from my fingers and hit the floor with a hollow clunk. The ceiling was spinning.
The silence pounded against my ear drums.
Then Tyson came for me.
Any other place, and I’m sure someone would’ve stopped him.
