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She traps her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to make sense of my words. “I can’t talk to you. Can’t talk with anybody. He’ll kill me… He’ll—”
“Your bodyguard? Is he the one who hurt you?” I feel the weight of the switchblade in my back pocket as her green pools turn stormy and sad.
“Who are you?”
“Frankie. You?”
There’s a pause. “Ada.”
Ada.
Ada
Ada
Heavy footsteps start approaching. Her ten minutes are up already.
“Put the books back,” she urges, panic pinching at her mouth again. “If he sees you…”
“How often do you come here?” I say, thinking fast. Thinking how much Aiden would crucify me for using this kind of cheesy pickup line.
But with Ada, it’s not a pickup line. It’s a lifeline. It’s clear from the state of her that O’Sullivan has turned his evil onto his own.
It makes us equals.
Two victims.
Two survivors.
She hesitates. “Every Thursday afternoon. It’s the only time I’m allowed out of the house.”
I let those words sink in, until they’re heavy and stale.What is she? A prisoner?
The footsteps draw even closer.
“Please go,” she urges again, her voice trembling with fear.
Now, it’s my turn to hesitate. “Let me help you.”
“You can’t. No one can.”
“Then, I’ll be here, Ada… Next Thursday, I’ll be here. I fucking promise you, okay?”
“But you don’t even know me.”
I do, Ada, but not half as much as I want to.
“Whatever happens, keep dancing for me. You hear?” My plea is out before I can stop it and Ada looks stunned.
Reluctantly, I start shoving books up as fast as I can as her bodyguard steps into the aisle.
“Time’s up,” I hear him say, sounding more Irish than a fucking leprechaun.
“But I’ve only had a few minutes—”
“You want me to call your father? You know the rules, Ada. Get your coat. We’re leaving.”
I hear her sigh of resignation, followed by fading footsteps.
