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I wonder what she does outside of work. Is she a partier? A quiet woman who reads and watches movies for fun? Or, maybe, she likes to hike and mountain bike.
As her eyes go cold again, I suddenly don’t care.
Why did I ever care?
Stacia is the gatekeeper for me. If I can’t fool her into thinking I’m fine and ready for the outside world, I’m stuck.
And being stuck has become unbearable.
“All I have is my purse,” I say with a smile. I work hard to make it reach my eyes. If the staff thinks I’m faking this, I am screwed. I look outside and see the helicopter through a window. A tiny sliver of one of the blades juts out. The wind outside is a little wilder than usual. When you live on an island for four years, you learn to pay attention to the wind.
“Then you’re ready.”
My heart nearly floats out of my chest and gets carried off on the breeze. Does this mean I really get to leave? Have I truly made them all think I’m whole and healed?
I can’t think about the fact that I’m not.
I’m really, really not.
But as long as they think I am, that’s what counts. Four years after being raped by three men and let down horribly by a fourth, I should be healed. I should be better. I should be ready to pick up the pieces of my old life and move on.
Stacia certainly thinks so. She clicks the pen over and over, her hand hovering above the clipboard in her hand. I know what those papers are. I keep my hands straight by my side. I control my breathing. I keep my face neutral.
Then I realize she needs more from me.
Just one more little show of appropriate emotion before I can be released.
I reach down and pinch myself where the tender skin of my hip meets my thigh, and bite down on my inner lip as hard as possible. I shudder, and tears spring to my eyes.
I sniff. She looks at me, surprised, and I give her a shaky smile. The shakiness isn’t fake. I really am shaking.
Because I’m worried she won’t let me go home.
“Of course,” I say, filling my throat with the emotion she expects. “Of course, it’s hard to leave after four years here. Heck, that’s—what? Almost a fifth of my entire life? A sixth?” I take in a deep breath and ignore the raw taste of cut flesh in my mouth. My breath tremors as I exhale. “It’ll be hard to leave this place behind. But I have to. It’s the only way I can grow.”
Click.
Unclick.
Click.
Unclick.
And then Stacia takes the ballpoint pen and makes an efficient flick of her wrist.
Checkmark.
She signs the paper at the bottom, unpops it from the clipboard, and walks over to me. She smiles. It seems genuine.
“Let’s get you out to that helicopter,” she says, mouth widening.
My inner joy mingles with the sound of heavy, quick footsteps, coming down the hallway. We both turn our heads to follow the sound.
“Ah,” Stacia says. She’s clearly been expecting whoever is coming. “It’s the head of your security detail. Your father said he has a new man with tremendous experience in protecting foreign dignitaries in dangerous situations around the world. He’s perfect for a senator’s daughter. You’re going to be safe no matter where you are, from now on, Lindsay.”
I hold back a snort. I know that’s not allowed. Instead, I tilt my head, like I’m trying to understand what she’s saying. Except, I actually know what she’s really saying.
Daddy doesn’t trust me, so he’s assigned me high-level babysitters disguised as bodyguards.
