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My arms are curled tight around my body while I stand in a cold warehouse, nothing but crates and thick pipes all around me.
Two other girls stand on each side of me. Elsie and Jade, though? They aren’t here. They separated us, and the very thought causes me to burst out crying.
The pain stings as I sob and collapse to the floor. But I don’t stop, even as the men scream at me. Even as one drags me up by my hair and slaps my face.
Because my friends could be dead right now.
“Where—” I sniffle. “Wh-where are my friends?”
With eyes born from death, Agnelo paces up to me slowly. My body shudders as he comes closer. As he does, his palm snatches my throat, fingers boring deeper until I find it hard to breathe.
“You don’t ask questions here.” His glare is strong enough to crack glass. He grinds his teeth as he moves his face so close his nose touches mine.
My insides gnaw.
“Now, you’re gonna take off your clothes and show us what you’re hiding. Because I have a feeling you’re gonna make us a lot of money…”
And I did. I made those bastards tons. But I never saw a dime. All we got was moldy pancakes and a stained mattress on the floor.
We lived worse than the rats that scurried past the grass on the lawn. I have no desire to relive those days with anyone. Not my therapist, not my friends, not even myself.
But the truth is, I can’t seem to forget. I can’t seem to let go. Of any of it.
Clearing my throat, I whisper to Dr. Collins. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
Sweat beads across my brow…
I can’t stop seeing Agnelo’s face. He’s there in my mind as though he’s in the room with us.
What they did to me once Elsie ran off… I don’t want to remember any of it.
“Tell me where Elsie is, you stupid whore, or I’ll whip you until your bones break.”
My chest is heavy, as though someone’s sitting on it. I try to keep it together. To pretend. My hands shake, and I curl both into fists and tuck them under my thighs to stop the tremors.
It doesn’t work.
“That’s your choice, of course,” Dr. Collins says, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “But my hope is that at every session we can explore more of that. Make you comfortable enough to talk about it. So that over time, it doesn’t hold power over you.”
“Is that even possible? Do people like me ever truly heal?”
My pulse pounds in my neck as I wait for his answer. Not even sure why I asked in the first place. He’ll just tell me what he thinks I need to hear.
“Healing is a process. It’s work. And even when we think we’redone, there’s still more work to do.”
I scoff. “That’s such a Dr. Collins answer.”
He laughs and shakes his head as he jots something else down on his pad.
I glance at it, my brows gathering. “What are you writing? How hopeless I am?”
He lowers his pen onto his lap. “Do you think you’re hopeless?”
I huff and drop my head to the back of the chair. “Don’t shrink me for just one moment, okay?”
I register his harsh intake of breath before he says, “I never for once thought of you as hopeless, Kayla. You’re strong. Resilient. So, if you’re using a word like hopeless to describe yourself, it’s because you may be seeing yourself that way.”
He pauses as I look back at him.
