That didn’t faze Reese at all. She continued digging in her closet, “Yeah, I know. Flip the pack over. They’re clip-ons. Give me a sec and I can show you how they work.” Really, she thought of everything. I was beginning to wonder how I was going to continue on my journey without her.
After adjusting my clothing, checking my makeup, and brushing my hair again, Reese declared it time for the big reveal. She pulled me into the bathroom and instructed me to close my eyes. She turned me toward the mirror by my shoulders and said, “Open!”
I opened my eyes and my hand immediately went to my chest. I took a staggering step back and whispered, “That can’t be me.”
I saw Reese’s face fall in the mirror, “You don’t like it?”
“No, that’s not it. It’s amazing. I just can’t believe that girl in the mirror is me. I’m, I’m…”
“You’re beautiful.” She softly smiled. I think that was the first time I had ever seen her genuinely smile. It was a sight to behold.
I half laughed and half sobbed, “I was going to say pretty.”
She laughed, too, and then we sort of fell into an awkward silence. I couldn’t find the right words to express my feelings. She had made me feel normal for the first time in my life and saying thank you just wasn’t enough.
She patted my shoulder, “One thing about makeup, you should always remove it before going to bed. Leaving it on does nasty things to your pores, your pillows, and your sheets. Come on, I’ll show you how the whirlpool tub works.”
An hour later I was leaving her bathroom in my pajamas with a new promise to myself that I would one day have my very own whirlpool tub.
“I should probably get everything packed up and ready to go since we are leaving here first thing in the morning.”
“Okay. All the stuff I kept for you is in my closet.” She walked into her closet and came out with a duffel bag. She opened it and laid everything out on her bed. Since I had enlisted her help, she had stashed quite a bit of money for me. I had asked her to use some of the cash to buy me some clothes and a few other necessary items. I reorganized my things, making sure the most important items were in my backpack and things that could be replaced went into the duffel bag, in case I needed to drop it and run. With everything squared away, we lay down for what I was sure would be a night with little to no sleep. The success of my escape relied heavily on the events of tomorrow, which were uncertain at best.
Once I decided that I really was going to try and escape, I began sneaking around the farm, snooping and eavesdropping every chance I got. I had managed to learn the combinations to a few safes and the codes to enter some of the locked doors. I rotated the safes I stole money from and only took a few hundred dollar bills each time. I would then place the money in an envelope and slip it into Reese’s locker at school.
My biggest problem was that I didn’t have any kind of identification. Through all of my snooping and sneaking around, I never came across birth records for myself or anyone else who lived on the farm. They had to have some kind of official documentation for us otherwise we wouldn’t be able to attend public school. I didn’t spend a lot of time trying to find the documents because I suspected they were likely fake anyway. Statements made during conversations I was secretly listening to led me to this theory.
When I explained my situation to Reese, in one of our many notes, I asked her if she could use the internet to find someone who could make some identification records for me. I explained that I needed more than just a license making me older than my true age; I was going to need a whole setup, birth certificate, social security card, a state-issued ID, and possibly a passport.
A few days later, she told me she asked her brother. Before my panic attack could even get off the ground, she continued on to tell me she said that one of her friends and her mother were trying to get away from the girl’s abusive step-father. Her brother accepted that explanation and said they should go to the Blackwings Motorcycle Club and talk to Phoenix.
CHAPTER 2
Ember
The next morning, Reese dropped me off at the end of the road that led to the Blackwings MC Clubhouse. Apparently, even though her brother was a member, he had insisted that she never come anywhere near the clubhouse. After a tearful goodbye and a promise to contact her soon if I could do so safely, I began walking down the street toward my new future.
When I got to the end of the road, I could see the clubhouse, but I couldn’t get to it because it was surrounded by a large fence and the gate at the front was locked. I wasn’t sure what to do next. I didn’t see anybody around to ask or to open the gate for me.
Hoping to see someone, I started walking along the fence line. I was about halfway around the back when I finally spotted two men. Before I could say anything, one of them yelled, “What the fuck are you doing back here, bitch?”
I froze. He sounded like the men from the farm. That was how they talked to the women, always calling them something demeaning or derogatory, never using their names.
“Answer me, bitch. Now!” he yelled even louder.
I just stared at him. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. I thought the people at this place would be helpful, not openly hostile.
“Calm down, man. You’re scaring the shit out of her.” I couldn’t see them very well, but one of them took a few steps closer and asked, “What are you doing back here, darlin’?”
I swallowed thickly and tried to still my shaking hands. “I’m looking for Phoenix.”
They both looked at me strangely and the nicer one asked, “What do you want with Phoenix?”
The other one added, “Yeah, sweetheart, you’re a little young for his liking.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I was beginning to get a little frustrated with these two. Reese’s brother said to come here and talk to Phoenix. I didn’t realize it would be this difficult to get to him. I huffed, “I would rather discuss that with him.”
“And you thought you would find him back here?” the big mean man asked.
