“Then why were you complaining that she blocked you on every platform and wouldn’t return your calls?”
There are streaks of deep colour high on her cheekbones. That and the flash in her eyes tells me she’s not angry, she’s scared.
“The man who wants to be my sponsor told me I could have her. That he could arrange it.” My eyes pick out every detail on my mother’s face, follow every micro-expression.
What they don’t see is surprise.
It’s like a circular saw is cutting my chest open as I speak again, hoping to see something different when I explain again, in such blunt detail it can’t possibly be misunderstood. “He said she gets passed around as a sweetener to her father’s deals. That she was too old for him now, but he could arrange her for me if I liked girls my age.”
My mum stares at the floor, a decade added to her face with each passing minute. And I still want to know, still need to make myself completely clear.
“If she’s too old for him now, that means he fucked her when she was younger. That means her father’s been trafficking her to his clients since she was achild.”My voice betrays me, cracking when I need it to be strong. I copy the gesture I’ve seen Esme do so often when it happens to her, digging my knuckle into my windpipe until the pain makes me wince.
And this time when I speak, I don’t explain, I accuse. “You knew, didn’t you? This is all…” I wave my hand, not knowing how to capture the horror with the feeble sounds coming from my throat. “You knew, and you didn’tdoanything.”
“I did plenty!” she shouts, pushing back from the table and standing, folding her arms, jutting her chin like it’s a shield against the blows as my words land. “I took evidence, I did everything right. I went to the police.”
“Then why’s she still there!”
She tips her head back, a trick to hold off angry tears. “When I was at the police station, there was a picture on the senior sergeant’s desk. In a more prominent placement than the one of his wife and kids. Do you know who was in it?”
My anger is so immense that I don’t want to believe her words. I’d rather my mother was a liar than have this truth be part of the world I have to live in.
But a shake of my head can’t rewrite reality. It can’t stamp out the sewer system of corruption that puts money a million miles ahead of the safety of a little girl.
Even when that little girl is one I’ve struggled with, fought with, hated with every fibre of my being. Hated because even when I thought the worst about her, the flip side of that emotion always held true.
The girl I love.
“What evidence?” I choke out. “Give it to me and I’ll go to them again.”
“So the next time the police come to my door, they come for you?” She shakes her head, moving her legs to a stronger stance. “No. I won’t allow you to throw your entire future away. Not when it’s just going to end in failure.”
She moves closer, putting her arms around me. Behind the warmth, I feel the steel keeping her back ramrod straight.
“I will not lose my son over this. I refuse to let you ruin your life when nothing you say, nothing you do can change things for her.”
“And… What? You think I should just go back to school and pretend none of this is happening? When I could do something to stop it?”
Her eyes spark. “You believe I didn’t think that?” She rubs the back of her neck, stretching up to stare at the ceiling, frustration seeping from every line in her face. “I told the police and thought when they confronted the family, Esme would back up what I told them, but she didn’t. She followed their lead, she accused me. They have her so terrified, she hurt me rather than go against them.”
I turn my back, but she won’t let me, catching my hand and pulling me back into an embrace.
“Nothing has changed since then. If you try to interfere, she’ll do the same thing to you. Until she decides to get away from them for herself, there’s nothing more we can do.”
“For herself?” I think of the men at the party again. All of them powerful, all capable of destroying my future with a wave of their hands.
They terrify me and I haven’t been broken repeatedly, told so often I’m worth less than the zeroes on a bank statement that I’m halfway to believing it myself.
“She can’t do that, Mum. We have to do it for her.”
“No.”
“We can talk to a different department. Talk to the media, let them know.”
“No.” She pulls back, away from me, leaving me to feel the cold of being alone. “If you do this, you’ll lose your scholarship, you’ll lose your chance at a sponsor. You’ll lose your chance at a professional sports career.”
“I don’t care.”
