My fingers go numb.
And when I blink, I’m not in my room at all anymore.
I’m eighteen. Sitting in that hallway again.
The carpet is worn thin under my bare feet. The smell of smoke clings to my hoodie. Mom’s bedroom door is closed in front of me. The house has been too quiet for too long.
I already knew.
When I finally gathered the courage to go in, she was nearly falling off the bed, the needle still in her arm. Eyes half-open and empty, looking at nothing. Skin as cold as ice.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything. And thenhewas there. Not a friend. Not a neighbor. The man who came when my mom was late on what she owed. The one who took debts in cash… and sometimes other ways, too.
He’s leaning in the doorway like he owns the place. Looking at me like he owns me now, too. “You don’t belong here, pretty thing,” he says. “Let’s get you out of this dump.”
I thought he meant out of Vegas.
He told me he could introduce me to an agent. That he’d make me a model… and I believed him.
The studio smelled of hairspray and old coffee. There was a pristine white backdrop and lights so bright I couldn’t see anything past them.
“One more,” they’d say. “Turn your shoulder. Lift your chin. Perfect.” They paid me in cash, not much, just enough to make it feel legit.
Then it was, “A little less fabric, you want to get paid, don’t you?” I kept telling myself it was normal. This was just how modeling worked. But the paychecks eventually stopped coming.
One day, they booked me a “private shoot” at a hotel suite. No lights, no backdrop. Just a group of men on the couch with drinks in their hands. The oldest one smiled as if he’d just been handed his favorite dessert. He told me to relax, that we’d warm up before the actual shoot.
They took my phone and my bag. Claiming it was “safer” that way. It didn’t take long for me to understand what they meant. A younger one brought me champagne, claiming it would help me relax. My lips barely touched it.
The door clicked shut behind me and locked. I laughed it off, kept my face pretty while my gut was screaming at me to run. But I was 10 stories up, and there was nowhere to go.
Then one of them stood up and came in close. His hands were on my arms, then sliding down to my waist. He turned me around as if I were something to inspect. “Perfect,” he said. The rest just laughed.
They made me stand against the wall. Told me how to pose and what to take off. They curated every angle. Every move felt like it belonged to them. The photos did, too.
Then, there were fingers on my skin where they didn’t belong. The sound of a zipper pulled down. A hand over my mouth when I finally found my voice. Threats to hurt me in other ways if I drew too much attention. The camera never stopped flashing.
It didn’t last long. Just long enough to make me understand no one was coming to save me. When it was over, I was a shaking,sobbing mess. I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror. Of course they just left me there. The damage had been done.
I don’t remember leaving or how I got to Lexi’s house. Just her voice, raw and full of panic, when she opened the door.
Chapter 36
LOCKE
The sound of a piercing scream rips my attention away from the movie on the TV screen. I haven’t left the condo since the hotel, nor has Lexi.
We’ve spent the past four days trying to convince Arden to leave her room, bringing food and water, reminding her we’re here to help. She won’t talk to either of us, won’t even look at us. Zoe managed to sneak in a few times, but Lexi put a stop to it with a single look. She didn’t try again. Mothers have a way of doing that.
But when I hear Arden scream, I don’t think; I just run. I’m grateful to find the door unlocked, but nothing would stop me from getting into this bedroom even if it wasn’t. I find her in bed, wrapped up in blankets, thrashing around like she’s trying to fight an invisible person off.
“Arden?” I try to calm my voice as I rush to scoop her into my arms. I wrap them around her tightly, doing my best to contain her until she settles.
After a few minutes, she slowly opens her eyes and stares up at me. She blinks a few times, working to orient herself, and glances around the room. I feel her grip loosen on my arm and her breathing slow to a normal pace. I expect her to push me away or give me one of those smart-ass comments I’ve actually grown to miss over the past few days, but all that comes out of her mouth is, “Stay?”
“Always,” I whisper in return.
I waited in Arden’s bed all night, tossing and turning. Trying to stay alert in case she had another nightmare. She didn’t. But now it’smorning, and I’m hoping this is the start of her finally coming around. Letting us in on what’s been going on in her head.
