Eli points to the other side of the bed. There’s nothing there. Just blackness. Blackness and then a pair of electric green eyes. “Pryntsesa,” a low voice rumbles from the dark. “I saw you dancing.”
My eyes fly open.
I’m naked except for Eli’s ruby necklace, and in a strange room. There’s brown and orange wallpaper and the mattress beneath me is spongy. Pale sunlight is working its way through the thin curtains.
“The motel,” I say out loud, trying to still my racing heart. “Doc and Bobby brought me here. I’m okay. I’m safe.”
Familiar male voices come through the window. The boys are outside. Maybe Doc is smoking? As my breathing slows, I find my fingers between my legs, rubbing softly. I remember the thick feel of Doc pressed against my tongue and Bobby taking me from behind as they called me awful names. A delicious heat courses through me and I rub faster until a howling wall of misery falls on me like a weighted blanket.
Zia Teresa is dead.
I pull my fingers away from myself. Every part of me feels raw and repulsive, like I’ve been left out in the sun to rot. Zia Teresa is dead and I’m dreaming about sex. About the most disgusting, immoral sex imaginable. I’m the worst girl in the world.
Your dreams didn’t kill me.A familiar voice croaks in my mind.I don’t need to know about sex, but you’re wasting time. Get up and start the day.
Tears burn in the back of my eyes. Zia is right, as always. I didn’t mean to dream about sex. I probably just wanted to feel better. And now that I’m awake I have more important things to do than feel guilty. Like get myself ready to return to Velvet House.
I throw on my dirty pink dress and high heels and brush my hair with a comb I find in a plastic package in the bathroom. I don’t have any makeup and my skin is dry. Considering how much I get kidnapped I should carry a case of AHA toner and tinted moisturizer with me. I smile at my own silly thought, then remember Zia Teresa and feel mortified. Should I be able to make jokes? Or should I just be in pieces, sobbing and freaking out?
In my heart, I already know the answer. Zia hated crying. She’d want me to focus on what comes next. Zia Teresa was no stranger to death. She talked about it every other day. Whenever she had some advice to give me, she was all,‘when I’m dead, you’ll have to remember Aquilina’s has the best ricotta, January.’ ‘Once I’m dead, you can have this slotted spoon, January.’ ‘January, when I die, you’ll need to remember to turn your mattress every six months, or it will sag.’
I always shushed her, but that only made her grumpy. “I’m not going to live forever. You need to be ready to go on without me.”
And here I am, going on without Zia. I pick up my St. Christopher medallion from the bedside table and give it a kiss. I imagine the frown Zia would give me if she could see me being so sentimental. I smile to myself and tuck the gold circle under my dress strap.
There’s a light knock on the motel door. “JJ? Are you up?”
I remember my dream, the way Bobby labored behind me, his hard hands clamped around my hips. “Um, sure. I mean, come in!”
The door eases open. Bobby smiles but there are dark circles under his eyes. “I thought I could hear you moving around. How’d you sleep?”
I try not to stare at his chest. He’s wearing one of his navy blue shirts and he’s so big and handsome and cuddly. I want him to pick me up and throw me onto the bed. “I’m… I’m fine. I slept.”
“Great,” he says, clearly unaware of what a pervert I am. “We didn’t have any issues overnight, but it’s time to get moving. I got you a latte.” He hands me a white to-go cup and a small brown bag.
“Oh, thank you.”
“Pop-Tarts,” Bobby says. “Eat ’em now. Once Doc has a shower, we’ll head off and we won’t stop again.”
“Where is—”
Before I can finish Doc bursts inside and heads for the bathroom without a word. I can tell he’s as furious as he was last night. Maybe more. I think of my sex dream with a guilty throb. There’s a chance he’ll never want to touch me again and as much as I should be relieved by that… I’m not.
I sit on the clumpy couch and peel back a blue wrapper. It’s a cinnamon crunch Pop-Tart and it tastes like pure delicious sugar. I’ve only had Pop-Tarts once, at Giuseppina’s house when I was fourteen. This one tastes even better, but after a few bites, I put it back in the bag.
“You don’t like it?” Bobby asks.
“Aren’t these bad for you?”
“It’s a treat, JJ.”
I gnaw on my lower lip. “I know, but I should, um, I should really eat healthy.”
The lines in Bobby’s forehead deepen. “You should do what feels right. Don’t let your stepmom take up too much space in your brain.”
I flush. I keep forgetting Bobby and everyone at Velvet House knows so much about me. But he’s right. My stepmom would freak out if she saw me having sugar and that’s why I stopped eating.
But why should I care what she thinks? She sold me to Mr. Parker and then she gave him my passport so he could sex traffic me to Thailand. I finish my cinnamon Pop-Tart between sips of latte, then eat a chocolate one. Bobby leans against the kitchen counter watching me, a small smile on his face. It’s so comfortable between the two of us. I wish it could last longer. But even as I think it, the shower stops running.
