It’s either that or staying as exposed as I am now.
The fabric brushes my skin as I push my arms through the sleeves.
While I knot the robe tight around my waist, I murmur, “I can handle my own finances. I’ll figure it out.”
I look up to find her offering me a soft, knowing smile. “What about your brother?”
Ouch.
“We’ll manage.”
“This is an amazing opportunity for you,” she continues, like I didn’t just tell her to go to hell politely. “Go ahead, open the box. I’ll pretend I was here for it.” Another soft smile. “Meanwhile, I’ll get you a light lunch. Tea and soup would surely help calm your nerves.”
“Lunch? What time is it? How long have I been out?”How long has The Restorer had access to my body?
Mary says, “It’s one p.m.,” then slips out of the bathroom and my room, closing the door behind her.
One p.m.
It means The Restorer could’ve been here forhourswhile I was naked and vulnerable.
My temples throb. My hands shake at my sides.
Mary might be convinced that lunch would help. I’m not.
No tea, no food, nor kindness will change the fact that I’m broke, humiliated, and cornered.
Even after I eat, I’ll still be a mess.
I press a hand to my forehead, pinching my eyes shut. Thinking.
When I open them again, my resolution locks into place.
There’s a way out of this mess without giving up the money.
I need to renegotiate my terms, to make it very clear that my body isn’t his. I’m not here to be touched, used, or frightened into obedience.
And there’s one more thing I can’t afford to forget—the house.
Back home, I figured we’d talk about the taxes calmly, like two people solving a problem together.
That’s not going to happen, obviously.
Regardless, I have to ask The Restorer to pay the property taxes directly while I’m here, instead of funneling the money through Barclay.
If the cash goes to my brother first, there’s no guarantee it’ll ever reach the county. He’ll gamble it away long before a single bill gets paid.
First things first, though. The box.
The Restorer wants me to see what’s in it, and I’m willing to do that. Maybe, besides the dress, there are further instructionswaiting for me inside. If I follow them, maybe he’ll be reasonable enough to hear me out.
I reach the bed, letting my fingertips graze the lid.
The texture coaxes painful memories to the surface, sending a sharp pang through my heart.
The clothes Mom used to buy us came in boxes much like this one. But it’s not the luxury I miss. Not that life.
What I ache for are the days when I still had someone to share the burden with.
