“I’ll never tell anyone. I want to forget I was even there.”
“That isexactlywhat you should do.” I leave the driver’s door open for Gwen when I get out, but it takes her several long seconds to exit the passenger seat.
“I never thought it would go that far, Lucy. I really am sorry.”
“Like I said, forget it ever happened.” My voice is flat.
When she pulls away, it’s with the realization we will probably never speak again, and if we do, it will never be the same. I don’t know if I could ever trust her, not after that.
I jog over to my truck and open the door. I kept a spare bag of clothes under the seat when I was working. There were a few times when I returned to the dressing room after a set to find my street clothes ruined. Thankfully, I never bothered to take the bag out. I snatch the long-sleeved shirt and strip out of my bloody one right in the driveway. When I’m done changing, I ball up my trashed top and carry it with me into the barn.
I make my way to the bathroom. It’s dusty and full of cobwebs. We turned off the water to the toilet shortly after Mom’s accident when I let the hands go, since there really wasn’t a need for it anymore when I could just run into the house, but the sink still works. The spigot spits a few times before icy water flows over my hands and soaks into the fabric. I find an unsoiled spot on the shirt and scrub under my nose and neck to make sure I don’t have any blood still smeared on my face. At least I don’t have a black eye. There is no way Mom would believe I had an accident. Rafe would most certainly get the blame.
When I’m done, my clean shirt is damp, but the reddish smears on my face are gone. My lip is tender, but thankfully, all the damage is on the inside of my mouth. There’s a small spot that feels a little like raw hamburger that my tongue keeps searching out.
I stand in the barn for a long time, feeling lost and unsure of what I should be doing. It takes me a while to get up the nerve to go into the house and talk to Mom. I think about calling her instead, but that would probably raise more suspicions.
“Hey, Ma,” I call with only my head in the door. “I went for a drive with Gwen. I’m heading to the store now.”
“Oh, okay, I didn’t even realize you left with her. I thought you’d been gone a while.” She comes out from the living room.
“She stopped by before I got a chance to leave, and we went for a drive,” I explain again.
“You guys get a chance to talk?”
“A little,” I reply noncommittally.
She must sense things aren’t any better because she says, “I’m sure it will work itself out.”
“Do you want to go to the store with me?” I ask instead of responding.
“Only if you need me to. I hate grocery shopping.” She makes a face. That’s something that hasn’t changed. “Plus, I was just getting ready to go outside. I want to see Isabella.” To say I’m shocked by Mom’s reply would be an understatement. She hasn’t been in the barn since her accident. I quickly think if the route is clear for her and if she will be able to do it on her own. It is, I made sure it was a long time ago.
“I’m sure she would love that. She misses you.”
Mom plasters a forced smile on her face. “I’ll see you when you get back,” she replies, dismissing me, and I get the feeling she wants to do this on her own.
“’Kay, call if you need anything or think of something else you want from the store.” I pat my back pocket where I placed my phone after retrieving it from Gwen’s car.
My escape to my truck feels easier than I expected. I was sure she would have more questions, but that’s probably just my guilty conscience.
When I reach the end of the driveway, I idle for a long time. I think about calling Rafe. Now that I’m safe, I want to ask him to let the guys go. I want to be like Gwen and forget today ever happened. I think about how different my life would be if I would have just let Mom sell the ranch and never walked into The Dollhouse. How different things would be if I never met Rafe. I think about a lot of things, but I do nothing about any of them.
* * *
It’s really latewhen I finally hear from Rafe. He sends me a short, one-word text.
Rafe:Tomorrow.
Me:Okay.
Sleep is elusive,and when I do actually fall asleep, I jolt awake several times as my mind replays being trapped in Gwen’s car with a stranger. His face haunts me. He didn’t even put up a fight when Rafe took his weapons and held him at gunpoint. It was like he just accepted his fate.
I don’t know if I could go through that again. As much as I want to believe Rafe when he says I’m not going to be affected by his lifestyle, I’m having a hard time accepting that right now. It feels more like awhenthan anifat this point. Can I really live with that? Live like that? Knowing what he’s done and witnessing it are two different things, and I can’t pretend I’m not afraid the cops are going to show up at my door.
I try for what must be the hundredth time to clear my head and only think about good things. The problem is, Rafe keeps popping into my mind and my thoughts circle around to this afternoon again—him with blood splattered on his arms and clothes. Eventually, it gets to the point where I allow myself to really relive everything I felt in those moments, not just about what I know happened when I left. I recall the relief I felt when I realized he was there, the worry that he was hurt, and the overwhelming sense of satisfaction when I realized he wasn’t. There was so much going on, I don’t even think I fully understood all those emotions when I experienced them. It’s only now, when I can view them without fear and confusion, that I see things a little more clearly.
I give up trying to sleep and slip on a pair of leggings. I need to see him, need to talk to him. I think about calling him before leaving, but I decide I don’t want him to be given the chance to tell me no.
