Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
It’s just like confessing. Just get it out.
“As soon as I'm in the car, she smashes something into my face, and I guess it made me pass out. When I woke up, I was in the very back of the car, like where you put luggage, Priscilla was dressed differently. More casual, almost in a workout suit.” I remember it had those tacky fake jewels on it. I remember her lipstick was blood red. I remember how she held me down with her hand on my throat. It makes me shudder. Evan holds me closer.
“She told me she had found out who I was and that they wanted to find me back in Georgia.” I pause, remembering that Evan doesn't know what I'm talking about. “The trouble with my boyfriend there is he was dealing marijuana and when they caught him, I was with him. I had always worried he might have blamed it on me or something.” I exhale slowly. “Sean was that kind of guy. And when Priscilla said that, I really thought he had.”
Evan's arm around me tightens, and I feel him nod. I shut my eyes again.
“She had a phone, and she showed me the Georgia number for reporting someone like me. She said that she would keep me tied up until they came to get me if I wanted, or I could go along with something she was planning.”
I chew my lip until I taste a coppery tang. Evan's fingers are stroking my hair. It makes me feel strong enough to keep going.
“I don’t know why, but I decided I didn’t believe her, so I told her ‘no’. She said Jim Gunn had gone to tell the— my client that I had made a play for Jim Gunn. That I’d been having sex with him. She said she was going to tell my client that she had heard I was a journalist from Georgia, and tell him my real name so he could confirm, and tell him I was trying to blackmail him. Either I would give over this footage I supposedly had of he and I to someone in the media, or he would need to pay me several million dollars.” Another big, deep breath. My voice cracks. “That just makes me so mad, still.”
He strokes my neck, and I can hear the echo of him saying, It's okay.
“I told her she could kiss off, but...she had this Taser.” When I say that, Evan's body stiffens so much I wish I hadn't. I put my hand on his arm again and stroke his warm skin. “She had the Taser, and she used it on me a few times.” Tears drip down my face. I lick the salt off my lips. “I wasn't strong like you. It didn't take that long for me to cave. I let her call him and I told him what he'd heard was true.”
Evan nudges me, and I realize he's wanting me to turn around and face him. I want to. I want to be held so badly my stomach churns—but I just can’t. I rock back against him and bury my head in my elbow, and he folds himself around me. Silence swims around us, and there’s no pressure in it. Evan is just here, and I think that’s why I’m able to keep talking.
“She was supposed to let me go after that. I would never tell anyone what had happened. That's what she said. But instead, when she got off the phone she knocked me out again with...I guess it was ether or something. And when I woke up, she and Jim Gunn were in the front seat and I was in the back of the SUV, and they told me we were going to Mexico.”
I stop speaking and focus on my breathing. I don't want to tell him anymore, but my mouth seems to move on its own accord. My voice is husky, words too fast.
“I remember I could see the stars through the windows. I've always loved the stars. They always seemed like so many possibilities. And I remember how it felt to know that none of that mattered anymore. My life—” my voice cracks, so I swallow and breathe deeply. “It was over.”
My throat seizes up, as if my body is trying to force me to stop talking. Everything that follows is too painful to remember in such detail, but I know I can't stop the story here. Evan will ask me more questions.
“Guapo bought me in a crappy little house just outside Guadalupe Victoria. I think he paid them a few hundred thousand dollars. He took me to Jesus's penthouse apartment in Chihuahua and Jesus made me his beard.”
I inhale again, surprised that I'm not crying. The inside of my cheek is bleeding from where my molars have sunken into it, but I'm not crying. Not anymore.