“Nowhere. We stayed.”
“Wait. You stayed? How?”
“It was a big apartment complex and no one ever questioned where the rent came from. I paid in money orders.”
The more she speaks, the angrier I get—not at her, but at her parents. At every parent who thinks we can do this on our own.
I shake my head and my eyes bug out of their sockets. “You’ve been living alone and raising your brother since you were eleven? How did you continue to pay for rent, electricity, food?”
She swallows, her chin quivering with her response. “I did what I had to.”
I shiver and my mind automatically drifts to the worst possible scenario. My jaw sets as I think about dirty old men with their hands all over her. My skin feels like it ignites into flames as I try to find the words to ask her.
She sees it in my eyes and quickly retorts, “No! Not that. I’ve never done…that.”
My chest contracts as I let out the breath I didn’t realize was holding.
“But I sold drugs. Lots and lots of drugs to kids at school.” A tear falls from her eye and she quickly wipes it away, pretending it never existed.
“Where are your parents now?” I ask, glaring into the woods and imagining what I’d say to them if I ever met them.
“It doesn’t matter.” She sniffs. “About six months ago I decided I didn’t want this for myself or my brother. So I stopped dealing. I got out. But we also ran out of money pretty quick.” She looks up to the sky and exhales. “After I called the police, they showed up at my door and took me and my brother into state care.”
“And now?”
She hesitates and slowly exhales again. “Now Matthew and I live about six blocks from here in a home for kids. I tuck him in every night, which is why I always get here so late. It’s not the best situation, but at least it’s something.”
I can’t even imagine, with my privileged upbringing, everything she has been through. In this instance, I feel extremely small.
But I can’t help but be thankful. Not for the horrific circumstances of her life, but for whatever bit of serendipity that brought her here. And into my life.
I rake my hands across my face and look over at her. She’s stopped tracing lines in the dirt, but the conversation has left her emotionally exhausted. I can see it in her posture.
Her eyes flutter shut, and I can tell she wants to sleep.
“Come here,” I whisper. “That’s enough talking for tonight.” I prop myself against the tree and pat my leg.
She tries to smile, but it takes too much effort. Instead, she lays her head in my lap and closes her eyes.
I run my fingers through her hair—noting that it’s just as soft as I thought it would be—to soothe her, and before long I can feel her tears on my knee.
I lean back against the tree, trying to find something to say.
But I have no go-to speeches for this one.
I’m in entirely new territory. And the last thing I want to do is hurt this girl any more than she’s already been hurt.
As she drifts to sleep, I slowly reposition myself, so that she is lying practically on top of me. And I’m not even thinking (well not entirely) about how I can work this so that I can sleep with her.
I’m not thinking of her as my Number Ten. My next conquest. The next notch on my bedpost.
I keep my arms wrapped tightly around her, giving her a chaste kiss on the top of her head.
I’m tired, but I don’t fall asleep—scared that when I do, she’ll leave.
And I realize that’s not something I’d be okay with.
Chapter Thirteen
Number Two: The Nissan
November 12, 2013 (Ten months ago)
Since the last time was a two-and-a-half-minute disaster, I knew I needed to distract myself as much as possible by pleasing her first. The whole stamina thing was going to be a lot tougher than I thought.
Sex wasn’t like I’d always thought it would be.
The act of it was fine, but I was completely devoid of emotional attachment. I’m not sure if that’s normal or not, but that was never really my goal anyway.
It just struck me as odd.
Where was the excitement? Where were those elusive butterflies that I was supposed to feel when I kissed her for the first time? Where was the tingling and nervousness and timidity? There was nothing except my hormones. I might as well have been having sex with a blowup doll.
I was eager again that time, but Emily wasn’t as quick to give up her virginity as Peggy had been several months before. It had taken me a long time to try it again. To be honest, I didn’t think we were going to have sex at all until she unzipped my fly.
I think I need to start a spreadsheet on this subject, because it’s fascinating. How is a guy supposed to know what a girl wants unless she asks him? There must be signs, some kind of signals they give us that are more subtle than Emily’s.