Naked (17 page)

Chapter Thirty

M
y mother doesn’t stop me from bringing Zara into my room that night, which is good, because I’m not sure what I would do without her.

She tells me to be careful not to let my dad find out. Right now, I’m her daughter, and she wants to be there for me. It should be a good feeling, but all it does is remind me why I can’t open up to her. Not really.

I sit up and read through my old journals while Zara sprawls out on my bed. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I look anyway.

All I find are old pains, memories that leave me feeling even more numb. The beginning of the spiral that brought me here.

What I find the most surprising is that this—
this
—is my rock-bottom moment. That day that Luis left me in the street, beaten and broken, that wasn’t the worst day of my life—not anymore. Right here, right now. Knowing my past could come back at any moment to slap me in the face and undo everything coming home accomplished.

Jackson stood up for me. The janitor didn’t leave a note. I didn’t even see him today.

Please let that be the end of it…

I finally lie down next to Zara. She was very happy to have the bed all to herself, but she knows it’s me. I guess she loves me. Because yeah, she grunts and huffs as I crawl over her and curl up in the few inches left open next to the wall, but when I stop moving, she shifts closer to me, maybe sensing I need her touch. Next to her, I feel safe. Comfortable.

When I close my burning eyes and channel the things that bring me the most comfort, it’s not Luis I think of. It’s fireflies and stage lights and honeysuckles.

T
he vibrations of Zara growling startles me awake. I jump up, heart pounding, and hear something tapping on the window. Zara doesn’t move. The hair on her neck doesn’t stand up. She just watches.

I take tiny steps toward the window and peek through the curtain.

I see hazel eyes and thick-rimmed yet sexy glasses. My shoulders relax, and I slide open the window.

Jackson stands there just inches away from me. I’m relieved for an instant, until I see the look on his face. Something’s wrong.

My world crashes. What happened?

“Hey, want to go for a walk?” he whispers. “I couldn’t sleep.”

I swallow down my fear. “Um, I probably shouldn’t tonight.” I don’t explain why, but I’m kind of scared to be out in the dark, even with Jackson. “What’s wrong?” I ask, my tension relieved just a little bit. If he wants to talk, it’s probably not what I think it is.

He shakes his head. “They just make me so mad. The things everyone says about you. It’s not fair. If they just got to know you…”

If he only knew what he was saying. It’s ironic that the people who don’t know me at all are closer to the truth than Jackson.

“Who? People at school?”

He nods.

“People say a lot of stupid things.” I shrug. “No point in getting upset.”

I almost laugh at myself. Jackson’s usually the one so calm about stuff. It’s always me who’s freaking out. What happened now that’s got him upset?

“But now they’re crossing the line,” he says. “Do you know someone put a note in my locker today about you?”

My heart stops. “What?” If someone dumped a bucket of cold water on me right now, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t notice. The hair on my arms stands up, and my stomach drops to my feet.

I realize what happened.

The janitor didn’t leave a note in my locker.

But that doesn’t mean he didn’t leave a note somewhere else.

Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Jackson groans. “I probably shouldn’t tell you. It’s so stupid. Don’t worry, I threw the note away.”

I’m afraid to ask, but I have to know. “What did it say?”

“Anna—”

“Jackson. Tell me what it said.”

He shakes his head. “It said, ‘Your girlfriend’s a hooker. Get the best price by calling her by her real name.’ And then it gave some weird name.”

I swallow. “Exquisite?”

He nods. “Yeah, that’s…” Then seems to realize what I just said. “How’d you know?”

“It’s an old joke…” I improvise. “Bullies in middle school used to call me that. It was the name of a hooker in some movie…”

His fists squeeze together. “It makes me so mad that people do that stuff! It’s not fair.”

“Shhh,” I say, looking behind me to my shut bedroom door, hoping my dad hasn’t heard. That’s one more thing I don’t need right now.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and then he lets out a long breath.

I wish I could let him in. I wish we could cuddle up on my bed and fall asleep together. But it’s not worth the risk of my dad finding out, and I’m not actually sure Jackson would say yes.

“I know you have a past, Anna, but seriously, prostitution? Did they think up the most horrible possible thing they could think of and say, ‘Yeah, that’s what we should call her!’”

“Prostitution isn’t the worst thing, is it?” I ask. My blood drains further from my face. I’m not sure I can stay standing much longer.

“Can you think of anything worse? It’s disgusting!”

I clench my jaw like I’m angry, but I’m not. He’s right. It is disgusting.
I’m
disgusting.

I can’t breathe. He might as well have slapped me in the face. I kind of wish he had. It would sting less.

Jackson might not believe the truth that’s sitting right in front of him, but he just gave me proof that all my fears are completely legit.

If he learns the truth, if he gets the proof that’s now being hung over my head—he’ll hate me. He’ll think I’m disgusting.

I can’t keep doing this. The lies. The deception. It’s all going to fall apart. No, worse. It’s already starting to crumble.

This is my future, I remind myself. I always knew Jackson was temporary.

“You should go, Jackson,” I say.

“Oh… All right. Are you okay?”

Just one day earlier, his question would have made me feel warm and safe. Except now, his concern just makes me sick. When he learns the truth, will he care about me at all?

“Yeah. Fine,” I say, but then I stop. It’s not enough for me to know this was temporary. He has to know, too. If he sticks around…

He cocks his head and frowns. “What is it?”

This situation is only going to get worse the longer I string him along. As long as I have something precious, someone else can take it away.

“I just think…this is becoming too serious for me.”

“What?”

“I still want to be friends.” I wince. “But I just think we need to cool it and go our separate ways for a while.”

“Cool it,” he repeats. His eyes dart back and forth, like he’s struggling to process what I said.

“Yeah.” Careful to control my voice and not let him hear how much it hurts me to tell him. “I know it’s short notice about the dance—”

“The dance?” he asks, like the implication hadn’t occurred to him. Like he’s now starting to get how far I intend to pull back.

I wish I could tell him why, but it’s better this way. Safer. For him. For me. For everyone.

“Listen, it’s late,” I say. “You should go.”

“Sure.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away.

“Thanks,” I say, throat thick, and then I drop the window before he even walks away.

I
close the window and curl up next to Zara again and think about the last few weeks as more and more tears fall. Such a short amount of time for someone to break through my walls, to make himself a part of who I am.

I’m still the same, really. Still dirty and scarred and broken. Still lost. But Jackson changed things. He changed the way I see things.

He has the strongest hope I’ve ever seen in someone. But he’s not naive, not stupid. His life isn’t so perfect. Maybe he’s never been beaten and raped and hated the way I have. He’s never had to lie to survive. But he’s seen horrors in his own right, and somehow he finds a way to see the best in people. He still believes.

I can’t destroy that hope in him. That’s what would happen if he knew the truth.

As much as I want him—as much as I need him—I won’t see him get hurt because of me.

Chapter Thirty-One

W
hen my alarm goes off and I roll over, my body feels like lead. Every movement is stiff, painful. It’s not a feeling I’m new to, but it’s strange that I’m feeling it now. It’s not like anything actually happened last night, nothing physical, anyway.

Still, my head pounds and my body feels heavy. I drag myself out of bed because I refuse to feel sorry for myself. Step number two for surviving the streets is to keep moving. Keep fighting. Always, always fighting.

I have no idea what today will bring, but I do know that it will be one hell of an uphill battle. I’ll feel better if I can get through it. If I let it stew, it will drive me crazy. The only way to move on is it to get the worst of it over with.

When I leave my room, I remember Zara, whom I fell asleep with, but she isn’t in the room anymore.

Shit. I should have gotten up earlier. If my dad sees that I let her inside…

I walk out into the kitchen, bracing for the worst, but I see Zara scarfing down a bowl of dog food while my mother does the dishes. That’s interesting.

“Oh, sweetheart. I was going to let you sleep in a little and drive you in myself.”

I shrug. “That’s okay. Where’s you-know-who?”

“You know your father. Work, work, work. He left before the sun came up.”

Yikes. I never even thought about that. Getting up early to let Zara out would have put me right in Dad’s path. I should feel comforted that I got so lucky, but all I can think is how even that careful plan so quickly got away from me. I really don’t know what I’m doing.

When Mom looks at me, her eyes are slightly creased, like she’s trying to read my mind.

“I kind of just want today to be a good day,” I say.

She nods. “Then let’s make today a good day.”

Maybe my mother really has changed. Maybe she doesn’t see me as the hooker in her house. Maybe she sees me as the daughter she lost but got back.

Great. One more person to disappoint.

I
’m so numb that I’m not even surprised when I find a new crumpled note in my locker the next day.

I knew he had more to tell me, more he wanted from me.

I knew this wasn’t over.

It was only a matter of time before he made his intentions very clear.

The note reads:

You see what happens when you don’t give me what you owe me?

You’re going to give it to me or I’ll tell everyone.

But I’m generous. I’ll take half. One last time, then I’ll let you go. Nothing is too much for my beautiful Exquisite.

I crumple the note and throw it back into my locker with the rest. I’m too scared to even throw them away in case someone reads them. They might be vague, but their words carry too much weight.

I let the numbness take over. I can’t think about any of it. Not now.

I avoided Jackson on the bus by letting my mom drive me in, and now I avoid him at art class and lunch. He sits with his old friends, which, if I’m honest, kind of stings. But he’s only doing what I told him to do. He’s respecting what I want. And I told him to leave me alone.

His friends must be eating it up, telling him,
See? We told you she was bad news.

Well, they were right. Being with me just got him hurt. My only comfort is that pushing him away will save him from even more pain.

Alex talks a mile a minute about some college party she’s going to this weekend while both Jen and I sit in silence, pretending to listen.

“Okay, what’s up?” Alex says, like she’s accusing me of something.

“What?”

“Last I saw, you and Jackson were as chummy as ever, and now you’re all solemn and he’s avoiding us all.”

I shrug and look over to his table. Our eyes meet, and he looks away like he’s been caught doing something wrong.

“What happened?”

Jen perks up a little, like she’s finally interested in something we’re talking about. Great, even she’s into my life drama.

“We got in a fight, kind of,” I say.

“About what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” I grab my books, leave the table, and stomp all the way out of the cafeteria. I shouldn’t start shit with the only friends I have left, but I can’t handle being interrogated right now. Nothing good ever comes out of being questioned.

I head to the bathroom to hide out the rest of the lunch period, and when I shut the stall door behind me I realize I’m not the only one with this idea. The girl in the stall next to me is sniffling like she’s trying desperately to stop crying.

I ignore it at first, ‘cause it’s none of my business, but even I can’t ignore a poor person suffering.

“You okay?” I don’t say it to be all warm and fuzzy nice, but it comes out softer than I expect it to.

“No,” the girl whines.

I take in a deep breath and try to channel the people who have made the most difference in my life. People like Jackson and Sarah.

Except I have no idea what to say.
Do you want to talk about it?
is too cheesy, so what else?

But maybe it’s not about being like Jackson or Sarah. About being like someone else. It’s about being me. The me who has enough power to help someone else, even if I can’t help myself.

“Whoever made you cry deserves to get the shit kicked out of them.” Probably not the best advice in the world, but it felt good to say it. “You have to get your power back.”

I don’t know who this girl is, or what’s making her cry. But there’s truth in what I said. I don’t have any more power. But I can help her get hers. I’ll do anything to make sure no one else ends up as hopeless as I’ve become.

“How?” she whispers.

“Guess it depends. What is it that’s making you feel so bad? So weak.”

“My boyfriend…he’s blackmailing me.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “How?”

She pauses, and for a second I wonder if she’ll tell me. Then she whispers, “A video on his phone.”

Oh shit. I lean over and look at the shoes of the crying girl I’m giving horrible advice to. Sparkly black flats, probably stupid expensive.

“Marissa?” I ask.

The silence in the bathroom is thick, charged.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asks, her voice deep, no longer the sniveling weak girl I thought I was talking to. I sit still, frozen, as the girl slams open her stall door and stands in front of me, tapping her stupid sparkling shoe.

Slowly, I open my own stall door, a shy smile on my face. “Hi there,” I say, a little nervous but mostly wanting to laugh.

This would only happen to me.

Her face fades from anger to surprise as she registers who I am. “How did you know?” she asks, her face blank.

I shrug. “I heard you talking about your boyfriend in that bathroom once, remember? Wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

I know a jacked-up relationship when I see one. At least, now I do. I’ve been there too many times now.

She takes a step back, almost stumbling like she’s too tired to keep fighting. “You’re the only one. I’ve been practically begging someone else to figure it out, one of my friends to tell me what to do.”

“Guess I tend to see guys for the assholes they really are.”

She leans onto the porcelain sink. “You got probably the only nice guy in the school.”

“Got? No, I never got him, and if I did, it didn’t take me long to lose him.”

“Really?” She looks up, her eyes still bloodshot.

I nod. “But it’s not me that needs the help now. What can we do about this douche bag boyfriend of yours?” Maybe I can’t change my own past or fix myself, but if I can stop something bad from happening to someone else, I’m going to try. I won’t be weak anymore.

“I don’t know…” she whispers. “I’ve tried getting my hands on his phone, but he won’t let me near it. Not like that would matter. He has it saved on his computer, too.”

“Has he sent it to anyone?”

She shakes her head. “He likes to keep all the power himself. He shows his friends sometimes, though.”

“That’s good. We only have two places we need to get to, then. It’s not impossible.”

“How? I’ve thought of everything. I even thought about telling his mom, but he’s told me he’d send it to everyone he knows if I ever tell.”

“We’ll just have to do both at once.” I say it before I even really think about it. Truth is, I’m happy to have something to distract me. Something important.

She blinks.

I’ve known too many guys like Brandon, and I won’t let them keep winning. This time, it’s my turn.

“I’ve got an idea.”

I
know I only have a minute or two before the bell rings to end lunch, so I’ve got to work quickly. I rush into the cafeteria, and I swear a hundred sets of eyes turn to watch me. That’s not awkward or anything.

Jackson watches as I run excitedly to Alex and Jen.

They’re sitting there awkwardly, Jen flipping through a textbook and Alex picking at one of her fingernails. Have they been like this since I left?

“Whoa, what’s up with you?” Alex says, looking up when I reach the table like I pulled her from something riveting.

“I need your help with something.”

Both of them look at me expectantly but say nothing.

“It’s going to sound crazy, but trust me, okay?”

“All right,” Alex says. “Enough cryptic setup. What is it?”

I smile. “We’re going to help Marissa.”