No Way Back (Mia's Way, #1) (12 page)

Chapter Nine

I arrive at St. Mary’s Women’s Clinic at eight thirty the next morning. My newly appointed bodyguard opens the door, and I enter. My jaw is clenched. Shea made me change clothes before I left the house, and I saw why as soon as the car left the gates.

Members of the press followed me to the clinic, snapping photos of me that I’m sure will help Daddy look good. Just like his team planned. The waiting area in front of me smells of disinfectant, and there are two women behind the reception desk.

“Hi,” I say, approaching. “I’m um, here for my, ah …”

“I’m Gianna, Dom’s sister.” One of the women is short with sparkling brown eyes and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She appears to be in her mid-30s and is wearing a thick, gold wedding ring. She holds out her hand.

“Hi,” I respond, shaking her hand. “I’m Mia. This is …” I gesture to my bodyguard. I don’t remember his name. He doesn’t supply it. “Fabio. He’ll be around.”

“Fabio?” the receptionist snorts, looking him up and down.

Fabio is African-American, almost seven feet tall, in a suit and sunglasses. He looks like a statue. I’m not even sure he breathes; maybe he’s a robot.

“Your people explained,” Gianna says. “We open in half an hour. Let me show you around real quick.”

She smells like fresh bread and cinnamon. I take a huge whiff as she moves past me.

“We offer counseling, emergency shelter, meals, and limited medical treatment for women,” she explains, leading me down a hallway.

I soon discover the source of Gianna’s food scent. We pass a large kitchen and cafeteria, restrooms, crude open bays with bunk beds where I hear crying children and see women and enter the medical clinic area. There’s already a line of women outside the door.

“Are you good with needles?” Gianna asks, her Jersey accent clear and thick.

“Uh, no.”

“That rules out helping the nurses. I don’t guess you know how to clean?” the question is accompanied by a wink.

“Not really.”

“We’ll probably put you in the office. You can type?”

I nod.

We walk through the quiet building to an office area with six cubicles, four of which are occupied. Gianna leads me to one of the two empty ones.

“This is Lorena’s desk. She’s on maternity leave, so you can take her spot.”

I look at the messy desk. There are crumbs on the keyboard, a coffee cup with mold growing in the murky liquid, an ancient monitor caked with dust and grime, and papers everywhere. I’m afraid to touch the filthy desk. There’s no way in hell I’m sitting there. Then I look into the warm gaze of the sister to the man who saved my life, he man who wants me to do the right thing, because he’d never let anything bad happen to his sister. What’s it like to have someone who loves you?

I hate my life.

“Okay,” I say.

“You may have to run errands in the building every once in awhile. Our operation tries to save money by keeping a small staff,” Gianna explains. “We rely on support from the Catholic dioceses and private sponsors, like your father.”

“Let me guess. He had to bribe the Church so they’d let the daughter of a Southern Baptist politician come here.”

Gianna laughs. “We prefer to call them donations.”

I roll my eyes. That explains what else Chris had to arrange.

“Come on. I’ll show you the supply closet and break room then get you started,” she says.

I follow. Gianna seems really happy for someone who works in a place with sagging walls covered by depressing signs about abuse statistics and biblical quotes. We go to the break room, with its ancient refrigerator and stained microwave, rickety table and mismatched chairs. Gianna sits down and pats the table in front of a chair across from her.

“A little bit about me,” she starts. “I’m married with three kids. Monsters, all of them.” Her smile is contagious. “I’m a certified counselor with a master's in social work. I’ve been in this field for years. Something about helping other women and kids that makes me feel like I’m contributing to the betterment of the world. It’s a rough job at times. You’ll see a lot of pain but a lot of hope, too.”

“Your family is all about bettering the world,” I say when she pauses. “Your brothers are cops.”

“Yes! Dom told you.”

I nod.

“And you? What’s your background?” she asks.

“My family destroys the world,” I reply dryly.

Gianna smiles.

“I don’t know. I’m the product of a politician and a French actress. My older siblings want nothing to do with me, because my mother replaced theirs in the family. My daddy’s lawyer and publicist babysit me while my parents are … uh, doing what they do. I go to school and hang out with friends. In a year, I can leave this all behind me and do what I want with my life.”

Gianna’s smile has faded. “What is that?”

“Not this,” I say, glancing around. “Maybe something with animals. I lost my faith in humanity.”

“Dom told me you’d been through something awful recently,” Gianna says.

“I lost my faith in humanity before that.”

“Many of the women here have been through experiences similar to yours. Dom couldn’t tell me why you are serving community service. I was pretty angry when he said a rape victim was given one hundred hours. I just want you to know, if you need to talk or if something you see here upsets you, please let me know. I talk to women who have gone through rape and abuse on a daily basis. There’s nothing you can tell me that I won’t be able to handle. Okay?”

I look away and nod.

“Let’s get you started on something.” She stands and leads me out of the break room.

“Dom saved my life,” I tell her.

“I saw on TV. He’s very quiet about his work, but I put it together yesterday, when your people called for a time this morning. Dom called right after. He said you’re a fighter.”

I say nothing. I don’t know how he can speak well of me after the other day. He knows I’m a coward.

“Here we are,” Gianna says.

I look at the dirty desk. This is hell.

She shows me how to fill out some forms online then gives me a stack of forms with handwritten entries that I have to type into the computer. I do so in between texting Ari about how much this gig sucks. As soon as the doors open at nine, the place is flooded with people. It’s loud, and everyone seems to be upset.

I want to cry after two hours there. I take a break in the break room and drink a diet soda while wondering what all the stains are in the microwave. There are roaches; I see a huge one waddle across the floor.

I’m not Gianna. I can’t work or live or even visit a place like this. I don’t know how she can. She’s a better person than I will ever be, just like her brother.

When my four hours are up, I bolt to the awaiting car. There’s still a line outside the center and a crowd inside. Gianna texts me a cheerful,
See you Wednesday!
I don’t know how to respond. I want to tell her I’m pretty sure I’d rather go to jail than show up Wednesday.

I arrive home and walk inside to find Dr. Thompkins waiting for me with Chris in the foyer. I groan.

“Later? Please?” I beg.

“Nope. Go,” Chris replies. “Study.”

I sigh and obey. There are cookies and small sandwiches along with a pot of tea. I grab a few cookies and pour myself some tea, then sit down and wait. Dr. Thompkins sits across from me and Chris at the head of the table, a few seats away.

“Tell me about today,” Dr. Thompkins says.

I glare at Chris but assume he’s not about to leave. I go over my day with Dr. Thompkins, who peppers me with questions while Chris listens.

“I understand you had an incident yesterday at the mall.”

I tense at Dr. Thompkins’ words. “It was nothing.”

“Chris doesn’t think it was nothing.”

“I passed out. My first outing and that’s the worst that happened. I think I did good,” I snap.

“So you didn’t see anything on the news that made you pass out?”

“It doesn’t matter if I did.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” Dr. Thompkins directs.

I hate it when he says that. It’s like a test, one I don’t know the answers to. I sigh and tell him. He listens intently, and I wait for his right eyebrow to go up like it does when I curse. Because, I do curse almost every time I mention Robert Connor to my therapist. Chris leans forward, interested now. I look at him again, assuming he’s there to spy for Daddy.

“How did you feel when you saw the news?” Dr. Thompkins asks.

“Angry. No, furious.”

“Because you feel he wronged you.”

“I don’t
feel
anything,” I object, hating the way my shrink sometimes redefines my emotions. “I
know
he hurt me. Even if you try to tell me he didn’t.”

“Why would I –”

“Because everyone does! Everyone likes to tell me I’m wrong. And no one agrees with each other on what
right
is! So you know what, Doc? F-”

“Mia, I’m not telling you that you’re wrong.” His watch beeps.

I’ve never been so happy to have a session with him over. I stand up and dart out, back to my room. I have texts waiting from Ari. I settle in my closet to answer them.

Chapter Ten

I arrive on time to hell two days later. It’s more depressing than I remember. Fabio – or whatever his name is – takes up his position inside the building, drawing the looks of the employees coming in. I go straight to my assigned cube. I tried to straighten it up the other day but am still disgusted as I turn on the computer. I didn’t pass Gianna, and there’s no one around me yet.

I hate feeling alone. The sounds from what one of the ladies calls the dorm area unsettle me more. I don’t know them. I don’t know anyone here. Even if I did, I have nowhere to hide, if they come after me. Crossing my arms, I walk back to the front of the center. Fabio glances at me, and there are members of the press peering into the front door waiting for that money shot of me mopping or something.

“Where’s Gianna?” I ask the receptionist.

“Car broke down. On her way.” The plump black lady’s name tag reads
Wendy
. I don’t remember meeting her the other day, but I really only remember Gianna. “Take this back to the clinic.” She hands me a file.

I take it and walk down the hallway, past the scary dorms that smell like someone tried to cover body odor with a can of Lysol. I hurry past them to the medical office in the back. It must’ve opened early today; there are already women in the waiting area. The nurses’ assistants are triaging two women, one of whom is visibly battered. I clench the folder tighter.

I reach the reception area and hand over the folder then turn to leave fast.

“Hey, ah …” someone calls.

I turn.

“We need some hands down the hall. Come on.”

Before I can object, the older woman ducks into a room and talks to someone else. I start down the hall, not sure I can stomach any sort of medical stuff. After my stay in the hospital, I never want to see another syringe or pill in my life. The older woman trots away and walks into another room. When she reappears, she’s holding a tray full of bottles of urine.