What did I do?

Faster and faster and faster the events tumble around until I feel sick and lean over and vomit.

When I was ten, I managed to escape Mama at a fair, which wasn’t really an escape because she didn’t care what I did as long as I eventually came back. She slipped inside one of those rusty trailers on the outskirts where the carnies lived. That night, she followed a man with thinning oily hair, a bushy beard, and a red bulbous nose. He pushed money into her hands and they wobbled off to disappear into that tiny metal house while I dashed for the rides, zeroing in on the Zipper. Most Exhilarating Ride at the Fair the blinking red lights said, but once the lady clamped that bar down and hurtled me into the sky, I screamed, my hands white-knuckled and clenched, certain the next spin into the heavens would be my last and I’d come crashing down, my guts flowing over twisted metal when the thing hit the earth.

But, I didn’t cry. Not one time. Even when I went back to that trailer and snuck inside and Mama was on her knees in front of the man. His pants were at his ankles as her hands cupped his privates. Her eyes flashed at me then up at him, a sly look on her face. A long moment passed, seeming to stretch into eternity, then she motioned for me. Come here, Ava. Try this.

He zipped his pants and lurched toward me, and I flew out that door and ran and ran and ran. He chased me while I flew past the Zipper, past the corn dog stand, past the goldfish game, and right out the exit. I didn’t see Mama for two days.

Focus, please Ava, time is passing and you’re not right in the head and your body is wrong, just stop thinking about Mama and get yourself up and go go go go go go go go go go go…

With a huge breath, I push myself up more. God, I hurt everywhere. I touch my face, checking for injuries, but there’s no swelling or blood. My arms are fine, goose bumps rising in the chilly air. I rub down my chest, squinting in the darkness. My shirt is shoved up to my throat, exposing my plain white bra, issued to me by the nuns at Sisters of Charity. The cups have been maneuvered down, and I adjust it with careful, slow movements, putting my breasts back inside. I don’t let myself think about how they came to be like that.

My legs are jelly but still there, and I huff out a laugh as if expecting fatal injuries. No Zipper death yet. Ha.

Wait… I let out a primal sound, as if my body knows, only it’s taking my brain a minute to catch up. My skirt is bunched up around my hips, my pelvic area bare. No plain white underwear from the nuns. Dimly, I process the leaves and twigs from the woods digging into my bottom. My hands flail uselessly over my skin as if the scrap of material might magically appear.

Oh, Ava, oh Ava, you know what this is—how could you be this naïve…

Craning my neck, I lean forward and take in small, purple-looking bruises on my inner thighs. I touch myself, there, and groan at the pain from the swollen tissue. My heart picks up more, flying inside my chest. Blackness dances in front of my face.

“No, no, no…” I say then vomit off to the side, again. Finally, the alcohol is coming up.

More memories—are they real?—slam into my mind.

Me heading off to the line of trees. I had to pee. Was Jolena with me? No. I shake my head as an image of someone else pops up, male, looming over me, leading me away. He took my hand and told me he had something to tell me, and for some reason I followed him—

I touch my mouth.

He kissed me hard.

He yanked my hair and shoved me down to the ground.

Clarity and realization take over the cloudy memories, cutting like a sharp knife. I don’t remember details, most of it totally blank, but a monster was with me in these woods.

I hear Piper’s voice in my head. Don’t trust them, Ava. You might be a cheerleader today, but no one gets inside their group.

But…I just wanted to be close enough to be with Chance.

I wanted to live in his world.

Where is he now?

My thoughts drift, and I don’t know how long I sit in the grass, grappling with what happened one second then wailing again the next as the reality of it settles around me.

Clinging to a tree, I try to stand but slide back to the ground.

Long minutes pass, and I’m aware of the moon as it moves through the trees. Just a little more time and I can walk.

I can.

I have to.

Someone needs me out there. I brush my fingers over the cheap, gold-plated locket around my neck, touching the flimsy chain. He’s small and tiny and if he doesn’t have me and if I don’t get up, what will happen then?

I can never desert him…

That thought gives me strength, just enough to crawl away from the trees and across the open meadow. Past that meadow is that old road, and beyond that is a real highway where I can flag someone down—

I hear the soft rumble of a vehicle as headlights flash in front of me, a car swinging into the field. A brief elation rises in me then crashes and burns.

What if it’s him?

My anxiety ratchets up, panic beating at me, and my muscles burn as I attempt to crawl back the way I came.

Wait till morning. My head’s not right, but I can wait it out.

I’m good at hiding.

Always have been.

The bright glow of the lights blinds me, and my head swings wildly around, looking for somewhere to go.

Run, run, run…

Shuffling sounds break the stillness, a car door slamming, a voice calling out.

Fear courses through me and I cover my face, ashamed to be so defenseless. Me. ME.

Broad shoulders stand over me, and he speaks, and I blink up. I can’t see him with the beams of light from his car in my eyes. More talk from him. I can’t respond. I retch instead.

He walks toward me. Bends down. Strong arms come down and sweep me up. Shifting around in his embrace, I try to fight, but it’s nothing but a flinch, no struggle, no girl from the inner city who knows how to fight. I’m empty, my body unable to resist him putting me in his car, snapping the seat belt around me. He speaks, maybe my name, asking me questions, but I can’t think straight. I can’t do…anything.

He pulls away from the field, the car moving fast, so fast, and my head lolls to the side on the seat, staring at my captor.

Who is he?

Do I know him? I squint, catching a glint of chiseled jawline and furrowed brow. His head turns and his steely gaze locks with mine. I think I see anger, and just when I think I know him, just when it’s on the tip of my tongue—there’s nothing but darkness as I slip away and sink back into oblivion.

2

Ten months later

The sun beats down on me as I get out of my dark green, older-model Jeep Wrangler, Louise, and give her a little pat. There’s a dent on the driver’s side—came that way—and the paint is rusted at the edges of the hood and over the wheels. I worked three summers waiting tables at a dingy all-night diner in downtown Nashville to buy her, and it’s my sole possession in the world. I paid for it with carefully scraped together money from every tip I got, and I got plenty because I was the best waitress there, pasting a broad, welcoming smile on my face for every truck driver, blue collar worker, and late-night drunk person. Sometimes if the waitstaff was full, I cleaned the kitchen, took out trash, or mopped the floor. Lou would text me any time one of his servers didn’t show up or called in sick, and I’d drag myself up out of my bed at the group home and jog the two blocks to the diner, half-asleep but ready to put the time in for the dollars. I find a smile. Louise isn’t pretty, but she’s mine.