"Who's Sarah?" I ask, cutting his laughter short. He narrows his eyes at me and leans forward. I instinctively clutch on to the sheets under me and rock my body back. He looks from my hands to my face and shakes his head, his eyes full of remorse.
"I would never hit you, chick. I swear I won't. Sarah's...she's just an ex-girlfriend of mine. Long story," he says quietly before leaning back.
"Forget I asked," I mumble. It's not like I want to make small talk with this criminal.
"It's cool. Like I said...you really shouldn't be here, but I don't know how to get you out. Shit is really fucking complicated around here, in case you haven't figured that out yet."
"Why can't you...can't you sneak me out while he's away?" I ask, trying not to sound as hopeful as I feel.
"Hell no. I wanna help you, not get myself killed!" he scoffs.
I blink at him. "They'd kill you? But you just said they're your family!"
A bitter laugh escapes him before he says, "Yeah...family. Family means everything and nothing to people like Benny. These people have your back until you fuck up, chick. It's an eye for an eye out there. You cross them—you die."
I get lost in a trance, pondering his words. I wonder who has the vendetta against my supposed family. Is it Alex or is it Benny? And who's ultimately in charge of my fate in all of this? I know that if Benny is the one in charge, I am royally screwed because he clearly hates me beyond anything I've ever seen before. He acts as though I killed his dog or something. Alex doesn't like me either, he'd rather not look at me at all. It just doesn't seem fair that I would have to pay for something that people I don't even know did to them over twenty years ago. Not only that, they seem convinced that my father, who is supposedly alive, and his people, are going to want me back. But why would he? Why would any of them want me back? If they did, wouldn't they have looked for me years ago? I mull over these thoughts as I drift to sleep, hoping I'm wrong and that they do want me and do believe I'm alive. Because the only thing I know without a doubt is that whoever they are, they're the only ones keeping me alive. Just like Cole is the only one keeping me sane.
I rub my eyes and stretch with a yawn, rolling over to look for Cole until I feel the cold of the sheets beside me. When I open my eyes I realize I'm not home but still trapped in this hell. The voices coming from outside the door confirm it. The light that seeps in from under the door is the only thing brightening the room a little. Sitting up, I try to listen closely, hoping to make out who's here before heading to the bathroom. I step into the bathroom and close the door, locking the dread behind me before leaning against it and sliding down to the floor. My eyes jump from one tiny white tile to the other and I look around at the bathroom that has become my sanctuary. I examine my arms and notice that the bruises are slowly disappearing. Thanks to Dean's daily visits, Benny hasn't been able to lay a hand on me. I finally gather the strength to pick up my lethargic body and head straight to the shower, peeling off my clothes on the way. I stand below the water before it gets too cold, not that it's warm to begin with. As I lather my hair, my mind drifts to my loved ones, as it always does. I wonder what Cole is doing today, how he's coping. How Aubry's doing and whether Becky and Greg have gone to visit them. So many questions that I don't have the answers to, and the longer I'm here, the less likely that I will.
Sitting under the shower head, I bring my knees up to my chest and let the water prickle my back as I watch it drain away the soap and tears. I close my eyes and think of Maggie and Aunt Shelley, the women I leaned on during the most important years of my life. I haven't let myself think of either one of them in a long time, not wanting to experience the pain of losing them again, but I can't help it as I wonder what they would do in this situation, what kind of advice they would provide me with. They were so caring, so patient, so resilient. Even in her last days, Aunt Shelley never let me see her break down, not once.
Loud pounding on the bathroom door breaks me from my daydream, and I get up quickly to turn off the water and get out of the shower. The pounding on the door continues until I yell out that I'm almost done. Once I'm dressed, I take a deep breath and decide that I will not let them break me; I won't let my family down. I open the door and see Dean on the other side, wearing a plaid blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans, and black boots. His dark hair is perfectly styled, and even the shadow of a beard looks pretty good on him. My eyes trail down his slim body and stay glued to the tattoos I see on his left forearm, until his chuckle brings me to meet his twinkling hazel eyes.
"Well, this is a change," he says, the side of his mouth forming in a slight smile.
"What is?" I ask, crinkling my eyebrows.
"You. Checking me out instead of glaring at me," he says as a slow smile spreads on his face.
My mouth pops open for a moment before I recover my thoughts. "I was not checking you out! I was trying to figure out what your tattoo is. There's a difference. Besides, you're not in your uniform today. It's weird to see you wearing grown up clothes." He doesn't really wear a uniform, but most of the time he's dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and a leather jacket.
He shakes his head. "If you say so." I can hear the disbelief in his voice and it makes me want to throw something at him.
I roll my eyes. "Do you have another magazine for me?"
He's been bringing me magazines to help my boredom. I have to hide them whenever Alex comes to check up on me just in case, but that's a small price to pay for entertainment. I may not know what's going on in the world, but I know which celebrity couples are together and what the latest trend fashion is. So far, Drew Barrymore got married and Jessica Simpson had a baby. Maybe if I had kept up with gossip before, this would be exciting for me to know, but frankly, I don't give a damn. I sigh dreamily at my own thoughts as I daze off thinking of Gerald O'Hara. God, I need to get the fuck out of here! You know it's bad when you're daydreaming of an old dead guy.
"You're such a pain in the ass," Dean says with a laugh, and then suddenly stops when he sees me wipe my tears. "Shit. I was kidding, chick, you didn't have to go and cry about it." I bury my face in my hands before more sobs can escape. How pathetic am I that I can't be called a pain in the ass without crying? Once I calm down, I wipe my face again and bring the tray onto my lap, avoiding his gaze.
"So, you don't like being called a pain in the ass?" he asks quietly. I know he's trying to keep the conversation light, but I'm not in the mood for any of it.
"No," I grumble before taking a bite of toast. "I don't like being called anything."
He sits in front of me and watches me eat in silence. When I finish, I get up and head to the bathroom, leaving him sitting on the floor by my bed.
I sit up on the counter and begin to draw circles over the green bruises on my calf. That's all I am these days, cuts and bruises—inside and out. I snap back to reality and hop off the counter, picking up my hair in a messy ponytail as I open the door, hoping to walk into an empty room, but Dean is still there flipping through my magazine.
"You gonna sit here and read old gossip all day or you gonna try to help me out?"