I tried to stay calm, I really did. After I fainted, I used the breathing techniques my therapist, Travis’ mother, taught me. My heart races again at the thought. Everything that I’ve been holding in explodes out. The breath I caught is suddenly lost as the choked sobs overtake my body.
I was so close to having him, so close to everything finally being okay. His mother, his fucking mother, knows everything. There’s no way I could look her in the eye and forget she knows. Details. Dirty, disgusting details of how Todd would fuck me. The things he would say to me. How I got off on it. How I let him pay my bills. He paid for my school, my mortgage, and my mother’s medical bills. Then he came over and fucked me once a week for almost three years. I’m no better than a prostitute.
“Hey, are you alright?” I look at a pair of shiny Nikes and my eyes trail up to a super cute, super tall woman. She looks to be a little older than me, and I notice a scar running along her whole right arm. Her brown hair is in a ponytail.
“Umm, yeah.” I stand and wince a little at the soreness in my legs. “Where are we?”
“Almost outside the city.”
“Oh. Shit.” My feet scrape along the concrete, and I wrap my arms around myself, for both comfort and warmth. “Do you have a phone I could use?”
“Believe it or not, I don’t. But if you want to come back with me to my place, I’ll let you use that one.” Her voice is kind and soft, albeit a little raspy.
“No offense, but I don’t know you.” I rub my fingers at my temples. “I’m sorry, that sounded rude. I had the worst day of my life, and I’m all fucked-up.”
“Hey.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve been there, honey. I promise I just want to give you a hand. When I was at my worst, someone did that for me, and it saved my life.”
I hesitate, and she rolls her eyes. “Listen, I want to help you out. You’re obviously not from this neighborhood, you’re sweating, have makeup running down your face, and look scared as hell. If you don’t want to come with me, fine. But I need to get back, so if you’re coming with me, you better do it now.”
I look around the alley and notice the streetlights are beginning to flicker on. She tosses a bag of garbage in a dumpster and pulls a key out of her shoe. Before she goes to walks away, she asks, “You coming or not?”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
I follow her through the alley.
“Come on. My car’s in the front.”
I trail behind her to the front of the building. She points at her car.
“That’s my piece of shit. Can’t believe it’s lasted this long.”
She’s right; it is a piece of shit. What once was probably white is almost yellow, and there’s more rust than paint. The door squeaks and drops a little as I open it. Surprisingly, the inside is clean and actually smells good. The driver’s side door squeaks a little louder than mine does, and she gets in and puts the keys in the ignition.
“Cross your fingers.”
Then she turns the large silver key and the engine makes a loud screech before rumbling to a start.
“Whew. It normally takes a few tries; you must be a good luck charm.” She smiles and punches my shoulder lightly.
The drive is silent, and takes about twenty minutes before she angles the car into a motel.
“Umm…”
“I know, it’s a shit place, but it’s my home. Come on, I’ll tell you once we get inside.”
I hesitate, but only for a second. As we walk to her door, I notice she keeps looking around again. Her eyes catch mine and I ask, “Are you looking for someone?”
“No, I’m just cautious.”
She unlocks the door with four different keys to match the deadbolts. After she opens the door, she motions for me to go ahead of her. Much like her car, this place is really clean. One twin-size bed pushed against the far wall and a rack with clothes sets against the opposite wall. Across from the bed is a dresser with an old TV on top. She also has an electric griddle and microwave next to the TV. A small refrigerator sits next to the dresser.
“Welcome to my humble abode!” She relocks the four dead bolts and slides three chain locks in place, and then applies a safety bar across the middle of the door. “Better safe than sorry, right?”
“Yeah, right. Hey, what’s your name?”
“Mary. What about you?”
“I’m Charlotte.”
I sit on the bed and fiddle with my fingers. “So, you live here?”
“Yeah. It’s a long story, but the short of it is, I was down on my luck. Like I had nobody. Betty, the owner of this place, needed a maid and offered me a room in trade for me cleaning.”
“Oh, so you get cheap rent or something?”
“No. She doesn’t pay me, but I get the place for free. That’s why I clean the salon. I pick up odd jobs here and there for money. I don’t need much.”
Mary throws her purse on the dresser and plops down next to me.
“What’s your story, Charlotte?”
“My story is long, too. The condensed version is, I found out my… I don’t even know what he is. Boyfriend, maybe? I just found out that his mom is my therapist.”
“Ouch. That one’s gotta burn. Why are you in therapy?”
“Umm, it’s kind of personal,” I snap.
“CliffsNotes version, then.”
“Look, I don’t know you. I appreciate—”
“Whatever. You don’t have to tell me. I’m hungry. Want some ramen?”
She gets off the bed and walks to the dresser. The drawer she pulls out is full of ramen and a couple packs of instant mac-n-cheese.
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
She doesn’t say anything else as she puts the dry noodles in a bowl and adds water from the bathroom sink in it. Once it’s in the microwave, she sits on the bed and chews on her fork while waiting.
“My parents both died, and I got involved in a fucked-up relationship.” I’m not sure how much I want to tell her. She’s been really kind to me, so I go on. “Todd was basically a wannabe Dom. I did all sorts of shit with him. He’s fourteen years older than me and was my mom’s oncologist back in Texas.”
“Dang, girl. So you got out of the relationship and started seeing a therapist.”
“Yeah. When I moved here, I reconnected with an old… fling. Turns out my therapist is said fling’s mom.”
We continue talking for about an hour. I explain a little more, and she sympathizes with me. I cry. I laugh. But, most importantly, I listen.
“If this guy, the love of your life. If he is it for you. You can’t let that go. What you went through was not your fault. His mom understands that, and you need to, too. Tell him. Let him know. Once it’s out in the open, I bet you’ll feel much better.”
I rest my hand on her arm, the one with the scar. “How do you know? How am I supposed to believe that once he knows, he won’t be disgusted by me?”
She jerks her arm away and stands.
“I know because what you did is not disgusting. Trust me. I’m not negating the fact that you went through some shit. Some things can’t be forgiven, some things you do result in life-altering changes for other people.” Hands on her hips, she closes her eyes before she speaks again.