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But going to the church would have been nice. I could have prayed. I wanted to watch him be buried and throw roses into his grave. Later that week, I had to make do and visit the cemetery.
“Did you speak?” she asks.
“What?” Her question catches me off-guard. I’m still at the funeral parlor, knowing it would be the last time I’d ever see Max.
“Did you and Max’s brother speak? What’s his name?”
“Gage—” He told me his full name, and I forgot it. I frown, frustrated, and Jerricka smiles in understanding.
“It’s okay, Zarah.”
I sigh. “Thanks. I was on my own, like we talked about, but it backfired. A group of photographers cornered me, and no one was around. I stood there, frozen, like some stupid girl, and I broke down instead of handling it. Gage, he was across the street and saw it happen. He chased them away.”
“Was he kind to you? You said he wasn’t before.”
“He asked if I wanted to go for coffee, but I was scared of him and almost said no. I couldn’t order...the choices, and the barista waiting...I tried to walk out. He stopped me and ordered our lattes. He apologized for the way he treated me and wiped whipped cream off my nose.” My cheeks heat, remembering the heat in other places when his fingers brushed my skin.
Jerricka catches my blush and tilts her head. “Are you attracted to him, Zarah? It’s okay if you are. You’re a healthy, beautiful woman.”
“I’m dirty.” The words pop out of my mouth. They were already in my brain and they rush out from between my lips like a dark secret. In agitation, I stand and pace her office, my heels sinking into the deep carpeting. “I’m a whore, and I’m filthy, and men paid Ash to hurt me. My daddy was a son of a bitch and I deserved what I got.”
A flash of a memory rises to the surface, and a man wearing a suit pounds into me from behind. My dress is torn, and I’m screaming into a pillow. He calls me a slut over and over.
Jerricka turns toward the window to give me privacy.
I know the words aren’t from my own mind, my own heart. Ash would say those nasty things whenever he set up a new job for me, and they’re carved into my brain.
He said Zane and I had to pay for Kagan Maddox’s crimes. My father wasn’t a criminal, not like Ash and Clayton, but we’re still paying. Neither of us has anything left.
I pull a tissue out of the box on Jerricka’s desk and wipe my face.
“You’re not dirty, and you’re not a whore,” Jerricka says, her gaze touching on everything in the room but me. “There are a lot of women, some of whom I see, who feel the same way you do. They married men who only wanted them for sex, not love, or they were raped at parties or walking to their cars after work. You definitely aren’t alone in thinking your self-worth has been reduced to what’s between your legs.”
Her words don’t change my mind. “No one wants a dirty girl. Gage doesn’t want a dirty girl.” I lift my chin knowing she can’t argue.
I’ve been used, my virginity stripped away, and I’m black inside.
“Does Gage know what happened?”
“Everyone in the world does.”
That’s the honest to goodness truth. The press covered every one of Ash’s and Clayton’s crimes, and what Ash did to me eventually came out.
He sold me a total of four times—five if you count the repeat customer Stella interrupted. Three of those men are in prison for using Ash’s service and for what they did to me. I had to meet with an attorney and I told her everything I could remember. Stella was there, holding my hand, and so was a victim’s advocate, and even though it took me all day because my memory comes and goes like a rainbow in a thunderstorm, I was able to tell them enough to press charges.
The fourth man...the drugs they gave me at Quiet Meadows causes details of that night to slip and slide, and so far, the DA’s office hasn’t been able to pin him down. He was the most violent, saying my father cost him millions in business deals. I can’t remember anything about him, and I have nightmares that one day he’ll find me and take what Ash said he could have.
“And even though he knows your history, he still invited you to have coffee.”
I open my mouth to deny...what? I’m not sure. “It was only coffee.”
Jerricka smiles. “It was only coffee.”
We pass the rest of the session talking about what to do if I’m alone and in a situation I can’t handle. I hated feeling powerless and overwhelmed, but if I want more time on my own, and I do, then I’m going to have to learn to troubleshoot. That’s what Jerricka calls it. Troubleshoot. Use my words and if I need to, ask for help. For instance, instead of running off like I tried to do at the café, I can take a deep breath and say, “I need a moment, please, the person behind me can go first,” and focus on the task at hand instead of my fear.
Then she says something even more comforting. “If you’re frozen and can’t get your brain to work, order your usual. Zarah, you drink coffee all the time. What do you order when you’re not pressured into looking at a menu you’ve never seen before?”
The words come out of my mouth just as easily as my self-hate. “A medium Americano with lots of cream.” I slap a hand over my mouth.