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“See? You say it naturally because it’s your go-to coffee order, and there’s no harm in resorting to ordering it if you feel trapped. Sometimes, my girl, you just have to give yourself a break.” She pauses to scribble a note. “Next time, I’d like to talk more about your feelings regarding sex, okay? I want you to be prepared to have that conversation. It’s important for you as a woman who has a bright future ahead of her that could include marriage and children. We’ve been getting to know each other and I’ve let you lead, but it’s time to tackle some of the issues you haven’t wanted to confront. This is a heads up so you don’t feel blindsided at our next session. I’m going to write a note, right here in my tablet, so I don’t forget.” She holds up her iPadand faces the screen toward me. Jerricka is kind that way, not directing our sessions on weird, twisty paths. She likes me to know what’s coming next, but she’s not going to let me avoid it, either.
“Okay,” I agree reluctantly. I don’t want to talk about sex. It’s all I can think about, and I get so tired of it ruining my life.
“Good. In the meantime, I’m assigning you a little homework. I want you to write down ten things a man could love about you, and sex isn’t going to be one of them. Ten attributes that a man would be proud of you for if he was in a relationship with you. I want to see the list the next time we meet.”
That sounds even more impossible than trying not to think about sex, and I nod, already knowing the list I’m going to give her will be blank.
“Have a good day, Zarah,” she says, sitting behind her desk, our session done.
“You, too.”
I pull myself together using a sitting room connected to Jerricka’s office she designated for her clients who need a moment before facing the world. I often sit and drink a cup of coffee, wash my face, or just breathe and calm down. Sometimes these sessions are difficult, and I cry more than I talk. I don’t like upsetting Douglas, and it’s helpful to have time to find my bearings and I can act normally on the ride home.
Today, I drink a bottle of water and run cold water over my wrists. During our session, I rubbed off my makeup, but that’s okay. I’m going straight home, and I’m looking forward to taking the dogs on a long walk. It’s getting colder outside, but I don’t mind. I love my breath frozen white in the cold air and branches covered in frost in the early morning, and then watching it slowly melt off as the day warms. I like the feel of the solid earth under my feet and the open sky above me. When I’m outside, I’mreminded there’s more to the world than what Ash did to me and that maybe, one day I can get past it.
Sometimes Stella comes along, and we talk about our missing five years. Knowing I didn’t go through my hell alone helps, and we cry together, healing. Talking to Stella can be more therapeutic than a million hours with Jerricka because Stella understands in a way Jerricka never will, but Stella’s enrolled in classes at the university and doesn’t have a lot of time for walks. I admire her. She’s so passionate about being a better person, about helping people. She hasn’t let Ash hold her back like I have.
I tell her I want to be her when I grow up, and she says that I can—the world is my oyster.
Then I tell her I don’t like oysters, and she laughs. It’s silly, but I know what she means. I’m Zarah Maddox and I can do whatever I want.Havewhatever I want.
What I want is to forget how it feels to have a stranger’s cock shoved inside me so deep it hurts, while he grips my leg so hard he’ll leave bruises the next day.
What I want is to feel loved.
But no one will love a dirty girl.
CHAPTER FIVE
Gage
Pop took an easy job and doesn’t need me, and I’ve been tailing Zarah for the past couple of days. I’d rather work on finding a missing gang kid who’s probably dead in a gutter somewhere than sitting in my truck watching her through binoculars while Baby sits next to me and barks at every goddamned bird that flies by. That’s what I try to tell myself, anyway. I don’t want to admit I’ve become protective of her. Not because of Max’s request, and not because I think she’s in any danger, but she looks so fragile and I hate the thought of someone hurting her anymore than she already has been.
Today she comes out of her shrink’s office, and she looks shaky on her pins. I did a little digging to find out what business she would have in this part of the city and found it’s a swank psychiatrist’s building. Probably why she looks white as a sheet—she spent all her time crying and drudging up godawful memories.
The driver who was absent the day the paparazzi decided to hound her is at the curb, standing by a black town car, but shespeaks to him briefly and starts walking down the sidewalk. The older guy wearing a black suit looks undecided and eventually pulls a cell phone out of his jacket pocket and places a call. He listens for a second then hangs up, climbs smoothly behind the wheel, and drives away. Zarah’s halfway down the block by then, and I meld into traffic.
Maybe this is more of their experiment, giving her time on her own. It reminds me of when I was a kid and I was always pushing Pop’s limits. Mom never cared where I went so long as I didn’t bother her, but Pop set curfews and boundaries—physical ones. He didn’t want me going farther than a mile away on my bike. Still had a lot of freedom but I was always itching for more.
I guess that’s how Zarah feels. Like a little kid. She wants her freedom, but it’s a scary, thrilling thing when she’s granted it.
She stops in front of the café I took her to the other day.
Huh.
She must have liked the coffee.
It’s hard for me to imagine that a woman who has her kind of resources would appreciate anything I have to offer. Even if it’s only my favorite coffeehouse.
There’s no parking on the street, of course, and if I want to follow her inside, I’ll have to leave Baby in the truck and use the parking ramp again. I idle at a stoplight and wonder if it’s worth it.
I could bring Baby into the café—I have a vest that identifies her as a service dog if I work a case where she’s helpful—but I park in a dark corner of the ramp and tell her to go to sleep. I don’t have anything to say to Zarah Maddox, and I doubt I’ll be more than half an hour tops. Baby will be okay, and it’s cool inside the truck.
Her soulful eyes watch me.
“I’m not meeting a woman.”
She stares.