Page 9 of Beautifully Ruined

I gulp down a sob as she talks about trees and cats, and I think maybe she had a cat, but I can’t bring myself to ask. That’s not going to help. I don’t think any conversation will help. So, I just let her talk while I let my mind wander.

Where’s Cade?

The thought rushes me and takes my breath.

The longer I’m here, the less confident I am in getting free. Getting out alive.

I don’t even know if the man I’ve gone and fallen in love with is okay.

And I only told him I loved him once.

If he was here, I’d pepper him with kisses and tell him over and over how much I love him. How much I love both sides of him.

Cade and The Ghost.

What…what if they killed him?

What if I never get to speak to him again, tell him how I feel?

What if I never get to hear his voice or his laugh or feel his touch?

This isn’t about sex. It’s him. the way his touch made me safe.

My throat constricts, and I can’t breathe.

It’s like the world is imploding and black spots start to burst in my eyes.

I can’t deal.

What if he’s being tortured?

What if they carved him up alive?

What if…

“Stop it. Stop it now. This isn’t helping.” Then I raise my voice a little. “We’re getting out, you hear me?”

“Yes, yes. We’ll shop. Do you think they’ll be here soon? I hope so. I’m good. I’ve been good…”

And she’s off again. But I somehow have control over my thoughts again, I’ve clamped down on the spiraling. I need to stay positive.

Right now, my thoughts are all I have.

“Do you think?—”

Jean stops as a door slams somewhere beyond our cells.

It’s not loud, and I try and remember the distance from the stairs to here. But I was being carried and stride matters.

It sounds like it’s a long stretch of space. And footsteps, soft at first, get louder.

Jean whispers, “We have to be quiet, or we’ll be punished.”

A million questions swirl up, but I have to stop myself firing them at her. It’s not her thinking or guessing or even just imagining we’ll be punished. I absolutely believe that, but it’s more the conviction, the knowing.

How many other girls have been here? How many were taken away never to be returned? Or how many were beaten, just like her?

Is this some kind of holding pen for a trafficking ring?