Page 25 of Pieces of Ash

Huh. Okay.

I did some quick thinking…

I have no work coming in. I’m broke. I’ve already sold most of my cool bags and shoes on eBay. Thank God I keep my jewelry in the bank, or that’d be gone too.

I’m basically at the end of my rope, and like the good guy in an old Western, this rich motherfucker pops up out of the fucking blue and says that he’ll give me five million if I marry him.The kid and I can move into his mansion in New York. He’ll take care of us.

That’s what I wanted, right? Five mil and a mansion?

Right.

TWO WEEKS, he says, still staring at me in this intense fucking manner. YOU’LL COME BACK TO NEW YORK IN TWO WEEKS AND MARRY ME.

I smile at him and ask him for ten thousand to hold me over until the wedding, half wondering if he’ll tell me to go fuck myself. But nope. He snaps his fingers, and some dude leaves the room where we’re eating and comes back with the cash.

Fuck.

Then it was REAL real.

Anyway…I go back to LA, party for two weeks like my hair’s on fire, and spend the ten grand. He sends people to pack up our shit and yesterday he flies us out here. Except, when we got to the airport, Mam and Tad are waiting for the kid and Mosier is waiting for me.

TAKE ASHLEY TO THE HOTEL, he says to my parents.

Then he takes my arm, escorts me to a limo outside, and we’re off.

OKAY, I think. We haven’t even fucked yet. Now that I’m here for good, he wants some time alone.

WHERE ARE WE GOING? I ask him.

YOU’RE GOING TO DETOX, he says, staring down at his phone as he sits across from me in the car.

Detox? Did I fucking hear him right?

WAIT. WHAT? I DIDN’T AGREE TO ANY?—

I’M NOT HAVING A CURVA JUNKIE FOR A WIFE.

CURVA? DOES THAT MEAN FAT?

IT MEANS SLUT, he says, looking up from his phone.

I’ve only met him in person once, but we’ve talked on the phone a few times, and he’s never used this tone with me. All we ever talk about is how much he can’t wait for me and the kid to move in and be a big happy family. A chill goes down my spine, but I’m pissed too, and I concentrate on my anger, letting it build up quick.

WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I scream, lunging across the seat at him.

But this fucker, for all his considerable girth, is fast. He reaches out and grabs my neck, squeezing it just enough to make me dizzy.

SIT BACK, he says softly, leaning me back against the seat. AND DON’T EVER FUCKING DO THAT AGAIN.

I blink at him because my eyes are burning. I can’t get a deep breath.

YOU’RE GETTING CLEAN, he adds, kneeling on the floor between the seats as he stares up at me. His eyes are cold. His voice is quiet. His fingers hurt.

Finally the pads of his fingers release, and I take a deep breath.

What the fuck just happened?

I reach up and massage my neck. His fingers are going to leave marks.