Page 26 of The Bronze Garza

“Sweetheart, that’s not what—”

“I’m going to my room,” I mumble. “Patrick, Holly, do let me know when you’re ready. And Eloise, congrats, you’ll finally have him to yourself.”

I run upstairs to my room and lock the door. Leaning back against it, I let my body slide right down until my butt hits the floor.

I draw my feet up to my chest, wrap my arms around them, and drop my chin to my knees, counting as I breathe.

There’s nothing in my room but a bed and a dresser. In the first week of being back, I’d gotten everything cleared out. All the “stuff” had made me feel claustrophobic. The luxury of them felt like needles digging into my skin. So, I got rid of it all and painted the walls stark white, leaving them bare.

Sometimes it reminds me of the “dark room” I used to be punished in. But mostly, it’s symbolic ofme, how I feel on the inside. Stark and sparse. I’m no longer the girl I used to be, but I also don’t knowwhoI am now.

They assume I’m cooped up in the house because I’m afraid to go outside, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve locked myself inside because I don’t know where to go from here. What to do.

Before my life was rudely interrupted, I was two years into college, majoring in business and finance. I’d had dreams of becoming like my hero—my dad. Mitch Henderson is a self-made billionaire. He started out as an indie movie producer before moving up to the big leagues. After getting three Oscars under his belt, he launched his own streaming service and production company, which is what catapulted him to billionaire status. I’d wanted to do great things like he’d done, not just reap the benefits.

But now I realize that my motivation was based on money, notoriety, and his approval. All things that no longer mean anything to me. Sixteen months was all it took to strip me of that glittery, superficial drive. And now I’m lost.

In the first two weeks of being back, we argueda lot. I wanted to go public about what happened, but they didn’t want me to. Two officers came discreetly to the house in the middle of the night and took down my report of everything. They’d showed me pictures of missing girls, and I was able to ID a few, eager to help in whatever way I could.

Dad paid them off to keep all information about me sealed. He told me he was doing it to protect me. Going public meant my face would be all over the news and internet, and I’d forever be “the girl who was sold into sex slavery.” Talk shows would want to interview me, use me for views, twist my words.

Though I’d remained obstinate at first, I eventually capitulated when I was reminded that Igor thinks I’m dead. That reminder was enough to shut me up.

It was cemented even further when Kristie’s—whose real name I’ve since learned is Sarah Lette—parents came to visit me. They were distraught and aggrieved, and begged me to never repeat a word of what happened with their daughter to anyone. They, too, chose to keep their daughter’s fate off the record. Even now, their ministry still accepts “Find Sarah Lette” donations and hold monthly vigils.

All of it has skewed my view of the world. Of people. And that is why I’m stuck. Void. Desolate. As blank and empty as my walls.

So no, I’m not afraid of going outside.

What I am isfucking pissed.

Once I hearscreeching chairs and clanking dishes downstairs, I peel myself up off the floor and pad to the bathroom to grab a shower, then get dressed in jeans and a plain tee and pull my hair back in a ponytail. Minimal effort.

Sometime later, Patrick comes knocking.

“You do know we love you, right?” he says when I open the door. “No one thinks you are a burden. We just do not like seeing you like this.”

I roll my eyes and start down the hall. “I assume you’d want to get some rest after the long shift you had. You don’t have to come, you know.”

He wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his side. “Hush. You are not getting rid of me that easily.”

I rest my head against his shoulder as we trek down the stairs. “I hate that Dad’s so sad because of me.”

“You are the apple of his eye, Ly. You cannot expect him to be happy if you are not.”

“But I’m notunhappy,” I say with a groan. “I’m just...”

“Lost?”

My chest rises and falls with a deep sigh. “Yep. That’s exactly it. I’m lost.”

He squeezes me to his side. “Well, I will just have to help you find yourself again. I am not giving up on you, little sister.”

~

“See, that wasn’tso bad, was it?” Holly says as we amble out of the theater.

We watched a movie, but if someone should ask me what it was about, I wouldn’t be able to tell. I’d zoned out five minutes in, and my mind was everywhere except the present. On a boat in Mexico, on a stage in Columbia, in a stark room in Russia, in a burning night club... I couldn’t focus. I’d have much rather been at home getting lost in a good book.