Page 31

CHAPTER 31

C old spreads up my back. My shivering points out the empty space behind me where Marcus was when I fell asleep. My eyes fly open to more darkness. It’s inside my head, my chest, now all around me. It lifted when Marcus carried me from the shower. Darkness never stays in his presence. Maybe there was too much for him this time. I wouldn’t blame him if he stayed away. He said he’d never leave me, but he thought he was talking to the old me.

I blink back tears because I don’t want to add them to the darkness. I don’t want to hear my own voice because its words pushed Marcus away. I grimace and roll over, grabbing my phone. 5:07 AM. The world is still spinning. I’m alive. I’m not in L.A.

I open my phone and search local news and don’t have to scroll far before my eyes skitter across a headline: “ Missing Women Rescued from Sex Trafficking Ring in L.A. ” My breath catches on two words: sex trafficking . It spins and tries to catch what those words could have meant for me, but my mind blocks it. Clicking on the article link, I scan news about missing women being rescued from an upscale hotel in downtown L.A. My hand goes to my throat where, only hours ago, Nick’s hands were wrapped around it in that same hotel.

I skim the article again. Eighteen women rescued. No names have been released to the public yet, but Su Ling has to be one of them. Would I have been the nineteenth missing woman if Su Ling hadn’t saved me? What was Nick planning to do with me? Or any of them?

I search for his name. Multiple suspects in custody. No names. But Nick has to be one of them. And Xander. Chaz?

The fear and shame that Nick wrapped around me is suffocating, and I put my hand over my stomach, swallow hard. I stare at the ceiling fan and let it whirl my thoughts toward the moments before Su Ling showed up. Cold. Exposed. Rough—everything rough. Lips, hands, the bed under me, Nick’s voice. Screams scraping up my throat. Twisting, kicking. Praying. Nick’s demands.

I put my hands over my eyes to stop the scene from flying at me, tears slipping between my fingers to wash it away. My legs twitch, ready to run from the memories swooping around me, and I scramble off the bed, stand in the middle of the room, hand over my mouth so I don’t scream or throw up.

My reflection in the mirror on the back of the door catches my eye and I turn toward it. Except for the bruises on my face and around my neck, I look the same; this robe hides everything. But I can feel the damage from the inside out.

My fingers tremble as I pull one end of the belt. The robe slips off my shoulders and drops to the floor, uncovering the red burns smearing my stomach where Nick dragged me across the carpet. I touch the swollen, finger-shaped bruises circling my neck, turn my back to the mirror and glance over my shoulder. Purple splotches stain my back, shoulders, thighs. Turning to face my reflection, I hold my breath as I connect the dots between blotches and bruises down my stomach, thighs, hips. I let out a painful breath, my mind digging a hole and throwing in the memories of last night as gratitude rushes through me. Nick has taken a lot, but Su Ling saved me from the worst.

A soft knock rattles the door and my heart sputters as I grab the robe and slide into it.

“Xiao Mei?” Guo Mama’s voice is gentle and when I tell her to come in, she slips inside and hands me a cup of tea. “Drink this. Marcus will be back soon.”

I ease onto the edge of the bed, hoping she’s right, and take the cup in both hands, soaking in the warmth through my fingertips.

“I called my brother in Seattle,” she says, the mattress dipping as she sits next to me and talks into the room, her hand resting on my knee. “Everything is set. You will stay in his backyard cottage until we decide where you go next. It is small, but nice.”

I nod, but my head is fuzzy as I picture my next steps. Steps that will take me away from Marcus for good. I swallow the burn. “And I can never come back.”

Guo slides a hand over mine and shakes her head. “No, Xiao Mei.”

I nod too quickly, the movement shaking my whole body. Attempting to shake Marcus-thoughts out of it. Shake off the dread and pain. It has to be this way. Now. Because of Nick. I clench my jaw, force him out. “What will happen to my parents?”

Guo Mama shifts to face me, her tender eyes holding mine. “I do not know. They got themselves into this mess, they will have to get out. But you cannot come back. No matter what. Understand?”

My vision blurs as I stare at the tea swaying in the cup. I want to go back to before. I want to work in the restaurant and hang out with Lin and go to school and talk about boys. And keep the boy who lives around the corner only in my dreams so I wouldn’t know what it’s like to lose him. I should have stayed in my real life, so I would still have choices. I didn’t think I had any until now, when they’ve all been taken away. I’m getting exactly what I chose. I’ve always wanted to leave home, just not like this. I should have faked sick and stayed home from L.A. Run away on my terms. But maybe trying to run from my life got me here.

I glance at Guo Mama who looks like she’s aged ten years in the last four hours and force a smile. “Thank you for helping me. When do I leave?”

A rap at the door startles me and Guo Mama smiles, touches my cheek before shuffling to the door. Marcus would never knock. No one else would come to the shop this early. But when Guo Mama opens the door, Mama’s standing on the other side of it.

Guo Mama touches Mama’s shoulder and glances at me. “I will be downstairs,” she says, hurrying out of the room.

Mama steps inside and closes the door behind her. She’s wearing sweatpants and a jacket, her hair thrown up in a messy bun. She clutches a large manila envelope to her chest.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is a whisper, still untangling itself from shock.

“My Mei Li.” Her voice cracks as she searches my face. “Guo Mama told me what happened. I’m so sorry.”

A tear escapes, and I look down as it drops into my teacup, silence filling the space between us.

“She says you’re leaving. That’s good.”

My eyes slide up to hers. “Good…?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not at all, but for the best. I am so proud of you, Mei Li. You have so much courage.”

“I don’t want courage—I want my life back but that won’t happen now because I got scared and called the police.”

Mama swallows, nods without looking away, her eyes glossy in the shadows. “I know, and I’m so glad you did and that you won’t get your old life back. Now you can create a new, better one. Because you called the police, eighteen women are safe and Nick and many others have been arrested.” She presses her lips together, her face pale. “There will be many more arrests, I’m certain, and I’m glad about that too.”

My head snaps toward her. “How do you know that?”

“Xander called Chaz from jail. Chaz called me to tell me everything that is happening.”

“Why would Chaz call you…?”

“Because there are many things I did not know were happening.”

“But Chaz is involved. Why didn’t he get arrested?”

“He’s certain he will. And I’m certain the restaurant will close soon and we will be sent back to Taiwan.” She looks at her feet. “I’m glad, because I want my life back too. I want nothing more to do with this one and I want you far away from it too.”

I blink as the words pelt my head, a few soaking in. Arrests. Restaurant closing. Taiwan. It’s not home anymore, but it’s far from memories. From Nick. From things I want but can’t have.

“I’ll come with you,” I blurt and Mama stares at me, then shakes her head.

“No, Mei Li.”

“Why?” I whisper. “I have to leave, anyway. I might as well—”

“No.” Mama says firmly, then takes a deep breath and sits on the bed beside me, careful not to touch me. “I’ve been sent to find you and bring you home immediately but if you ask me what I think you should do, I would tell you to listen very carefully to Guo Mama’s plan.”

“But what about Baba? What’s he going to do?” My voice is horse.

“You owe that man nothing.” She looks right at me for the first time in days. “He’s not who either of us thought he was.” She sets the envelope on my lap and stares into the room, tears trembling in the corner of her eyes before she turns to me and gives me a tight smile, her eyes searching my face .

“I must go. Do as Guo Mama says and you will be safe. I will find out how you are doing through her.” Her voice breaks and she stands and walks toward the door, then stops, her back to me, hand on the knob. “When you read what’s inside that envelope, please know I have no regrets because what I gave up brought you here and what you found here lets me know it was worth it. I love you.” She glances over her shoulder, then opens the door.

I swallow the lump of tears suspended in my swollen throat and choke out, “Wait! You could come with me.”

She steps back into the room, gripping the doorjamb. “I can’t. But we will see each other again, I know it.”

The stairs creak as she hurries down them, and I stare at the empty doorway, then blink my focus to the manila envelope. Picking it up like it might ignite any minute, I pry open the clasp and slide out the stack of papers and folders.

My passport and my CALC folder land on top and I stare at them. My notes…from Marcus. Notes I thought only Guo Mama, Marcus, and I knew about. They were hidden in my desk drawer…

My fingers hover over the pile before sweeping it aside to a stack of printed, stapled emails. Picking it up, I read the date: August 17, 2005. Scan the names: From Peter Mitchell to Huang, Jia Li. All from August, September, a few from October. I fan through them, my eyes skittering over page after page of emails between an eighteen-year-old Mama and a boy from Rhode Island, according to his first email, and when my eyes land on the word “pregnant”, I close the folder as if I shouldn’t know more, but a picture and a folded piece of paper falls out, floating to the floor.

I pick it up, my fingers trembling as I study the picture of a teenage boy with wavy, strawberry-blonde hair lying on a beach, smiling up at the camera, sunglasses reflecting the girl behind it. Frowning, I unfold the paper and scan the copy of a Facebook profile for Peter Mitchell, an older version of the same guy from the picture, standing on a rocky shoreline with three blond kids. I study his face, his lopsided smile. I don’t recognize him, but I do recognize Mama’s handwriting at the top of the page, and the message drops into my stomach in a cold, hard lump: He doesn’t know about you, but you should know about him.