When Faults Collide (Faultlines #1) (22 page)

I sighed. Blake had offered to be here, and I had told him no.

Why had I told him no?

Because
you
need to do this for yourself, I reminded myself internally.

“Okay, shake it off, Asha. You got this,” I whispered.

I pulled the sheet off and set it aside.

My lip trembled when I saw the additional contents. I pulled out a small stack of books.

The Count of Monte Cristo, Macbeth, Animal Farm, Pride and Prejudice
, and a few other classics were among the small stack.
I set them to the side, running my fingers over the cover of
Pride and Prejudice
, as it had been my mom’s favorite. The cover was badly worn and felt cracked beneath my fingertips.

I pulled out my childhood journal and set it aside and then my head tilted to the side in confusion when I saw another journal beneath it. It wasn’t mine, so it must have been hers, but how could I not have remembered her having a journal?

I hesitated before I picked it up. Did I really want to know what was inside?

I opened it to the first page and my hand flew to my mouth as I slowly read the first page.

      
Chandra says that it gets easier. That I will learn my role and will even get to a point of enjoying it. I don’t know that I could ever enjoy this. I feel like I’m living a personal hell and that there’s no salvation. My only salvation packed it up and moved to America ten months ago. Does he think about me? Sometimes when the men visit me, I pretend in my mind that it’s him...it makes it almost bearable. Almost. Chandra’s role here is to secure the men who come. Most people think that she is like us, but she’s not. She’s far better. She treats me well and makes sure that I’m taken care of, so long as I take care of the men. Sometimes I want to leave, to try my hand at the city without this brand of “whore” on my forehead. Chandra is always there though, to remind me that there is no life for me outside. She reminds me that he left and isn’t coming back. She reminds me that my own father abandoned me. She is my family...she’s all that I have. Except, of course, for Asha. She is two months old today and is the best baby in the world. I hold her and rock her and feed her my milk and all I can think is that she deserves more. But I don’t have a choice. Chandra was good to us. She gave me shelter and food and didn’t make me work my entire pregnancy. She is the reason Asha is
here and safe and healthy. So if being with these men is what I have to do to keep my daughter safe and healthy, then it is the burden I must carry
.

Tears poured down my face as I tried to process this information. I picked up my phone. I couldn’t deal. I just—I couldn’t deal.

It rang once before he picked up.

“Hey baby, what’s going on?” he asked, concern laced in his tone.

“Blake...I—” my voice croaked.

“I’m coming home,” he said firmly.

“Thank you,” I squeaked, unable to hold back the sobs anymore.

I hung up the phone and it only took him a few minutes to get home.

He sat in front of me and pulled me into him. I soaked up his scent and found my center. I steadied my breathing and focused on him.

He held me and stroked my back, running his hands down my hair as he did.

After a few minutes I pulled back and wiped away my tears.

His eyes met mine and were searching. He looked in pain, probably trying to figure out how to make me feel better.

“Chandra...” I said simply.

He cocked his head to the side questioning. “Who?”

I took a deep breath. “Chandra. She was my mother’s best friend...I thought that anyways. I thought she was a prostitute just like her.”

His eyes still showed confusion. “Okay...what about her?”

I held up my mother’s journal. “I have never seen this before. It was my mother’s journal. Chandra was her...what’s the word... madam. That’s it. Her female pimp. My entire life I had no idea. I—I feel so...”

His hands grasped onto mine. “What do you feel baby?”

“Pissed off. Hurt. Confused,” I said, trying to put words to the emotions swirling around inside me.

“Did you not think your mom had a pimp?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. I just thought she chose to be there. It doesn’t sound like it though.”

My voice cracked and the tears came again. I showed Blake the first page and let him read it.

His eyes swirled with his own level of emotions that I couldn’t place as he read. He closed it after finishing, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Holy shit, Ash,” he said in a whisper.

“What?” I asked.

“My mother also kept a journal. I swear to God it sounds so similar. I seriously feel like I just read a page of my mother’s journal,” he said, his eyes still closed.

He suddenly stood up and walked out of the room. He went to the hall closet and I heard him digging around. He returned a moment later with a tattered and torn composition book. He opened it and flipped through a few pages before landing on one.

“Here. Read,” he said, handing it to me.

I took the abused book and set it on my lap. I looked down and began to read.

      
Dante says that nobody in the whole world gives a shit about me but him. That he’s my only family. And I believe him. He’s done everything for me. He
is
everything to me. But damnit, I can’t do this shit anymore. This is too much. Last night he took me to a party; apparently I was the party favor. There were six men there. I am so sore today I can hardly walk. Dante saved me, and I owe him every
thing, so I guess I need to toughen up and learn how to do this. He says that it should give me pleasure to give him pleasure. I’m trying, I really am. The only person I want touching me is him but he won’t do that unless I make him happy, which means making the customer happy. The Johns are always first. His affection is something I yearn for, something I crave. But I have to earn it. Besides, even if I wanted to leave, Dante says that nobody would hire a former prostitute. That charge a few months ago assured that I will forever be branded a whore. It wasn’t Dante’s fault I caught a charge. Shit, he’s the one who bailed me out and took me home! My home is here with him, he’s everything to me. I just have to figure out how to make him happy. He’s so good to Blake too. I worry sometimes what this world will do to him, but I would be dead or worse if it weren’t for Dante. Blake will understand. Someday, I hope
.

Blake reached out and wiped a tear I hadn’t realized was falling from my cheek and I looked up at him.

“My—oh God...” I said before a sob erupted from my throat. Blake pulled the journal from my hands and pulled me into him again. I buried my face into his chest and let another round of sobbing escape.

I pulled away and suddenly was sucking for breath. I couldn’t catch my breath.

This was different. I didn’t feel a memory. I didn’t feel the darkness. I just felt overwhelmed with emotion.

Blake took my face in his hands and looked deep into my eyes. “Asha, you are okay. Look at me baby.”

I looked right at him, staring straight into his soul. I focused on my breathing and felt myself calming under his influence. As soon as I felt composed I reached down and grabbed my phone.

I scrolled down and dialed the number. Blake looked at who I
was calling and then his eyes shone with understanding.

“Asha, dear! What can I do for you?” Katherine bellowed happily.

“Katherine. Can you come over please? I need an emergency session immediately,” I told her, focusing on my breathing and remaining eerily calm.

“Of course, dear. What on earth has happened?” she asked.

My lip trembled and I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t. I tried again and the words didn’t come.

I looked at Blake pleadingly and he held out his hand. I looked at him with gratefulness when he took my phone and put it on speaker.

“Katherine, it’s Blake. Asha found a journal of her mother’s and got very upset with some new and upsetting information. I think she would like to show you what she found,” he explained, taking control with ease.

“Oh no! Okay...I’m on my way. I’m actually not far from your house now. See you soon.”

Blake and I moved to the futon and sat hand in hand. His thumb ran over the top of my hand and he only let go when he heard the bell ring downstairs.

Katherine entered my office and hugged me before taking a seat in my office chair. Blake didn’t follow her immediately but followed close behind, holding out a mug for me that contained a latte.

I smiled at him thankfully. He winked at me and then joined me on the futon, once again taking my hand.

“Okay, Asha. Tell me what you learned today.” Katherine asked.

“My whole life I thought that my mother chose that life. I thought that she chose to be there. Now I’m just confused,” I said, forcing myself to keep it together.

Her eyes showed nothing but confusion. “Asha, what do you mean? Why are you suddenly confused?”

I waved my hands on the ground to both my mother’s journal and Blake’s mother’s journal and then I put my head in my hands.

“Do you want me to tell her?” Blake asked gently rubbing his hands along my back.

I nodded, head still in my hands. I wasn’t crying, I was just overwhelmed with confliction.

“Asha’s mother had a journal that Asha didn’t know about. She read the first page and saw that Chandra, the woman that Asha believed to be her mother’s best friend and fellow prostitute, was actually her madam. I read it and felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu because my own mother kept a journal and her entries looked very similar, so I showed Asha my mother’s journal for comparison,” Blake explained calmly.

“May I read them?” Katherine asked.

I nodded again, but finally pulled my head up and leaned into Blake. My head rested on his shoulder while his arm went around my back. I watched Katherine as she read, first my mother’s journal, then Blake’s.

Her eyes gave nothing away as she read the pages, making me even antsier.

She finally looked up. “Blake, you openly say that your mother was a victim, correct?”

Blake answered calmly with a slight edge of defensiveness, “My mother
was
a victim. She was brainwashed by her pimp into the world of human trafficking. Calling it prostitution doesn’t change what it is.”

Katherine nodded and then her eyes met mine. “You are confused and upset because you are now seeing your mom as a
victim instead of a mother making a horrible choice.”

I nodded, and then answered, “Yes, but I’m also confused because Chandra died when I was eight. If she was my mother’s madam, why didn’t she leave after that? And who took over? Wouldn’t someone need to take over?”

Katherine pondered for a moment and then shook her head. “I can’t answer that for you, dear. Perhaps your mother was in too deep at that point. Perhaps someone did take over, and they also made her feel inadequate. Pimps sometimes leave working girls, and they just find another pimp. The trauma and brainwashing runs deeper than just the connection to one pimp or madam. They are brainwashed into the life.”

“So there’s no hope for girls who end up trafficked? Inevitably they will end up right back in the life? Is that what you’re saying?” I asked, shocked.

Katherine shook her head but before she got a chance to answer Blake answered, “They can be saved.”

Katherine and I both turned to look at him and I saw a small smile form on the corner of Katherine’s mouth from my peripheral.

Blake’s free hand began to fidget with the knee of his jeans. “Look, I’ve had this burned into my brain for years of living with Amy. Trauma affects the biology of the brain, but the longer that someone is living in that survivor trauma mode, the worse it is. The best way to reach trafficked girls is to get them out as soon as possible, because the damage to not only the psyche but also to the actual biology of the brain will be lessened, and therefore the chance to reach them is greater. So, yes, they can be saved, but you have the biggest chance of success by reaching them sooner.”

I turned to glance at Katherine and her eyes shone with respect for Blake as she nodded, “Yes, that’s totally correct.”

Chapter Twenty Seven

“I want to help.” I said firmly.

Blake tilted his Kindle down and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.

“What, babe?” he asked.

I shifted on the swing, closing my laptop as I did.

“I want to help girls like our moms.”

He tilted his head and looked at me thoughtfully. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I am not sure how I’m going to do that yet, but I just feel like I should,” I said, tapping my fingers across my closed laptop.

“Why don’t you talk to Amy? She has friends at all of the different victim’s resource centers and stuff. I’m sure she could find something for you to do to help,” he said, reaching down to hold my hand.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Maybe I should call her,” I said, mostly
to myself, but Blake nodded in agreement.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through until I found Amy’s number.

“Hello?” she answered cheerfully.