Every Shattered Thing (Come Alive) (24 page)

“I don’t know who would find this funny. It seems a prank,” he told reporters.

Venedez recently immigrated from Juarez and currently runs a construction business out

of his home. He continued, “Marisol spends time practicing with cheer friends. This is

where she go last night. Not other states.”

Stacy Jethro, a freshman at the high school and a member of the cheerleading

squad, vouched for Marisol as well. “She was with me the entire time. We were

practicing for our competition we have soon. I don’t understand why anyone would say

she wasn’t here. I mean, it’s absolutely ridiculous.”

Jethro’s parents admitted to not seeing Marisol, but believe their daughter. “We

were out of town on a business trip, but Stacy has never lied to us before and wouldn’t start now. This has all been a colossal waste of the city’s time and effort.”

The authorities aren’t so sure. Although they never found Marisol across state

lines, the tip came from a reputable source stating that the cheerleading squad would

most likely cover for Marisol because they were coerced into the ring earlier this year when Venedez lost his assets in gambling. The state of the claim, and the specifics given, are enough to cause the authorities to investigate further.

When asked about the cheerleaders’ involvement, Isabel Wright, a senior, denied

all connections to the prostitution ring. “This is absurd. How can anyone force someone into prostitution? Besides, Marisol would never do anything to compromise the

reputation of herself as well as the squad.”

The principal echoed Wright in disbelief, refusing to go on record but also

implying the tip was an elaborate prank in order to muddy the name of the cheerleading

squad and high school.

However, other students aren’t as quick to deny the allegations.

“It’s pretty much a known fact that the cheerleaders get paid for sexual favors.

No one ever talks about it but everyone knows,” says sophomore Haley Higdon. “There’s

private internet pages serving as some back door into their business they have going on.

I’ve never heard about it being forced though, I always thought they were just trying to make some extra money.”

Whatever the real reason, authorities are overwhelmed with the implications and

are seeking assistance from state and national government.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” says Steve Goldsmith, the local sherriff. “We’ll

find the perpetrators. Whether this be an elaborate prank or the weaving of a master-

pimp, justice will be served.”

I throw the newspaper down and cover my face with my hands. I’m
done.
It’s all too much. The article, the truth hiding in plain sight, the worst of the criminals painted as a hero—I rest my head against the pillow and wonder if it will ever end. I hear footsteps and glance up. Marisol is standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper. “How—how’d you know I was here?” I panic for a split second, wondering if my dad’s out in the hall, waiting.

“Relax,” she says. “Your dad isn’t here. He’s beside himself looking for you, though—you should know it’s only a matter of time.” A smile plays at her lips and she laughs.

“Please Marisol...don’t tell him. Please don’t say anything.”

“You know...it’s funny.” She saunters over to my bed and leans over the railing, her long silky black hair falling in wisps around her face. “To see you begging—the role reversal so soon after your own betrayal. It’s kind of satisfying.”

“I didn’t say anything, Mari...”

“Like hell you didn’t. Who else knew?! No one. No one knew but you. You’re such a fucking snitch. And now all our lives are going to hell because you couldn’t keep your little mouth shut.”

Her words are darts—barely above a whisper but close enough to hit me in the center of my fear.

“Do you know what happened the other night? The guys got wind that someone was on their tail.

They ended up driving me around for hours, until they decided to fucking pimp me out through taxis.

Taxis,
Stephanie. There was this special sticker stuck to the windshield to let any guy know there was a girl he could screw just waiting for him inside. I made thousands but didn’t even see a cent. My v-card lost on some fat ass from Arkansas who came to the city for a good time.”

Her eyes are dead. She doesn’t even shed a tear when she tells me this—she’s lost all will to fight on her behalf and in turn focuses her rage on me.

“I-I-I’m so sorry, Marisol. But I didn’t...”

“No. You know what? I didn’t come here for sympathy. I didn’t come to hear your shitty excuses or for you to try and get all buddy-buddy with me cause you think you know my life. I use to be able to hold on to college. I use to have this image of me fleeing to some unknown city, enrolling in college and having no one find me. A true chance to start over, you know? Now? You think a college is going to take me? With a record of
runaway
and
prostitute
hanging on my forehead?” She laughs. “Yeah..labels don’t ever go away. And you’re stupid if you think otherwise.”

She leans back and I fight for breath, feeling the tears come again.

“You’ll always be a whore, Stephanie. You’re always gonna be a cheap fuck the boys talk about to other women. I hear about you
all the time—
you know what they say? You’re The Shy One. The One Who Doesn’t Give Back. And you know what?
They like me more.
”

“You’re fucking sick...”

She grabs my arm and I wince, the IV pricking my skin and pulling in ways it shouldn’t. “Don't you get it?
This is our life now.
There is no other side. There is no fucking rescue, princess. These guys are so infiltrated with cops and lawyers and supposed good guys that there’s no one we can trust. Get over it. Your life is over. Hell. Mine ended a long time ago.”

Her eyes grow cold.
She leans forward and whispers in my ear.

“He’s coming, by the way. It’s only a matter of time until he finds you.”

She laughs then, a deep throaty laugh that makes me shiver with dread. Walking out the door, she turns to look at me one more time. “I would say I’ll see you around, but I don’t know if that’s gonna be possible,” and smiling, she turns to leave.

I stare at her figure turning the corner out of my room and through tears I try and find the sunlight peeking through the clouds—that last glimmer of hope I felt before Natalie left. My pulse is racing and I contemplate running away—somewhere, anywhere other than here. Not knowing what to do, I press the button for more morphine and a nurse comes in to administer a new dosage. She doesn’t even check my paperwork to see I received a dose less than two hours ago. Within minutes, I feel the warmth crawling up my legs and reaching my neck, my face, my ears. I fall asleep with the fear a distant memory.

* * *

I open my eyes and notice Emma curled next to me on the bed.

When did she get here?

I can hear her even breathing. I hesitate waking her up, but know she probably would want to know that I am awake.

“Hi,” I whisper.

Emma’s eyelids slowly lift and she rubs her forehead. Checking her watch she grimaces. “I’ve been asleep for two hours.” She places her hand on my arm and looks at me. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” My eyes wander to the window and I frown. Pitch black.

How long was I asleep? It seems like just a second ago Natalie was in here...

Natalie. Oh God, Marisol.

“Did you meet Natalie? She mentioned she was going to get you guys in the waiting room.”

“Who’s Natalie?”

“She did my rape kit. She was just in here. You know - Natalie. Small...blonde...looked like she could be easily broken.”

Emma looks at me, her eyes vacant as she tries to place faces with names. “Oh.
Natalie
. Sorry. I must be groggy still.” She grows quiet for a split second, staring out my window, before squeezing my hand and turning to face me.

“So what’d she say? Natalie?”

“She asked me questions about what happened and got all upset—started crying—and then she was going to leave but came back and told me my rescue was coming or something like that. I didn’t really understand her, but I liked her. She made me feel...safe.” I glance at the IV still dripping fluids into my system and glance at Emma. “For the few minutes she was in here, I actually believed she was right.

That rescue was coming. Sometimes I forget.”

“Forget what?”

“About rescue. About hope. Even when I go and watch the sunrise, I still have the thought in the back of my head floating around, whispering my mistakes and what I’ve done and what I have waiting for me at home. Escape is almost impossible.”

I remember what Marisol said and I shudder.

Her eyes burn and she squeezes my hand. “You’re getting out of there, Stephanie. I promise.

Some how, some way, we’re going to figure out a way to get you out of there.”

I fight back responses filled with cynicism and attempt to change the subject.

“Have they gotten a hold of dad?”

She shakes her head. “No. Actually, they gave up a couple hours ago—but they are still working on paperwork for your discharge.”

I stretch and make a face at the wires preventing me from making any sudden movements.

I just want to leave.

Emma notices my face. “I’m going to go check on how things are going. Hopefully we’ll be out of here before too long.” She leans over and kisses my cheek before getting off the bed and making her way to the door. “I’ll send Kevin in to see you. He’s been pacing the all day, patiently waiting for his chance to come and sit by you.” She smiles. “He’s good for you, Stephanie. He loves you. I can see it.”

“Where’s Jude?”

“He went downtown to work on a few things and check on Pacey. He should be back soon.”

My heart jumps at the thought of my brother and I take a few breaths to quiet it down.

Emma stands at the door, smiling. “I’ll go get Kevin, Steph—you rest.”

I laugh and look around at the beeping machines and needles and bright fluorescent lights.
Right.

Rest. Got it.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kevin comes in minutes later with a huge bouquet of flowers. I don’t know the names of them, but they’re absolutely beautiful. I blush.

“Kevin. That looks really expensive. You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“Nope, I didn’t. But I did.” He smiles at me and sits on the edge of the bed, cautious of the wires.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Not as sore. Could be the morphine though.”

He studies me and places his hand over mine. “The doctor told us what all happened—the broken bones and torn muscles...”

“Can we not talk about it? I know it happened. I know I will have to deal with it at some point.

Right now? I want to talk about something else.”

“Like how I got a phone call from USC?”

“You did? What did they say? I didn’t know you already applied...”

“...it was for you.” He studies me. “And even if it was for me they usually let you know of your acceptance through a letter, not a phone call.”

“Oh. Then why’d they call me?”

He dodges my question.

“How did they get my number, Steph? I mean, they have it in their files—but it’s for
me—
not you.”

“I may have put your information as my own on my application.”

His eyes widen and I keep talking in order to keep him from freaking out. “For no other reason but to avoid my dad getting another phone call or intercepting letters in the mail.” I shrug my shoulders.

“You were the first person who came to mind.”

“You didn’t think of Emma?”

“Well...no. And even if it did, it wouldn’t have worked. They use a PO box.” I look at him. “Do you want me to change the contact information? I can. I didn’t know it would be this big of a deal.” I start playing with the edge of my sheet and try to quiet the pounding of my heart—it’s so loud I can hear it in my ears.

“It’s not. It just surprised me.”

“So what did they want? Did they tell you?”

“Yeah. They did, actually. They’ve been trying to get a hold of you because they are wanting you to look into a few writing programs this summer to hone your skills before you go to class. It’s something they ask every freshman creative writing major to look into—helps you focus in on your talent and all that.”

“Hmm.” I pull at the string loose on the sheet and start dismantling the fabric, unaware of my destruction until Kevin squeezes my hand.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Am I ever going to get out of here, Kevin? I mean....look at me. I can’t even think about college right now, let alone imagine writing classes for the summer.” Tears threaten to spill and I swallow them back, forcing my emotions at bay. “I’m an absolute wreck. Did you know if something were to happen and someone found out about what was going on—someone who didn’t know me—I could be arrested?”

“Impossible.”

“No. Truth. Kevin, look at me. I’m a prostitute. A
prostitute.
Men come and pay my father to have sex with me. The fact that I refuse or don’t want them makes no difference. I’m a criminal in the eyes of the law. I know you guys care for me—you and Emma and Jude. But...sometimes I can’t help but ask why. I’m used. Broken. A mess. Even if I do get out of here I will never be normal.”

He smiles. “I don’t think we are going anywhere. And, who wants normal? I don’t.”

My lip curls in a half grin and I close my eyes to rest. I know these are the moments he just won’t listen to my questions, and so I take it for what it’s worth and rest in the fact that there
are
people who care for me—for now. I still wonder how long it will last, even if they tell me it won’t ever change. My mind drifts back to Marisol and I hear her words echo in my head. I fight them this time, choosing to believe rescue is possible.