“I need you. I don’t know what to do.”
He stood there dumbfounded and shaken as her sobs filled the cabin, the sound hammering against his heart. At a complete loss, he lowered himself to his knees with her and held her in his arms, letting her cry onto his chest.
“It’ll be alright, sweet lassie. I swear to you. You’ll be okay.”
He had no idea if his words were helping. He was no good at calming distraught women. But she clung to him as she cried, her fingers digging into the fabric at his back, and he let her.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I can’t…stop crying.”
“You can cry,” he said. “You never have to be afraid again. I won’t let them near you, I swear it.”
After a moment she took a shuddering breath and asked, “Is he dead?”
“He’s dead.”
“And my mom and dad? They’re really…oh my God. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“It’s happening, Angela. You’re free.”
Another resounding wail of emotion pulled from her chest, and she shook in his arms.
“Don’t leave me,” she begged. “Please, don’t leave.”
“I won’t.”
He held her so tightly he worried he’d crush her, but she didn’t complain. After awhile the wracking tears subsided, and she breathed heavily against him. He knew she was suffering from shock, and possibly even some hero complex that made her want to keep him near. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but as long as she wanted him by her side, that’s where he’d stay. Someday she would come to her senses and feel all the negative things he expected her to feel toward him. When that happened, he would leave. But for now, nobody could tear him way.
I hadn’t cried like that since the day I’d been locked in the cellar at the villa over a year ago. It was cleansing and renewing, but it made me tired. I leaned against Mr. Douglas—Colin—with my arms encircling his bicep as we sat there, realizing just how needy I was. In my freak out, I’d made a fool of myself, begging him to have sex with me. It would never happen. He was a man, yes. My touches made him hard, but he didn’t want me like that. I was a job to him. He’d had plenty of opportunities and never taken them. Deep down, that fact sliced through me and stung, while also making me begrudgingly admire him.
I was certain he was humoring me now. Being kind. And I was grateful for it, but I knew it couldn’t last. He would hand me over to my parents and I’d most likely never see him again.
My hold on his arm tightened and he patted my knee. So comforting.
I thought back to the moments we’d shared at the villa. All along he’d known who I was. It made sense now that he looked at me differently. Part of me wished he hadn’t kissed me the way he had, or painted me as if I were beautiful to him. Maybe he’d been trying to win me over, as well as Marco, so that I wouldn’t object when it was time to leave with him. Whatever the reason, I kind of wish he hadn’t been such a great actor. He’d made me want him too much.
I couldn’t think about him leaving me without a feeling of panic threatening. How could I ever feel safe without him? I felt pathetic and weak, wanting to keep him by my side, in my sight.
I used to have an inner-feminist who would bitch slap me at the sound of these “dependence upon a man” thoughts, but she’d been the first aspect of my personality to be murdered at the villa. I didn’t know if I’d ever feel her strong, independent presence again.
An image of my mother flitted into my mind and it made my sinuses burn with rising emotion. She was strong—a Texan beauty with her short, coifed blonde hair and sunny smile. She raised me to shoot for my dreams, and to be able to support myself. Would she be ashamed to see how far I’d fallen? And what about my dad? When he found out I’d been a prostitute for drug dealers and murderers, would he be able to stomach my presence?
I wasn’t their little girl anymore, and I could never go back to being her again. I would never be good enough. They’d still love me, I knew they would, but it could never be the same. Our love would be tainted by the big, ugly thing that happened to me. The lie I’d told, and my act of disobedience that ruined everything for our family.
A choking sob erupted from my throat and I bit it back, burying my face against Mr. Douglas’s shoulder. He reached over and ran a hand down my arm.
“Mentí,” I whispered.
He pulled away and looked at me. “What, lass?”
I stared at his chest. “I lied.”
“To me?”
“My parents.” My voice was thick again. “I wasn’t supposed to go to Cancun.”