I just don't want to be here. That's all I want.
The sobs wane, but the tears are constant. Snot leaks down my nose no matter how hard I sniff, and eventually, my butt begins to ache from sitting on the unforgiving tile for so long.
Forcing my eyes open, I glance around at my abysmal home. The small cube of stained white tile around the front door transitions into a thin brown carpet. The walls are freshly painted white, though it doesn't bring much light into the dark room.
Unlike the house I grew up in, it doesn't reek of cigarette smoke, body fluids, and grime. It's just old. And it's the nicest home I've ever had. But it's still not mine.
Which is why I kept it bare, save for the standard furniture that came with it. No decorations. No personality. No… life.
Sighing, I wipe away the tears and force myself to stand. Group therapy isn't until later, but they usually set out a tray of sweets beforehand. At this moment, a chocolate brownie is the only thing I have to look forward to.
I blink away the residual wetness in my eyes, then peek through the eyehole to ensure no creepy ex-bosses or cousins are outside. Once I'm confident the coast is clear, I unlock the door and swing it open. Something black and sturdy clinks to the ground, and my heart instantly drops.
A journalist found me. Or a stranger that’s planning on reporting me to the police. Different scenarios shuttle through my brain at lightning speed. Where they saw me. If they're waiting somewhere for me.
How long do I have to escape? Or is it too late?
It feels as if I'm having a heart attack as I shakily bend over and grab the card. It's metal, which surprises me first. Then, I flip it over to find the word Legion in bold, gold-foiled letters. Below is a phone number and nothing else.
No real name. No job title. Nothing.
But they look really fucking important.
Heart in my throat, I glance around suspiciously, still seeing no one, but not trusting that in the slightest. Other apartments surround the shelter, and the street is directly to my right. There are many places for them to hide.
Quickly, I retreat into my apartment and slam the door shut, relocking it again. Then, I distractedly make my way to my bed and slump down on the edge of it.
What the fuck is Legion? And what could they possibly want with me?
For a good five minutes, I argue with myself. To call them or run like my life depends on it and hope to God this Legion never finds me again. It doesn't look like a business card for a journalist or government official. And part of me is aware that if either one of those people found me, they'd be knocking on that door, not leaving me some obscure, ominous card.
Plus, it's incredibly fancy. It screams money.
I'm fairly confident a cop or news reporter doesn't make this much cash. Not enough to justify wasting it on a card, anyway.
I growl, growing irritated with myself. Without further thought, I slide my prepaid flip phone out of my back pocket, dial the number, and press call before I can talk myself out of it.
Curiosity won, and like a cat, it may get me killed.
The ringing stops, replaced by a sinfully delicious voice. Deep and raspy, yet toneless.
“I was hoping you'd call.”
My lips part, so incredibly unprepared that I'm at a loss for words.
Oddly, he waits. Doesn't even question if I'm still on the line.
After a few moments, I get my shit together long enough to eke out, “Who is this?”
“Legion,” he answers simply.
“And what do you want? How did you find me?” My tone grows increasingly aggressive with each word, the gears in my brain switching from shock to suspicion.
“I saw you at the mechanic and witnessed what transpired between you and your boss. You looked like someone who needed help, so I followed you home. Of course, I didn’t want to make you feel more unsafe than I already have, so I let you decide to make contact.”
I blink, unable to formulate a single coherent thought.
“Would you like my help?” he asks evenly.
“I— What does that entail?”
“A new life where you would be safe, comfortable, and provided for.”
Again, I blink, my mouth now hanging open. Then, my lip curls .
“You’re a freak, aren’t you? Expecting me to fuck you in return or something? You think I’ll willingly walk into another prison, you sick fuck? Go to hell.”
I hang up the phone before he can respond, my hands trembling violently. I feel sick to my stomach, and all those old memories resurface.
Doting on men and offering them pleasure at the expense of my own sanity. I was ‘taken care of and provided for’. I had a roof over my head and food in my stomach at Francesca’s house, too.
But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t dying a slow death. That I wasn’t being tortured alive and driven fucking insane.
I would rather be independent and struggle than have a monster provide for me. At least when I’m alone, the only demons I’m fighting are my own.
The phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts. I jump, the phone tumbling to the ground and flying under the bed.
Cursing to myself, I get on my knees and fish it out, only to see Unknown flashing across the screen.
I’m tempted to smash the phone beneath my foot just so he can never reach me again. But something in my gut tells me to answer it, even if it’s to curse him out again.
Just before the last ring, I flip it open and answer it.
“Listen, asshole, I don’t want you call—”
“I assure you, I want nothing from you.” His deep, calm voice chases away the rest of my threat.
“W-what? Why would you do this? No sane person would offer something like that with no strings attached.”
“I only want you to go to a specific location and meet one of my trusted men. He's safe, and he’ll set you up with a brand-new life. I’ll drop a car off for you with the keys inside, the location on the GPS, and plenty of cash for you to do with as you please. It’s your choice to go, and no one will force you. No sex. No requirements outside of that. I promise you.”
This is a joke. A prank. It has to be.
The sigh from the other end of the phone is almost discernible.
“I recognized you, Molly. And I can see from a mile away that you're not in a good place. I won't tell a single soul about your identity or location. I just want to help you get somewhere safe, that's all.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK.
My heart can't take this abuse. It's only a matter of seconds before it gives out on me completely.
“Why?” I snap, my flight mode beginning to kick in. Someone did recognize me. And that could be catastrophic.
“It's what I do,” he responds.
Not good enough of an answer.
“What's the catch?”
“You tell no one where you're going or about what my friend will do for you. Nothing else. Just your silence.”
“And if I don't?”
“We will disappear without a trace before anyone could find us, and never be at your disposal again.”
“At my disposal?” I repeat dumbly.
“You will come to learn that I am a valuable friend, should you ever need me again.”
He speaks with a poise and confidence unlike anything I've heard before. It's almost as intimidating as it is comforting. An odd combination, and one that I feel is deadly.
I would be incredibly stupid to entertain this. Meeting with a complete stranger who is making an offer that seems far too good to be true. Especially when I've been recognized. This could be a trap. A ploy to use me for something nefarious.
No—worse. He could be connected to Francesca and try to bring me back to that house.
“Who do you work for?”
“I'm my own boss.”
“Did anyone hire you?”
“No, Molly. I do the hiring.”
Why do I believe him? No one in their right mind would consider something like this.
But my mind hasn't been right for over five years now. And at this point, what do I have to lose?
My life?
What life?
“You will have a new identity, a home, a job, a whole new life. There are very few people who deserve this more than you.”