by Laney Wylde
“Buchanan?” I smacked my lips and scrunched my nose. “I’m not familiar—”
“First name Allen.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” I said as I shook my head and hugged my bare arms.
He scanned my body with his flashlight. “What happened to your arms?”
I glanced down at my swollen, red wrists. “I fell off the pole yesterday.”
He shone the light into my car through the open driver’s door, over my bulky purse in the passenger seat. “Can you open your bag, miss?”
“Do you have a warrant to search my stuff?”
“Would you rather I arrest you and obtain the warrant while you wait in jail?”
I drew a deep breath and rolled my eyes before reaching over the driver’s seat to grab the damning evidence. “Knock yourself out,” I said as I handed it to him.
He slid on a glove before reaching in to pull out my blood-splattered bra. “Is this yours?”
“Pretty, isn’t it? It looks even better on.”
He took my bruised wrist in his hand and snapped a cuff on it, twisting my arm behind my back as he pressed my chest against my car. “You’re under arrest for the assault of Allen Buchanan. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…” He rambled as he dragged me by the arm to the patrol car.
We drove past the paramedics loading Allen into an ambulance. He was so messed up. Even from a distance, I could tell. It seemed like he still hadn’t regained consciousness. That couldn’t be good.
What was the protocol for this sort of thing? Should I send flowers to his hospital room? Maybe with a note?
Sorry I bashed your head in. I thought you were my abusive stepfather. No hard feelings?
XOXO Emerald
Ps. Burn in hell, baby fucker.
I was thinking lilies. Yeah, everyone liked lilies.
At the station, a different cop plopped me in a cold interrogation room after what felt like hours of processing: mugshots, photographs of my injuries, fingerprint scans, mouth swabbing, knuckle swabbing, swabbing of whatever they wanted. There I waited, freezing, for my next line of questioning.
A female officer finally bounced in with a file. Her body was in uniform, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. “Ms. de la Cruz,” she started and reached out to shake my hand. I shot her a suspicious expression as I accepted her weirdly polite gesture. “I’m Officer Kelly. I’m terribly sorry it’s taken so long to get to you. It’s been a busy night.” She sat down in front of me, spreading her elbows laterally and intertwining her fingers. “Do you need anything to drink?” Wow, she took good cop to a whole new level.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, even though I was thirsty. I wasn’t sure why I did that.
“Okay, so you’re a dancer at Sunset Stripped, correct?”
I nodded.
“Did you have a shift tonight?”
I nodded again.
“When was it scheduled to end?”
“Two AM.”
“Can you tell me why you were in your car at ten thirty?”
I sighed. “Look, let’s not waste each other’s time. Obviously, they’re going to find Allen’s blood on my bra. Ivan’ll rat me out for what he saw. But just because Allen’s more fucked up than me doesn’t mean this was my fault.”
Kelly smirked, satisfied. “Okay. Why isn’t it your fault?”
I looked up at her through my eyebrows. “He tried to pay me eight-hundred dollars to have sex with him. I believe you all would call that ‘soliciting sex?’ Last time I checked, that was still illegal in California.” She didn’t need to know I had broken this law countless times. “I gave him his money back, then he asked again and said, ‘Delilah never said no.’ I tried to leave, but he pinned me to the couch and tried to rape me.”
“When you first struck Buchanan, did he back off?”
“I don’t know.” And that was the truth. I had no idea what happened to him, only what happened to Jeff…who wasn’t there.
She took down a couple of notes, then flipped through the file. “Buchanan’s initial medical evaluation shows he has a concussion, brain hemorrhage, broken nose, and blunt force trauma to his penis and testicles. From the size of the wounds, it appears that someone stepped on his groin with a stiletto heel.”
With eyes closed, I shook my head and whispered, “Shit.” I was sure I’d remember crushing a guy’s nuts with my shoe, but I didn’t.
“Now, you’re saying that, in a club full of people, including an able-bodied bouncer within earshot, you needed to nearly kill this man in order to keep him from raping you?”
“I did! Did you even listen to what I said? He called me Delilah.”
“Delilah?”
I glared at her as I took a deep breath. “Forget it.”
“Miss de la Cruz—”
“That’s a mouthful. Just call me Sawyer.”
“Okay, Sawyer. If you are or were in danger, we can help you. But you have to—”
I cackled. “Oh, sweetie, you can’t help me.”
“Can you tell me why you think we can’t?”
“Can we just do bail now? I have class Monday and finals the week after next. I need to get home.”
Her eyes ran up and down my scantily clad body. “Are you cold, Sawyer?”
I stared at my arms, inflamed and covered in goose bumps. “This is LA. It’s never cold.”
There was a knock on the mirror. “I’ll be right back.” She folded the file and took it with her out the door.
No more than a minute later, the door opened again. “Here’s a coat if you want it.” She handed me a baggy LAPD windbreaker. “It’s clean, I promise. And your bail is set at twenty thousand. Do you have anyone who can post that for you?”
“Is this when I get my phone call?” As I asked this, I wasn’t even sure who I’d call. This was one of those times that having a family would come in handy. Or a boyfriend. But all I had were friends, and only a few at that.
Pressing my ear to my cell phone, I listened as the phone on the other side of the line rang. Once. I tapped my fingers on the back. Twice. I tapped them a little faster. Three times. This was too familiar. I had placed three calls like this in June. Just like then, leaving a message after the beep would be no help. Then, at 1:07 AM, “Hello?” he answered, his accent heavy with fatigue.
“Cash, hey. I’m so sorry for this,” I hurried my words. “But I didn’t know who else I could call. I have an enormous favor to ask you.” There was a long pause. Had he hung up? I checked the screen. Nope. “This is Sawyer by the way.”
He let out a soft laugh. “I know.” I knew then everything would be okay.
The clanking of the cell door startled me to sitting. I lifted my arm from my eyes. “That was fast,” I said under my breath.
Cash’s usually bouncy curls looked tired through the window of the police station door. He ruffled them and then pushed up the sleeves of his university hoodie. I took a deep breath. When I glanced down, I realized how slutty I still looked. When the cop opened the door, I felt shame-laden blood rush up my neck and face. Cash’s pale lips curled into a sad smile when he saw me.
“I’ll pay you back tonight. I’m good for it. I swear,” I started.
“Let’s just get you home.” He stood and led me out the door with his hand between my bare shoulder blades. Once we were out in the cold, he pulled his sweatshirt over his head and handed it to me.
“Thanks,” I whispered. I tugged it on and over my bare waist. It was soft and still warm from his body, saturated with his scent: sandy like the beach but fresh like clean laundry.
The adrenaline of the evening wore off as I rested my head against his passenger window. I closed my eyes as if that would make everything go away. Maybe if we kept driving, we could escape this. There had to be someplace in the world, someplace we could go, where this night never happened. A place where none of those men could find me.
“You okay?” Of course that was what he asked, not, Why the h
ell did you call me in the middle of the night to bail you out of jail?
Shaking my head, I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I brushed it away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I’m sorry you had to bail me out. I can write you a check for the two grand as soon as we get to the dorm.”
“Two grand?” He glanced over at me. “It was twenty.”
“What?” I bolted upright. “You didn’t get a bond? You paid it in full?”
“I didn’t even think about getting a bond. I just wanted to get you out of there.”
I buried my face in my hands and groaned, “Cash. I can’t pay you back. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just show up to court, and I’ll get my money back.”
“How do you even have that much money?”
“Are you going to be okay, though? Do you need a lawyer or something?”
I shook my head. “Probably. I don’t know, Cash. It’s bad. Like, won’t get to pee in private for years bad. And I don’t have enough money or any family to help, so I’m going to get stuck with a public defender who gets paid nothing—” I curled into a ball again with my head on my knees.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” His hand landed on my back, rubbing in soothing circles. “We’re going to figure this out.”
We? How was this his problem?
Before I could point this out, he added, “My uncle, you know, the one Jo was supposed to stay with until they all got the flu? Anyway, he’s a defense attorney. He’s good, too. We could ask him to take a look at your case.”
I popped my head up. Well, that was convenient. “Really?”
“Yeah, I actually go to their house every Sunday after church. You should come with me tomorrow.” I should have guessed that Cash went to church.
“Cash, that would be amazing. Where should I meet you? I mean, I’ll have to pick up my car from the club—” As the last word slipped through my lips, I realized he and I never talked about what I did.
“Or you could just come to church with me and we could get your car after lunch.”
A reflexive laugh roared from my gut. I stopped when I saw him cut his eyes to me again. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Yeah, why not?” Such an adorable question. Only Cash would ask it.
“You know I’m a stripper, right?”
“I figured.” Cue awkward pause. “If you’re worried about people judging you, it’s not—”
I shook my head. “No, that’s not it.”
“Then give me one reason you shouldn’t go.”
“All right.” I shifted in my seat. He asked for it. “My Sunday school teacher married my mom, then raped me for two years. He told me if I didn’t do what he wanted, I’d go to hell. He’d quote scripture at me about suffering and punishment and all that. You know like that rich man thirsty in hell and Lazarus one? Or the one about the vines getting cut down and thrown in the fire?” I took a deep breath. Letting it go, I said, “So, yeah. I’m not a fan of church.”
Cash ran a hand over his face. “Sawyer, that’s awful. I can’t even…”
“It was a long time ago.” I shrugged.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes were soft when they met mine, full of a compassion I just couldn’t deal with.
“Thanks, but I just don’t think about it.” Before he could ask anything else, I added, “Or talk about it.”
“Okay.” Cash drew in a pensive breath. “But here’s the thing—my uncle’s really busy. This might be the only way you get to talk to him.”
I grimaced and studied his profile as he drove. It was lit up blue in the glow from the dash lights. He was cute even as he searched his mind for a way to drag me to church.
“How about this? We go to church, and we can walk out if something’s just too much. They have a coffee shop we can sit in. I know you like coffee.” He nudged me. “I’ll take you to get your car after we see my uncle.”
I bit my lower lip, snuggling deeper in his sweatshirt as I thought. Which torture was worse, church or prison? Church was only an hour or so, and prison could be years. Hmm. Church? Prison? Church? “Okay.”
It was almost three AM when we found a parking spot at the dorm. The exhaustion weighed me down as we walked the long hall to our rooms. “Hang on.” I yawned as I knocked on my door. Hopefully Nicole wasn’t in her usual coma-like sleep. “Let me write you a check for what I have.” There was no answer at the door, so I pounded louder. “Nicole, it’s me. Open up. I don’t have my key.”
“Don’t worry about the money.”
I knocked again. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” He eyed my closed door. “Do you need to stay in my room?”
I sighed and ran my fingers across my forehead. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” He echoed my words from September as he slid his key in the handle. “And Dylan went home for the weekend, so we don’t have to deal with him.”
“How are you guys even roommates?”
Cash yawned. “He was my roommate last year. The enemy you know is better than the roommate you don’t know with a bunch of other annoying traits that you could never predict.” He laughed as he closed the door.
“Hey, I know this is a lot to ask, but I have to shower to get the jail and the cop car and the club and the blood from the perv who tried to rape me off my skin. Do you mind if I borrow your shower stuff?”
He dropped his keys on his desk and turned to me. “Hold on. How were you the one who got arrested?”
I yawned again, waving my hand in front of my face. “I’ll explain tomorrow.”
“Here.” He opened his wardrobe. “Take some clothes, too. Oh, and a towel.” He pulled out a mostly folded towel, navy tee shirt, and plaid pajama pants. “And, uh, do you want boxers? Or is that weird?”
“Yes, please.”
He nodded as he opened a drawer and pulled out boxer briefs to add to the pile, then gave me his shower caddy.
I pulled a blue bottle out of the caddy. “Wow, you have conditioner?” Whatever kind it was, it looked expensive.
“Sulfate-free, so it won’t weigh down my curls.” He slipped his fingers through his short hair. I smirked, and he pretended to get defensive. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” No, he didn’t. Whatever he did with his hair was working.
My shower was hot and thorough, but quick. I just wanted to get the night washed off me and go to bed. Cash’s clothes were comically long on me. His shirt almost reached my knees, and I had to roll the pants at the waist and the ankles to keep them from dragging on the floor. But at least they were soft and clean and smelled like him.
When I got back to his room, he was lying on his back on the thin carpet with a pillow under his head. “Um, no, no, no,” I said. I set his shower caddy on the floor. “I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”
“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor. And you don’t want to sleep in Dylan’s bed. I don’t think he knows how to operate a washing machine.” I glanced at the pile of bedding on his mattress. The sheets did look crunchy. Gross. How did he get girls to have sex with him in there?
Cash would never go for this, but… “We could share.” I was quick to add, “In a very Christian, leaving-room-for-Jesus kind of way.” Not that there would be room for even baby Jesus in that twin bed. Cash was so freaking tall.
He chuckled. “You’re okay with that?”
“You are?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Sure.” He shrugged and tossed his pillow back on the bed.
Cash climbed under the covers first, then I slid in facing him. I rested my arm across him—to get comfortable, not to cuddle, of course. Instead of scooting away from me, he wrapped his arm under the pillow so I could lay my head on his chest. I nuzzled into him, hoping the excuse of the narrowness of the twin bed would disguise any affection I was displaying. This was strictly platonic bed sharing between two people who had made out a couple of times, one of whom had attempted to debauch the other repeatedly for months. Everyone did that, r
ight? Totally normal.
Fatigue closed my eyes. My body felt leaden against the mattress, against Cash. But I knew I wouldn’t fall asleep until I asked, “Cash?”
His chest rose and fell when he said, “Mmhmm?”
“Why’d you answer your phone tonight?”
“Because,” he yawned again, “it was you. Why wouldn’t I?”
I ran my hand to his waist and hugged him a little tighter. His arm tucked me against him, and his lips brushed my forehead. Warm and safe and with Cash, I fell asleep.
* * *
Third Street was empty. It always was at the beginning of this nightmare. The hollow sound of my Chuck Taylors stepping onto the pavement echoed off the houses. The first man emerged from the yellow house onto the east sidewalk. He started whistling and shouting. I wanted to tell him to shut up, that the others would come out if he didn’t, but no one in this dream could ever hear me. No one but Simone.
I felt her slender fingers slip into my hand, her steel medical ID bracelet cold against my wrist. Her blonde hair was still streaked with the natural chunky highlights of a child. She was just a child, shapeless and small.
The doors of the houses lining the street opened, men filing out to form a crowd on the sidewalks. They reached out for us, but it was as if there was an invisible fence holding them back. But at any moment, that barrier could break and they could spill into the streets and grab us. They had before.
Simone and I took deep breaths and let go of each other. It was impossible to decipher the demands flying at us from either side of the street, but we had to try. We had to obey. I started by shrugging off my flannel, letting it fall to the rough ground below. After I stepped out of my shoes, I slipped off my jeans. Silk and lace covered my ribs, leaving a hollow where my breasts should have been. Simone wore close to the same, her lips coated in red and her eyelashes in black.
The roaring grew louder, the hoards thicker. There weren’t enough houses in the neighborhood to have contained these men. They had traveled from somewhere else.
Even over the din, I heard every breath between the two of us, labored and afraid, each one pushing us forward. Jeff was behind us; we didn’t have to check over our shoulders to know. Simone stopped, her heart pounding like a bass drum as she stared ahead.