by Laney Wylde
“What?” I whispered. I followed her gaze to Travis and his three friends at the intersection of Ransom Street and Third. I grabbed her hand. “We have to.”
She shook her head.
I dragged her along. Her hand relaxed in mine. Acquiescence. Then she slumped to the ground, her breath wheezing. “Hey!” I stooped down to catch her. She lay limp in my arms as her eyes closed. “Help! Someone, help!”
Shh, Sawyer. It’s okay.
But no one listened. Or no one could hear. Maybe my screams were too quiet—just puffs of air over loose vocal chords. “Someone, please,” I begged when her breathing stopped.
Hey, you’re all right. I’m here.
Sprinting steps closed in. Finally. Travis scooped Simone out of my arms and laid her on the pavement. I waited for him to do something else, something to save her, but he turned back to me and unzipped his pants. When I went to punch Travis, I fell off Cash’s bed.
Pain spiked into each vertebra as my back hit the floor. “Shit!”
“Hey, you okay?” Cash leaned over the side of the mattress, holding his jaw in one hand. Streaks of light streamed through the blinds over the five o’clock shadow on his face.
I was sweaty and breathless on the floor. “Yeah,” I groaned as I rolled to sitting. He sat up, still holding his cheek. “What happened to your face?”
“You punched me.” He breathed a sheepish laugh.
“What?”
“Yeah, right before you fell.”
“Cash, I’m so sorry.”
“No, don’t worry about it. You were having a nightmare. But it didn’t exactly convince me to sleep with you.”
“I wasn’t having a nightmare.”
“Sure. You just yell for help and throw punches in your sleep for no reason.”
“Yeah, I don’t remember.” I stood. “I am sorry about that, though. So,” I sighed, “when is this church thing?”
He grabbed his phone from the desk. “Can you be ready in forty-five minutes?”
“As long as I’m not locked out.”
I knocked on my door. Nicole answered, finally. “So…” She eyed me up and down. “Cash finally slept with you?”
I pushed past her into our room. “Yeah, only because you didn’t answer the door.”
“You’re welcome.” Her face was so smug I wanted to punch it, but I had already assaulted two people in the last twelve hours, so I should probably give it a rest.
I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t like that.” I let his pajama pants fall to the floor, and then stepped out of them on my way to my wardrobe.
“Holy crap! What did he do to your legs? And your arms?”
“Nicole, seriously, we didn’t have sex.” I ducked behind the wardrobe door to examine the deepening purple and green splotches on the outside of my thighs. My wrists were worse. I brushed my fingertips over them. Even just that touch sliced through to my muscles. Pants and long sleeves then. Whatever. It wouldn’t be the first time I had to cover bruises.
* * *
Cash and I went to church. It was this massive auditorium filling with hundreds of people like ants swarming over a cookie. There were more people here than in my whole town. We walked down the left center aisle toward the stage. And kept walking. And walking. We didn’t stop until the fourth row from the front. Really? Couldn’t we hide in the back? By the door maybe? Or in the lobby?
Cash’s cousins saved two seats for us. We slid in front of them. “This is Amber,” Cash said, introducing me to the girl his age sitting on the end.
“Hi. Sawyer,” I said.
“And Sydney.” A girl about my age.
“Hey.”
“Noah and Sophie.” A little younger.
“Hi.” How many were there?
“Andy. And Uncle Stephen and Aunt Becca.”
“Hi. Sawyer.” I made sure to shake Stephen’s and Becca’s hands. Especially since Stephen might get me out of jail.
When we sat down, I whispered to Cash, “Holy crap! Five kids?”
He laughed. “I’m number three of seven.”
“What? It’s not just you and Jo?”
He shook his head. “What about you? Any siblings?”
“Nah. I was a condom accident. My parents were seventeen.”
You, of all people, should know better, Sawyer.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Then my dad passed shortly after my mom finished nursing school, so they didn’t have time to have another when they could afford it.”
Cash knitted his eyebrows together and stared at me.
“What?”
“The shirt you wore yesterday…” His voice lowered as if it hurt to even ask the question, “That was your dad’s?”
“Yeah, but it is possible I just scarred them so badly they never wanted another.”
“You didn’t tell me your dad died.”
I shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
The worship team started playing. Acoustic guitar strums with the lead singer greeting everyone over it. “How long ago?” Cash asked.
“Twelve years,” I said, standing with the rest of the congregation as the music started.
“I’m sorry, Sawyer.”
“Stop.” I put my hand on his arm. “It’s not a big deal.”
The room was dim, hiding me in the crowd flanking me on every side. But then the music ended, and everyone sat. The lights flickered on, illuminating a thousand faces behind me. I didn’t see them. I only felt them, the way people sensed they were being followed without hearing footsteps. Someone knew Emerald—how thoroughly, I did not know. Someone knew Delilah, knew I was named that for my aim to deceive, my ability to cripple the strong, the contagious nature of my sin. In a congregation this size, someone knew. But I didn’t know who.
There were whispers in the row behind me. A head in front of me turned to the side so I could see the white of his eyes. The hairs on my arms stood on end. If I got up to leave, they’d all see me; those ones who already knew could follow me. So I slouched and watched my knees bounce.
Cash rested the back of his hand on my thigh, brushing that clothed injury from hours before: an offer of fingers waiting for mine. I slipped my hand in his and squeezed my eyes shut. It was just me and Cash, his warm palm against my cold skin. No one else was here. No one could see me because I couldn’t see them.
* * *
I had no evidence Cash had given Uncle Stephen a head’s-up that I was at Sunday lunch for legal counsel. We just sat across from him at the table for lunch and joined in the family conversation. I answered the barrage of questions from his family.
I’m from Oregon.
No, nowhere near Portland.
I haven’t decided what I’m studying yet.
Cash and I are neighbors.
No, we’re just friends. How was that their business?
An hour passed, but Cash said nothing to Stephen that suggested I went to church for any reason other than masochistic torture. His cousins and aunt scattered from the table, clearing plates and casserole dishes. Stephen lingered over his empty plate, folded his hands below his chin, and asked, “So, Cash, you were arrested?”
I nearly cackled. Cash do anything wrong? Had he just met these people?
“No, Sawyer just had some questions for you.”
Stephen waved his hand at me to start.
I cleared my throat. “Well, if someone got arrested for assault when they were defending themselves, um…” I swallowed and glanced over at Cash. “What would you do?”
“Can I have more details?”
“Yeah. A congressman attempted to solicit…” I winced and darted my gaze around. “Ah…favors,” I inserted air quotes, “from a dancer,” air quotes again. “When she said no, he attempted to,” I whispered the next word, “rape her. She fought him off, but took it a little far. And she just has a few bruises. She got arrested, and he didn’t. What are her chances of walking free?”
“How far is a little far?”
&n
bsp; “He’s lucky to be alive.”
Stephen nodded and focused on me intently for a few seconds. “Cash, Sawyer’s just about out of tea.” He handed Cash my mason jar half-filled with ice. “Would you get her a refill?”
“Yes, sir.” Cash brushed his hand over my shoulder as he stood.
When Stephen brought his attention back to me, I knew what he was going to ask. God bless him for getting rid of Cash before he said, “Had you accepted payment for illegal sexual contact with this congressman before last night?”
I ran my hands over my face and nodded.
“What about with other clients?”
I nodded again before tucking my hands in the crooks of my arms and resting my elbows on the table. “I stopped in November, though.” As if that made a difference.
“Can anyone besides those who solicited sex confirm you received payment for sex?”
“I told one of the other dancers a while back. And, Ivan, one of the bouncers…” Ivan. He’d walked in. It was so humiliating. Even more so was giving him half my tips from that blowjob to keep him from telling the manager.
“Okay.” He let out a long exhale. That couldn’t be good.
Before he bore the bad news that I was going to be wearing orange until I turned twenty-five, I added, “Wait.” I glanced over my shoulder. Cash was talking with Sydney. Or Sophie? One of them. I had time. I lowered my voice and leaned over the table to Stephen. “Does it make any difference that he tried to have sex with me because he recognized me from kiddie porn?”
Stephen laced his fingers together on the table and tilted his head back and forth as if bouncing the question around in his brain. “Kind of.”
Yep. Going to prison for sure.
* * *
“How’d it go?” Cash asked after he closed the driver’s side door.
“He’s going to set me up for a psych eval to show I acted under extreme stress or trauma or something.”
“That’s good, right?” He was optimistic. Always so freaking optimistic.
I sighed. “He doesn’t think I’ll win if it goes to court.”
“What? How? You acted in self-defense.”
I stared out the window. “It’s his word against mine for the attempted rape, and Stephen doesn’t think the jury will sympathize with me.”
“Why not?” Cash was incredulous. I wasn’t sure what it was about me that made me seem like a lost puppy, but I could assure him that he was alone in his perception.
“Because the jury is going to see a trashy hooker who nearly beat a congressman to death. Who would you believe?”
“Hooker?”
I dropped my head, gazing down at my fingers twisting together in my lap. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him turn back to the road and nod once. He said nothing. I wished he would just say something, anything. But he said nothing. And never said anything about it after.
Cash took me to get my car as promised. The drive back to the dorm was the first time I had been alone since washing out my bloody bra in the strip club sink. I was surprised how alone I felt. Scared, actually. Small. Sober. Too sober. I needed a drink.
I dropped my keys on my desk, noticing Cash’s pajamas folded on top of my bed. I changed back into his tee shirt and boxer briefs before opening the bottom drawer of my desk, also known as my liquor cabinet. It had been a whiskey neat kind of twenty-four hours. I grabbed a bottle and one of the four tumblers I had from my short stint living in a ghetto studio apartment this summer. After I poured two fingers, I swallowed half, relishing the burn all the way down. There was a knock at my door. I opened it with the glass discreetly dangling from my fingertips behind the door.
“Hey.” Cash smiled. “What’s this?” He pointed to his shirt hanging loosely from my shoulders.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I smirked. “I need to do laundry.”
“Hmm.” He nodded doubtfully.
“Can I help you?” I eased the door closer around me.
“Yeah. Have dinner with me Thursday night.”
I squinted at him for what felt like a full minute. “What?”
“Dinner. You know, eating, probably at a restaurant.” Cash answered, placing his hand on my doorframe.
“Like a date?”
“Yeah, like a date.”
I sighed. “Cash, I might be in jail Thursday. My arraignment is tomorrow.”
He waved his hand in front of his chest. “You’re not going to jail.”
Again with the relentless optimism.
“You really don’t have to ask me out if you want sex. We should do it now, just in case—”
“No.” He rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms. “Just dinner.”
“What if I want dessert?” I shot him a lubricious gaze.
“Literal dessert?”
“Fine.” I flicked my fingers.
“You like ice cream?”
“Sure, everyone does.”
“Then we’ll get ice cream.”
“No, I don’t eat ice cream.”
“Why not?”
I shook my head. “What do you get out of this just-dinner with the prospect of literal dessert?”
“Time with you.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “This is weird.”
“I’ll pick you up at six. Bring thick socks and a coat.” He started to walk away as if I might change my mind if he stayed.
“Wait, why?” I called. I knew he heard, but he shut his door behind him anyway.
The Thursday night after Cash bailed me out of jail, I stood flushed from the hair dryer in my violet bra and jeans searching for something warm to wear. I slid hanger after hanger along the rod: long sleeve tee, sweater, sweatshirt, sweater, leather jacket. I pushed to the next sweater so I wouldn’t have to see that jacket from Jake’s dad. Jake was gone. I was gone. I’d tell myself a thousand more times if I had to.
Someone knocked on my door. I checked my phone. It was already ten after six. I grabbed the next shirt on the rod and pulled it on before opening the door. Cash was in a sweater, not his usual plaid shirt rolled around his forearms. It must be his version of dressing up. “Hey, what’s this?” I pointed to the lilies in his hand.
“I told you that you wouldn’t go back to jail.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I pushed my feet into my boots. “Released on my own recognizance because, according to your uncle, I sacrificed everything to go to school here, I’m an excellent student, and I have no ties anywhere else to anyone so I’m not a flight risk. Oh, and I’m too poor to flee.” I tiptoed to kiss his cheek and then took the flowers. They were already in a vase and everything. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
“You like lilies?”
“Everyone likes lilies.” Which reminded me, was Allen still breathing through a tube? I hoped not. That’d probably be bad for my case.
“Do you have thick socks?”
I stepped backward toward my wardrobe. “Are you going to abandon me on a mountain or something?” I asked. I shoved a pair of socks into my purse.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Well, that might get me out of prison,” I suggested as I closed the door behind me.
“You’re not going to prison.” He took my hand, and we started down the hall.
“You have a lot of faith in your uncle. But I’ve thought about it, and it might not be so bad.”
“You think?”
“First, they have libraries, or I’d at least have the right to access one, so I could read all I want.”
“You do like books.”
“Second, no men could find me there.”
“Except correctional officers.”
“Damn.”
“Who are you running from anyway?”
“Third, I actually look phenomenal in orange.”
“I’m sure you do, but none of that matters because you aren’t going to prison.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’re impatient, you know that?”
“You make me wait a lot.” I winked.
“Get used to it.”
He opened the passenger door of his silver Audi for me. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” I said as I slid into shotgun, “shouldn’t you have a truck?”
He leaned a forearm on the top of the door and the other on the top of the car. “Why?”
“‘Cause you’re from the South. Your life’s like a country song, right?”
He smirked at me. “Shouldn’t you know how to milk a cow since you’re from Oregon?”
“I do. And how to castrate a bull.”
“Are you serious?”
“I never lie about my emasculating abilities.”
“Hang on.” He shut my door, walked around the car, and scooted into the driver’s seat. “What?”
“Yeah, there are a few different ways, but on my friend’s ranch, we just cut the balls off with, well, basically bolt cutters.”
Cash’s face went ashen. Nothing made a man sympathize with an animal like emasculation. Sure, men could hunt, shoot, and slaughter them, but snipping off their manhoods crossed a line.
“Those new steers were pissed.”
“Ya think?”
“Sorry. We don’t have to talk about this. I’m not exactly good at…conversations.”
He laughed. “You’ve been able to skate by on your good looks so far?”
“Pretty much.” I shot him a wink. “You’re welcome to bring up any equally sexy topics tonight. For instance, flesh-eating bacteria, whether peeing on jellyfish stings is effective, politics—”
“I feel like I’m playing Cards Against Humanity.”
“Cash, my life is Cards Against Humanity.”
His smile fell. Time to change the subject.
“Are we in Brentwood?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Didn’t OJ kill those people out here?” Murder. That was a step in the right direction. “Are you going to kill me, too?”
“Nah, I don’t have enough money or fame to get away with that.” He half-smiled and cut his eyes over to me.