When Faults Collide (Faultlines #1)

by Claire Granger

  Blake reached out and wiped a tear I hadn’t realized was falling from my cheek and I looked up at him.

  “My—oh God...” I said before a sob erupted from my throat. Blake pulled the journal from my hands and pulled me into him again. I buried my face into his chest and let another round of sobbing escape.

  I pulled away and suddenly was sucking for breath. I couldn’t catch my breath.

  This was different. I didn’t feel a memory. I didn’t feel the darkness. I just felt overwhelmed with emotion.

  Blake took my face in his hands and looked deep into my eyes. “Asha, you are okay. Look at me baby.”

  I looked right at him, staring straight into his soul. I focused on my breathing and felt myself calming under his influence. As soon as I felt composed I reached down and grabbed my phone.

  I scrolled down and dialed the number. Blake looked at who I was calling and then his eyes shone with understanding.

  “Asha, dear! What can I do for you?” Katherine bellowed happily.

  “Katherine. Can you come over please? I need an emergency session immediately,” I told her, focusing on my breathing and remaining eerily calm.

  “Of course, dear. What on earth has happened?” she asked.

  My lip trembled and I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t. I tried again and the words didn’t come.

  I looked at Blake pleadingly and he held out his hand. I looked at him with gratefulness when he took my phone and put it on speaker.

  “Katherine, it’s Blake. Asha found a journal of her mother’s and got very upset with some new and upsetting information. I think she would like to show you what she found,” he explained, taking control with ease.

  “Oh no! Okay...I’m on my way. I’m actually not far from your house now. See you soon.”

  Blake and I moved to the futon and sat hand in hand. His thumb ran over the top of my hand and he only let go when he heard the bell ring downstairs.

  Katherine entered my office and hugged me before taking a seat in my office chair. Blake didn’t follow her immediately but followed close behind, holding out a mug for me that contained a latte.

  I smiled at him thankfully. He winked at me and then joined me on the futon, once again taking my hand.

  “Okay, Asha. Tell me what you learned today.” Katherine asked.

  “My whole life I thought that my mother chose that life. I thought that she chose to be there. Now I’m just confused,” I said, forcing myself to keep it together.

  Her eyes showed nothing but confusion. “Asha, what do you mean? Why are you suddenly confused?”

  I waved my hands on the ground to both my mother’s journal and Blake’s mother’s journal and then I put my head in my hands.

  “Do you want me to tell her?” Blake asked gently rubbing his hands along my back.

  I nodded, head still in my hands. I wasn’t crying, I was just overwhelmed with confliction.

  “Asha’s mother had a journal that Asha didn’t know about. She read the first page and saw that Chandra, the woman that Asha believed to be her mother’s best friend and fellow prostitute, was actually her madam. I read it and felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu because my own mother kept a journal and her entries looked very similar, so I showed Asha my mother’s journal for comparison,” Blake explained calmly.

  “May I read them?” Katherine asked.

  I nodded again, but finally pulled my head up and leaned into Blake. My head rested on his shoulder while his arm went around my back. I watched Katherine as she read, first my mother’s journal, then Blake’s.

  Her eyes gave nothing away as she read the pages, making me even antsier.

  She finally looked up. “Blake, you openly say that your mother was a victim, correct?”

  Blake answered calmly with a slight edge of defensiveness, “My mother was a victim. She was brainwashed by her pimp into the world of human trafficking. Calling it prostitution doesn’t change what it is.”

  Katherine nodded and then her eyes met mine. “You are confused and upset because you are now seeing your mom as a victim instead of a mother making a horrible choice.”

  I nodded, and then answered, “Yes, but I’m also confused because Chandra died when I was eight. If she was my mother’s madam, why didn’t she leave after that? And who took over? Wouldn’t someone need to take over?”

  Katherine pondered for a moment and then shook her head. “I can’t answer that for you, dear. Perhaps your mother was in too deep at that point. Perhaps someone did take over, and they also made her feel inadequate. Pimps sometimes leave working girls, and they just find another pimp. The trauma and brainwashing runs deeper than just the connection to one pimp or madam. They are brainwashed into the life.”

  “So there’s no hope for girls who end up trafficked? Inevitably they will end up right back in the life? Is that what you’re saying?” I asked, shocked.

  Katherine shook her head but before she got a chance to answer Blake answered, “They can be saved.”

  Katherine and I both turned to look at him and I saw a small smile form on the corner of Katherine’s mouth from my peripheral.

  Blake’s free hand began to fidget with the knee of his jeans. “Look, I’ve had this burned into my brain for years of living with Amy. Trauma affects the biology of the brain, but the longer that someone is living in that survivor trauma mode, the worse it is. The best way to reach trafficked girls is to get them out as soon as possible, because the damage to not only the psyche but also to the actual biology of the brain will be lessened, and therefore the chance to reach them is greater. So, yes, they can be saved, but you have the biggest chance of success by reaching them sooner.”

  I turned to glance at Katherine and her eyes shone with respect for Blake as she nodded, “Yes, that’s totally correct.”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  “I want to help.” I said firmly.

  Blake tilted his Kindle down and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.

  “What, babe?” he asked.

  I shifted on the swing, closing my laptop as I did.

  “I want to help girls like our moms.”

  He tilted his head and looked at me thoughtfully. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  “I am not sure how I’m going to do that yet, but I just feel like I should,” I said, tapping my fingers across my closed laptop.

  “Why don’t you talk to Amy? She has friends at all of the different victim’s resource centers and stuff. I’m sure she could find something for you to do to help,” he said, reaching down to hold my hand.

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Maybe I should call her,” I said, mostly to myself, but Blake nodded in agreement.

  I picked up my phone and scrolled through until I found Amy’s number.

  “Hello?” she answered cheerfully.

  “Hey Amy, it’s Asha,” I answered back.

  “Hey honey. What’s up?” she asked. Amy was a busy lady, calling to chat would have just been rude.

  I started picking at the skirt of my maxi dress. “So, I’ve been thinking, I’d really like to do something to help trafficking victims and prostitutes. Blake said you may have contacts with some organizations that could give me some direction on what I can do to help.”

  The line was silent, so I wasn’t sure if she was still there. “Amy?”

  Then I heard a brief sniffle. Was she crying? I heard her clear her throat and cough before answering in a clear, not crying, voice. “Yep. I could set you up with some people.”

  “Amy are you okay? Were you crying just now?”

  She scoffed. “You be quiet, you. I’m fine.”

  I giggled, “Okay.”

  “Well, let me make a few calls, send out a few emails, and then I’ll get back to you. Sweetheart, I think it’s wonderful that you want to help,” she said proudly.

  I smiled. “Thanks, Amy.”

  We disconnected the call and I looked at Blak
e, who had a giant grin on his face.

  “What?” I asked him.

  “She loves you, you know,” he stated.

  “I love her too. She’s great,” I said happily.

  “You’re great,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss me.

  Blake picked me up and carried me into the bedroom, never taking his eyes off of me. He laid me on the bed gently, and began kissing me at the top of my head. He kissed down my cheek and down my neck. I moaned softly as he made his way to my collarbone. He sat me up briefly to remove my tank top, and lifted me up slightly to remove my shorts. He came back so that he was on top of me and again began trailing kisses from my collarbone and down the top of my bra, down to my stomach, and down my hip. When he kissed the top of my thigh I exhaled slowly. He came back up and held his face just inches from my own.

  “I want to cherish you, because that’s what you deserve. You deserve to be cherished,” he breathed into my ear.

  I felt overwhelmed by his love for me and felt a tear slip down my cheek.

  He wiped it away and said softly, “I love you.”

  I choked out, “I love you, too.”

  Then he did indeed spend the rest of the afternoon cherishing me.

  The next several weeks flew by. Between Lily’s play, my design work for Shine, and the lineup of bands that Shine had playing, we stayed busy.

  Lily moved in next door a few days before Christmas. On her first night in we sat on our shared porch drinking hard cider and looking through my mother’s journals.

  “This is so intense, Ash. Like, this is crazy,” she said, flipping the page.

  “I know. I obviously had my own perception of the life from my experience, but to read it from hers...it’s mind blowing,” I said, sipping my cider and taking the journal from her. “But look at Blake’s mom’s. At least my mom wasn’t a minor. Blake’s mom was pulled into the life when she was only fourteen!”

  Lily shook her head and took his mom’s journal from my hands, opening it to the page I read earlier and began to silently read the page that had been haunting me all day.

  Dante set me up with a new John. He says his name is Smith. Who the fuck knows if that’s his real name. This bastard is a really sick and twisted fuck. He has me wear pajamas with little cartoon characters and put my hair into ponytails. He likes to brush my hair, sit on the bed and read a book to me, all before forcing himself on me. Granted, I let him, but he wants me to pretend to be scared. Then, as he’s forcing himself on me, he strokes my face and tells me to calm down. Sometimes I don’t have to pretend, he really scares me. Afterwards he gives me a bath and then touches me in the bathtub. Sick bastard. I hope to God he doesn’t have kids.

  “Woah,” Lily says, closing it.

  I saw a tear forming in the corner of her eye.

  “Oh Lils, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking you to read this. It’s too much,” I said holding her hand.

  “No, it’s okay. Well...it’s not, but...wow. I mean, do you think this happens all the time? I’m just baffled right now.”

  I nodded grimly. “Yeah. Amy says that this is a pretty common story.”

  Lily shook her head and wiped away her tears. “Are you speaking at that thing?”

  I nodded. “Yes, and I’m so nervous I feel like I could die.”

  Amy had set me up with a friend of hers from social services who connected me to a symposium on human trafficking victims and their families. I was invited to speak on a panel about my experiences in India and being a child of a prostitute.

  “You’ll do great, Ash. I just know it,” Lily said reassuringly.

  I sure hoped so.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Christmas Eve at my dad’s went well. My dad spent the majority of the day talking business with Blake, and Marcy spent the majority of the day pressing me for more details about Lily’s upcoming wedding. Overall, it felt like a pretty typical day with my family, and while it wasn’t as warm and cozy as visits to Blake’s family, it was still special.

  On Christmas Day we went to Amy and Dave’s house and I was immediately overwhelmed with the number of people there. I spent the first hour just being introduced to everyone.

  All of Blake’s brothers and sisters were there, a few significant others in tow, plus Amy’s parents and Dave’s siblings.

  While Amy put the finishing touches on the meal, I snuck down the hallway to the girls’ room to catch a quick breather at Blake’s insistence.

  Though the room was average sized as far as bedrooms go, it held two pink wooden bunk beds with cute flowery bedding and lots of fun, girly décor spread throughout the room. It felt warm, like the rest of the house.

  I thought all the girls were out with the rest of the family, so I was shocked to find Iris sitting on the floor in front of the closet door, crying.

  I leaned down and sat next to her. “Iris! Are you okay honey?”

  Iris was definitely the only sibling of Blake’s I hadn’t been able to connect with. Blake hadn’t told me her story, and just said that she would share with me when she was ready. All that I knew was that she was twelve and Ariana’s biological sister.

  Iris looked up and gave me a once over before her lip trembled and she burst into sobs again.

  I reached out and held her hand. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t like when there’s so many people,” she said, sniffing.

  “Oh, well I understand. I don’t like when there’s so many people either. It’s why I came to hide in your room. Maybe we can hide together?” I asked gently.

  She nodded and then asked, “Why don’t you like being around so many people?”

  I sighed and leaned my head against the door. “Because something bad happened to me a long time ago, and when there’s a lot of people around I get nervous.”

  She looked up at me, eyes brimming with tears. “Yeah, something bad happened to me too.”

  “Mmm. Well, then I guess we have something in common then,” I said thoughtfully.

  We sat there in silence for a while longer, and somehow through that silence Iris began to connect to me. She put her hand on my knee.

  “If I tell you what happened to me, will you tell me what happened to you?” she asked quietly.

  I looked down and smiled a small smile. “Yes.”

  “My birth mom did drugs...a lot of drugs. And sometimes when she was on drugs her boyfriend and his friends would...do things to me. They hurt me,” she said, searching my face for my response.

  I pursed my lips together and unsuccessfully tried to fight the tears forming in my eyes.

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you. When I was twelve, a man I don’t know pulled me into an alley and did bad things to me. He hurt me,” I said, sharing my whole truth with her.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you. Asha, why did it happen? Why are there so many bad people in the world?”

  I took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, I don’t know why it happened, but I can tell you that all of my bad experiences made me who I am. They led me to meet your brother. So, even though they were hard, if my experiences can help someone else or have a positive impact on the world, then I guess it was all part of a bigger plan. Everything can’t always be good, or then we wouldn’t appreciate the good. The suffering, the hardships, they all make us appreciate and cherish all the love and goodness. They give us compassion.”

  She nodded and squeezed my hand. “Thank you for sharing with me.”

  “Oh, honey, thank you. You ready to head back out to the crazy crowd yet?” I asked playfully.

  She nodded and we walked hand in hand to the living room, just in time to eat.

  Blake saw us coming and smiled, looking between the two of us. Amy dropped the towel she was holding when she saw us and covered her mouth. Her eyes darted to Blake who met her gaze and then looked back to us. Iris sat on one side of me during the meal, with Blake on the other.

  After dinner and clean up, I was walking out
towards the car when Amy pulled me aside.

  “How did you get her to open up?” Amy asked.

  “Iris? Oh, I just...talked to her. I told her about my past, so she told me about hers. I just, you know...talked to her.” I said, shrugging.

  Amy’s eyes filled with tears as she pulled me into a tight embrace. She pulled back and looked at me, a fire of passion behind her eyes.

  “Iris has only opened up to a few people. She won’t even talk to Dave. Up until now, the only people who she told was me, Ariana, and Peyton. Now she tells you. You have a gift, honey.”

  “A gift? No...I just...you know—”

  “No,” she interrupted, “I’ve been doing this for a long time. Some people have a deep love for children with trauma histories, but they just don’t have the gift to work with the really tough kids. Then there’s people who do have the gift, and can make a serious impact on these kid’s lives. My gut is always spot on when it comes to this.”

  “Well if you know anyway that I can help, just let me know.”

  “Oh I will. Believe me, I will,” Amy said before pulling me into a final embrace.