Patricia Bell

by Patricia Bell

  “She’s not,” Sean answers before I get a chance.

  “Right,” she answers less than believing. “Mind your own business, Bree.”

  I take a bite of delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwich and sigh hoping that’s the end of the interrogation.

  “So, where you from?” Bree asks.

  “Phoenix.” Sean answers again before I get a chance.

  For some strange reason, he feels the need to protect me. We’ve only known each other for a couple of hours. Obsess much? Still it’s almost kinda sweet. Bree notices the same thing because she turns to him and stares.

  “What are you, her father?” she asks. “Oh wait.” She covers her mouth dramatically. “Are you some kind of a deaf mute?”

  I giggle. “No.” Is this girl for real? I like her.

  Sean’s face turns a variety of shades of red at the realization that he was being entirely too protective.

  “It’s okay, Sean. Thanks for having my back.”

  “And everything else,” she mumbles as she takes a bite of hamburger.

  Strange as it may seem, I think I just made my first two friends.

  Chapter 15

  At first, I fought him. With my very being, I fought him. That’s when the injections came. They made me feel tired. See things, even. That was when I realized it was better to revert into my fantasy world than to fight him. It was easier, and he fed me. As long as I didn’t fight him, he fed me. That’s when food became my reward, and the injections became my punishment. The lines were drawn and I was under his complete control.

  “That had to be really tough for you to write. How do you feel about it?” Minnie asks licking the hot pink lipstick from her lips.

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “Kinda weird.” It’s hard to explain. It’s like saying something out loud that you’ve known all along but it wasn’t clear to you until you said it. Strange.

  “Freeing?” she asks.

  I don’t know if I would go that far. “Kinda. More like, accepting that I—” I know what I want to say but I don’t dare say it. What if I’m wrong.

  “Wasn’t the one to blame? That you did what you had to in order to survive?” she picks up her pen and twirls it a bit. “Because you do understand that you were only surviving. Right?”

  I nod. Her agreement alone takes a load off my shoulders. I am not a dirty little girl. “I didn’t have a choice.” I whisper.

  “No, you didn’t. And because you did what you did, you survived.” She smiles warmly.

  “For a long time, I didn’t want to.” I don’t know why I say it. It just comes out.

  “Didn’t want to what?” she stares at me, eyebrows raised in question and then her pen drops. “Survive?”

  I nod.

  “How do you feel about it now?” There’s no condemnation in her voice.

  “Sometimes the same, but usually not.”

  “That’s progress. How are things at school?”

  “I made a friend. Actually two.”

  “That’s great!” she says. “Things seem to be looking up. How about the nightmares?”

  I turn away to look out the window. It’s strangely cathartic. “Kinda, I’m not sure… Strange.”

  “You wanna talk about them?”

  How do I say it without her thinking I am crazy? “She visits me. When he comes, she helps me.” I whisper.

  “Who?” she picks back up her pen and scribbles something onto the pad in front of her. Now I’ve done it. She puts her pen down and stares at me, waiting for my answer.

  “Karina.”

  She stares at me as if wondering where she heard that name before and then opens my file. She flips through the pages and then apparently finds what she’s looking for. She looks back up. “The girl who called the police?” She gives me a raised eyebrow.

  I nod.

  “Well that is a bit unusual but not unheard of. After all, she played a huge part in your rescue.”

  I nod. Maybe I’m not crazy after all. “It’s just a dream, right? It feels so real. Like she’s really there.”

  “Oftentimes dreams can feel that way. Your brain is dealing with your trauma in its own way. After all, you’ve suffered a great deal.” She writes something else down and then looks back up at me. “How’s the medication making you feel?”

  I shrug. “I can’t really tell.”

  “Good. It’s only been a week. Let’s see how it goes. You are doing so well. Is there anything else?”

  I hesitate for a moment and then speak. Why not? That’s what she’s here for. “A group of girls have been making fun of me at school. They think I —”

  She nods for me to continue.

  “Cut.” There I said it. “They think I’m a cutter.”

  “Because of your wounds?” she asks. “On your wrists?”

  I nod. “Sharon bought me these stupid wrist sleeves and they think I am hiding cuts.”

  “Can I see?” she asks.

  I still have the sleeves on. It’s either that or I take them off and get a whole new set of stares. They can believe what they want. I hesitate.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to show me.”

  I pull off one of the sleeves. The deep wounds have healed but the scars stand out making them unavoidable.

  “Well they hardly look like something a cutter would do,” she says without batting an eye. “But I see why you want to hide them. It’s not exactly the conversation you want to have in the lunch line.”

  “Right,” I agree.

  “That’s a hard one. To be honest, you will most likely have those scars for life. There are some topical creams that may lighten them some but without plastic surgery they won’t go away completely.”

  I lower my head in disappointment.

  “If I were you I would embrace them. Wear them like a badge of honor. You, young lady, are a survivor. And those,” she points to my bared wrist. “Those are proof of it.”

  Easy for her to say. She doesn’t have to be stared at and ridiculed.

  “I know you don’t think so right now, but maybe one day you will.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” But for now, I slip back on my sleeve.

  Chapter 16

  “Mel, there’s someone at the door for you.” Sharon calls out as Simon and I sit down to a snack.

  Who in the world would be at the door for me? As I head into the living room I hear the distinct voice of someone I just met. I smile.

  “Hey, Bree. What are you doing here?”

  “As luck would have it, I live right down the street.” She smiles baring her braced teeth. Bright pink rubber bands displayed proudly.

  “Come on in, dear.” Sharon smiles.

  “Oh, I can’t stay, I just wanted to let you know we’re neighbors. I have an ortho appointment, but we could hang out later if you want.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I answer. “That’d be great.”

  I’ve never had a friend to hang out with. Even when I was in school I was kind of a loner. Probably the fact that I never had the nicest clothes or newest fashions. That’s what happens when your parents are druggies and spend more time getting high than taking care of their kid. But it is what it is. I watch as she walks away. I have a friend.

  “Sorry if I scared your friend,” Sharon says from behind. “She about jumped out of her skin when she saw a big black woman answer the door.”

  I giggle.

  “I bet all kinds of crazy thoughts were going through her head.” She giggles with me. “Where’s that little brother of yours?”

  “I think he’s still— Simon! You better not have eaten my snack!” I yell out and rush back to the kitchen.

  And there he sits, shoving the last of my cookies into his tiny mouth. “You are gonna get it, little boy.” I creep after him, tickle fingers extended menacingly in the air.

  “No! No!” He giggles, as chocolate drool drips down his mucky face.

&
nbsp; I slowly make my way over to him as his giggling intensifies. “Lissa! No!” he cries as I tickle him relentlessly. He almost falls out of his booster seat but I catch him just before impact. “You little cookie monster.” I tickle him once more for good measure. “Ewww,” I say as slobbery chocolate smears onto my shirt. “Look what you did, you drool monster.”

  “No, I’m cookie monster,” he states proudly as he tries, to no avail, to wipe away the evidence.

  “There’s plenty more.” Sharon says bringing in a plateful of more cookies.

  Simon reaches for the plate.

  “Not you Mister Cookie Monster. You’ve had enough.”

  Simon sticks out his bottom lip in a practiced pout.

  “Okay, but just one.” She gives in and hands him the smallest one she can find.

  “There’s one born every day.” I giggle.

  “You try and resist that charming face.”

  ***

  “I’ll get it!” I say as I rush to the front door, hoping it’s Bree coming back to hang out.

  I look through the side window. It is. And someone is with her.

  “Hey,” I say answering the door. “And you brought Sean with you.”

  “Hey,” Sean says suddenly shy.

  “You live around here too?” I ask.

  “Next street over,” he answers pointing in the direction behind the house.

  “Cool.” I step out onto the porch and close the door behind me. “What’s up?”

  The three of us hang out for a bit. It’s a strange but oddly comfortable feeling.

  “You guys like to play basketball?” I ask.

  “Yes!” Bree says. “Not really.” Sean rolls his eyes. I’m not surprised that he’s not the athletic type.

  “We got a hoop in the back.” Before I can invite them to play Bree heads in the direction of the back gate.

  “Let’s do it,” she says excitedly.

  “I’ll watch.” Sean takes a seat at the patio table while the two of us warm up.

  David and I have thrown the ball around a bit, but to be honest, he’s acquired a bit around the middle and doesn’t get around nearly as well as he thinks he does.

  The two of us play a game of horse while Sean fiddles with his cell phone. Probably reading Wikipedia or something.

  “You’re pretty good!” she says breathlessly as I go up for a shot.

  The ball goes in the basket but the two of us get tangled up and fall to the ground laughing.

  “Score!” I yell as the two of us lie on the ground.

  As she turns to sit up, her eyes become huge. “What happened to you?” she asks. “Those aren’t cuts, are they?”

  I turn quickly to see that my arm sleeve has slid up my arm exposing my scars. I pull it back down but it’s too late. My secret is out.

  Sean looks up from his phone. “What? What happened?” He gets up and walks toward us.

  “It’s no big deal.” My face heats. “It’s just—”

  “Were you tied up or something?” Bree asks still staring at my now covered wrist.

  “Bree!” Sean scolds.

  “It’s okay Sean. It’s true.” It was bound to happen and at least it’s not in the middle of school where everyone can gawk at me and stare. I pull my sleeves off and hold my wrists out for the two of them to see.

  “What happen?” Sean stares.

  “Let’s sit down.” I head to the patio table, abandoning my sleeves on the court. They follow.

  We sit at the table and I tell them my story. Of course, I leave out the more detailed parts but they get the idea.

  “Wow!” Bree says. “That’s crazy!”

  “You were actually stolen off the streets and sold into human slavery?” Sean stares, wide eyed, mouth open.

  “Not exactly. I… well he told me that I was already sold but the buyer…” A shiver runs through me. “He was making payments.”

  “You were on Layaway?” Bree asks appalled.

  “Yeah. I guess so.” It almost sounds funny when you say it that way.

  “Lucky you,” she whispers. “I mean that you never actually got… sold.”

  If she only knew just how unlucky I was. I can’t bear to tell her about the nightly visits, I’m just not ready to talk about it. Maybe I never will be.

  “You don’t have to wear those, ya know.” Sean nods at the sleeves lying in the middle of the basketball court. “If people judge you, it’s on them.”

  “Yeah.” Bree agrees. “You are the bravest person I know.”

  “You guys look like you could use some fresh lemonade.” Sharon pops out of the sliding glass doors with a tray of three tall glasses of lemonade and a plate of cookies. Once again, she’s saved the day.

  “Thanks!” Bree exclaims. “It sure is hot out there.” She grabs a glass and sucks it down.

  After Sharon heads back into the house she leans forward. “Is that your maid?” she whispers.

  “No, she’s my foster mom.” For the first time, and I mean very first, I think I actually have a family.

  “So cool.” She grabs a cookie. “You are the coolest person I know, too.”

  Chapter 17

  “Melissa!” David shouts from somewhere downstairs.

  I’ve just finished another entry in my journal. The final one. The one where I tell all. From the very start of my existence to the present day. Tomorrow is the day. And ready or not I will bare my soul to Minnie. I shove the book under my pillow and head downstairs.

  Sharon and David are sitting on the couch, their eyes glued to the television.

  “What’s up?” I ask. But before anyone answers I see his wretched face on the television. “Easy Money” My knees go weak.

  “Sit down honey. It’s okay. They caught him,” Sharon says.

  I sit down next to her and David rewinds the news show to the beginning.

  In other news, Suspected Human Trafficker and drug dealer, Eric Munson has finally been arrested. Many of you may remember his recent involvement with the young Phoenix teenager who was held prisoner by him. After a tragic accident and the death of his alleged girlfriend, he is finally in custody. It is thought that this man is responsible for the abduction of many girls in the Phoenix area. The actual count is unknown since his primary target was that of the homeless population. Eric Munson, otherwise known as Easy Money, will stand trial later this year and is expected to be charged with at least four counts of kidnapping, child endangerment, as well as countless drug charges…

  I stare at the television. Could it be? Is my monster finally behind bars? “Yes!” I jump up and slap at the air.

  Sharon and David stand and we jump around like a bunch of toddlers. Hugging and laughing.

  Simon walks into the room rubbing his eyes. It doesn’t take long before he is jumping around and dancing with us.

  God is Good.

  Epilogue

  I’d like to say that my life turned around immediately and everything was okay from then on out but it wasn’t. I got a little flack from the snobby girls at school but I never wore those stupid sleeves again. Once news got out that I was the girl who was kidnapped and almost sold into a life of slavery, the rumors and giggles stopped.

  During my final consultation with Minnie, I was not the only one who bared my soul. Minnie had a secret of her own that she’d been allowing to tear her up from the inside out. And she confessed it to me. As I suspected, one of the girls she’d counselled was trafficked by the same man who got me. Easy Money. Only this girl didn’t make it out. She was killed. “I felt so guilty,” Minnie had said. “I released her from her sessions too soon. She wasn’t ready. After one argument with her mother, she ran away. And he found her.” I’d like to think that I helped her that day, at least a fraction of what she did for me. Her fear no longer holds her hostage either.

  It wasn’t long before I accepted Christ as my savior. I still don’t understand why He allowed me to go
through the things He did, but, after all, I am a much stronger person now than I ever was.

  Sean and Bree remain my steadfast friends and after high school, the two of them got married. Who knew? I had no idea their relationship was like that. Talk about odd couple. But God knows what He’s doing.

  I attended college to be a child advocate just as I said I would. The work is tough but the rewards are great. There are so many hurting kids out there who need someone who is on their side. Someone who knows. Understands.

  It would be many years before I saw my mother again and I’m sorry to say that it was on her death bed. And she didn’t even ask for forgiveness, but I gave it to her anyway.

  Lastly, about that girl who saved my life, in reality as well as in the dream world, Karina; I got to meet her again. An amazing girl with a story of her own. I was almost ashamed that I ever envied her. She’s been through so much herself. And the two of us, we have become great friends.

  After all, there can be no testimony without a test. Right?

  If you would like to hear more about the amazing girl who saved my life, you can check out her books online at Amazon.com

  From House to Home - http://amzn.to/2iYTexF

  From Good to Bad - http://amzn.to/2hPYMKy

  From Lies to Truth - http://amzn.to/2mL9jbQ

  And now… as promised… a sneak peak of the first book in Karina’s Journey… (Turn the page)

  From House to Home

  Never in my life would I have imagined I’d be homeless. But here I am, fifteen years old and sleeping on a park bench with nothing but the clothes on my back, twelve dollars in my pocket, and a backpack full of useless school books. My mother should have named me Annie.

  Incredible how fast things can change. One minute I’m walking home from the bus stop, and the next I’m running for my life. Normal people don’t get themselves into these situations. But my life is far from normal.