It’s unsettling to think of losing so much time. My last solid memories are of meetings with some of my development team in our New York office. I haven’t had the flu in years, and it completely kicked my ass. Sam had it last year and, truthfully, I’d wondered why it had taken him an entire week to recover. Hell, I understood now.
I look across the counter at Lia, taking in her beautifully mussed appearance. Her long blonde hair is in a lopsided ponytail on the top of her head…in a bread tie? Her face, devoid of makeup, is flawless. Her blue eyes sparkle, framed by thick lashes, and my shirt collar hangs off one side, exposing the creamy flesh of her shoulder. Most women I know would never be seen in front of a man in less-than-perfect condition, but Lia doesn’t act self-conscious at all; actually, she looks completely comfortable. After seeing me at my worst for the last few days, she probably figures it doesn’t really fucking matter anymore, and I like that. Clearing my throat, I say, “Thank you for taking care of me. I…hope I didn’t ruin any plans you might have had.”
She takes a sip of her orange juice, seeming pleased by my words. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help, and no, I didn’t have any plans. I usually spend the weekend studying, doing laundry, and visiting Debra if I have time.”
“No big parties? Isn’t that the best part of college?” I tease.
She shakes her head, and somehow I already know she isn’t a typical college student. “Nah, that’s not really my thing. I have gone to a few parties with Rose when she refused to take no for an answer, but I don’t enjoy that kind of thing. I’d rather curl up with a good book than watch a bunch of drunks making fools of themselves. I…didn’t have many friends growing up, so crowds kind of bother me.”
The pain that crosses her face is impossible to miss. I find myself wanting to comfort her, wanting to kill the fucker who put that look there. “Tell me about your life growing up, Lia. Were there good times for you?” She looks agitated, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to forget my question when she starts talking.
“Good times? No, there were none of those. There were moments that weren’t as bad as others. My real father was never in my life, and my mother spent her whole life reminding me of how I ruined everything for her. I don’t know why she didn’t just give me away; we would have both been better off.”
Dreading the answer, I ask, “Did she beat you?”
Lia shrugs her slim shoulders saying, “She smacked me around, slapped my face when she was angry, threatened me, insulted me. Just depended on her mood.”
“What about your stepfather? Did he hit you?” I already knew the bastard had scarred her back.
“He, um…threw things at me sometimes. Like beer cans, and he liked to slap my butt and insult me.”
“And he never raped you?” Even though I have asked her this before, I need to clarify it. She is tiny and would have been so easy for someone to take advantage of, especially a drunk bastard like her stepfather.
“No…I told you I took care of that.” She shuts her eyes, and I curse as a tear leaks out.
“How, baby? How did you stop him?” I ask softly.
She wipes her cheeks, turning her head away. “He was constantly insulting women who weren’t stick-thin. He rode my mother about her weight. He had…started making comments to me about my body and touching me in small ways at every opportunity. I knew what was coming unless I did something. So, I started to eat…to gorge, until I gained so much weight I barely recognized myself anymore. Kids at school made fun of me, but it worked. He was completely repulsed. I could handle all of his cruel jokes and insults if it meant he wouldn’t touch me in that way, and he didn’t. Eating myself half to death saved me. He and my mother sat around laughing, calling me every version of fat they could think of, but he wasn’t interested in…anything sexual with me. I saved myself.”
I drop my head into my hands, not wanting her to see how her story moves me. What girl that age has to come up with ways to make sure the people who are supposed to protect her don’t violate her instead? My lonely life growing up without my parents suddenly pales in comparison to what she has faced. “How about the burn? How did that happen?”
She shudders, and I feel like a bastard for making her talk about something so painful. “It was right before my mother kicked me out. They were fighting and I was doing the laundry. He was mad and drunk. I was using the iron when they came in and I set it down, trying to leave before they noticed me. He…somehow burnt his hand on it, and he was so mad. My mom ran out when he turned his attention to me.” A tear slips down her face as she continues. “He told me not to worry about him touching me, but that I needed something to remember who I belonged to. Co—Cows are branded by their owner. Oh, God, I just remember the smell, the awful smell. Then the pain; my whole body was on fire.”
“Fuck,” I spit out, so angry on her behalf that I want to rip someone’s head off. And now her cunt of a mother wants to put her daughter right back in the line of fire again? I’ve already got my lawyer looking into it; now I plan to have my investigator find out more about the fuckers who put a poor, innocent girl through Hell. I pick up her hand, stroking the soft skin. “How did you make it this far on your own, baby?”
She uses her other hand to wipe the moisture from her eyes before answering. “I applied to every college around during my last year of high school. I was offered a full scholarship to St. Claire’s and was just trying to make it at home until school started. I hadn’t really thought of all the other expenses outside of what was covered. When my mom kicked me out, I was lucky enough to meet Debra, who you spoke with on the phone, and get a job at a diner she owns. She and her boyfriend Martin helped me so much. I…worked there and lived in my car to save money for school.”
My stomach flops, and I feel bile rising as I gape at her. “You lived in your car? I thought you said they helped you. How is that help?” I know my voice is rising when she flinches away. I lower it, fighting for control. “Honey, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand.”
“Debra asked me to stay with her;” she says quietly, “but I…just didn’t trust anyone at that point. I had the car I had bought from her, and at least it was mine. I spent a lot of time at the library and the break room at work, so I wasn’t really living in the car. When school finally started, all my savings went so fast. Debra tried to loan me money, but again, I just couldn’t take it. My roommate told me about Date Night where she was working, and well…you know the rest.”