Page 88 of Synced to Us

“Oh, fuck.”

“Both my parents disappeared, Wyn. Just … left me. I was taken to the police station. Multiple attempts were made to contact my parents. When it was clear they weren’t coming back for me, a social worker turned up to take me away. I was put into the foster care system. Turns out, all those friends my parents had weren’t close enough to want me. My best friend couldn’t take me in because her parents were victims of the Ponzi scheme. In fact, the whole neighborhood was. Dad scammed them all.”

“Dee.” It’s all I can think of to say. “I’m so sorry.”

She keeps her head low, obscuring her face with her long hair. “I learned later from the FBI I was part of an elaborate act my parents put on to get the money they needed to run away rich and avoid the dangerous enemies they’d collected. They went into hiding as a perfect family, using me as a pawn until they could safely leave. They never cared for me. They only wanted to play a role to get what they ultimately wanted. Money. I was left to pick up the pieces.”

“There’s a million reasons why they might not have come back.” I pull her close, wrapping my arm around her shoulders, and placing her head near my heart. “Maybe they wanted to take you with them, but there was no time. Or something happened along the way. Or they didn’t want to take you out of a neighborhood you grew up in…”

“Said by a boy who’s momma always loved him.” But her voice isn’t unkind. “I thought all of those things, too, wished for most of them. Anything but the truth that they left me behind. If they thought I’d be blameless in their scheme, they were wrong. The town hated me. I was the only one left to blame.”

“Baby,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head and embracing her with both arms. “You’re so much better than them.”

“Actually, I’m thankful for what they did.” Dee sniffs and steps out of my hold. She points to a nearby red brick complex with black iron detailing. A doorman swings open the door, and I follow Dee’s lead into the waiting elevator.

We hit the top floor and she guides me to her apartment. Her keys jangle as she unlocks and pushes the door open. I follow her in and…

“Wow. You did this. All of this, yourself.” I swing around to look at her. “You should be so fucking proud of that.”

One wall is entirely iron-paneled windows and exposed brick on the rest. Modern artwork hangs above the fireplace and the long couch. The kitchen has chrome countertops and stainless steel appliances and there are hardwood floors throughout. As I wander around, I take note they don’t even creak.

“It’s my sanctuary,” Dee says, dropping her purse on a sidetable.

I stop in the middle of the rectangular room, giving her the once-over. Dee’s never haggard, but she seems so haunted, so carved out, despite my assurances.

“There’s more you want to tell me, isn’t there?”

She nods and motions to the couch. I join her, tucking her into my side like she was always meant to fit there.

“The group home is where I got my first taste of survival. I was placed there with six other girls. One kept stealing property that was important to me—like my mother’s ring. I was still hoping my parents would come back to get me, and the ring was all I had to prove they existed.”

“The one you used as our engagement ring,” I recall. The reality of that act turns into the weight of iron chains. What part of her soul had to flicker out for Dee to slide that on her finger? How committed was she to losing herself?

“I had to stop feeling sorry for myself,” she says, as if listening to my line of thought. “The third time my roommate tried to steal items I’d been hoarding, like my favorite stuffed bear my dad bought me and my mom’s perfume, I fought back. I’d been watching these girls, at first fascinated at how hardened they were, how rude they could be to the house mother and how rules didn’t seem to tame them. I watched and inadvertently learned. So, when my roommate came at me, I donned that roommate’s personality and lashed out, punching her and going for her throat, finding a kitchen knife to hold near her beating pulse. The roommate never expected it. It was something I saw her do to another girl in the shared bathrooms. And she never bothered me again. I need you to understand…” Dee peels away from my side and tips her head to me. “To see how advantageous it was to be intimidating, I kept up that facade until I aged out. It was the first time I realized how being someone you’re not, can get you what you want.”

I frown, but not at her. More at what she was forced to deal with, alone, savage, and alert. “Is that where you started? I mean, were older guys approaching you, making you think you had to—”

Dee smiles sadly. “No. My first foray into prostitution was in senior year of high school. It was my fifth school, I think. I bounced around a lot, but I met this girl, Caroline. She was so different from the girls I was used to. At that school, getting into a fight in the lunchroom when a girl took the last pancake wasn’t gonna cut it. Caro had the life I used to have. Stable parents, a kid brother, a goal to become a scientist. I was convinced it was fake. I soon realized Caro loved her life, and I started imitating her positivity and happiness. Professors ended up loving me. Other girls wanted to be my friend. My grades improved.”

“This all sounds great. Like you got out of it.”

Another sad look comes my way, this time with a touch of you’re cute, but you have no fucking clue. A growl hits my throat, readying for whatever Dee’s about to chuck at me next.

“Caro invited me to a club one night. We got ready together, had tons of fun pregaming, then snuck in with fake IDs. To my delight, my crush was there, an older brother of one of the girls I hung out with. I loved this new personality of mine. It made me happy, approachable, and even better, was much closer to the happy I used to have with my parents. So I approached Sean and we had an amazing time getting drunk and dancing. We ended up getting hot and heavy in a booth. That’s when Sean whispered to me, ‘how much?’ I froze, then leaned away from him, and he said, ‘How much do you go for?’”

I clench my jaw. “Jesus. To a seventeen-year-old?”

“I was super confused. He read that on my face and tried to backtrack, but I wouldn’t let him. I grabbed his arm and asked what the hell he was talking about. He told me that Caro was one of the fly girls in the neighborhood. For the right price, her and her friends will do whatever guys want, so long as they pay upfront.”

I’m gonna vomit. Young girls? By some miracle, I keep that expression off my face, wanting Dee to continue.

“That’s not the worst part,” Dee murmurs. “I was horrified, but … also intrigued. I went to Caro, pretended outrage, but really wanted to know the deal. And I said I wanted in.”

“But you were happy, Dee. You’d found a place…”

“I was hungry. Always hungry for hurt and revenge. This is what you need to understand about me. I’m not the perfect woman. I didn’t get where I am by being good, or wholesome, or true to myself. I faked my way to the top, I faked a relationship with you, I’m nothing but a fake.”

“That’s not true.”