Page 98 of Saved By My Buyers

“Your face is so expressive, baby girl,” Jack growls as Bee hides a smile. “My mission in life is going to be to make sure you enjoy everything you put in your mouth from now on.”

I almost choke at his words, eyes wide.

I am so over my head, I think he’ll never stop surprising me.

Chapter Nineteen

Two weeks later

Dahlia

We’ve found a rhythm over the last few weeks, and now, I’m gazing at the screen as I hit submit on the last question for the GED test. I found out that I could take it online, which meant I immediately chose that option.

There’s something about impersonal classrooms that make me even more nervous.

Now, I just have to wait twenty-four hours for my results. Pushing my laptop to the side, I groan as I drop my head onto the kitchen counter. I really hope I passed. Though I still have no idea what I want to do with my life yet.

Something catches my eye as a bird flies past the window, and I’m proud of myself for not flinching. It was difficult in the beginning with window washers working outside of the apartment, or whenever Bee or Jack would come home unexpectedly.

I’m beginning to get more and more comfortable living in this apartment, even though it doesn’t feel like home yet. All of the security measures and lack of personal items make the apartment feel very sterile.

Maybe I need to change that.

My fingers itch suddenly to write, urging me to leave the kitchen to find a spiral notebook. I used to write poetry, though it wasn’t anything to brag about. It was a way for me to handle my feelings, which always felt too big for my skin.

I stopped when I moved to Michigan. The horrors happening to me were too much to put on paper.

I also didn’t want anyone to find it and use it against me.

Slowly, the words begin to write themselves down, my hand shaking slightly. I wish I was musically inclined, to help better feel these words. There’s pain, emotion, and uncertainty in each line, which makes sense for how tied up in knots I am about my next steps in life. Most people have their shit together by this point, or have some sense of what they’re working for, right?

Jack got me a cell phone so I could communicate with them throughout the day. Bee and he message me with cute memes or dirty talk, or ask about how my day is going. My days aren’t very exciting, because I’ve been studying non-stop, but I am so grateful to be able to have the ability to be bored.

I’m not fighting with my roommates or sleeping on benches. It’s a nice change.

My cell phone has a new email address as well, and it’s one that I carefully set up in my new name for my GED. No one knows the email, either, outside of official correspondence.

The door unlocks hours later, and I yawn as I look down at the writing I’ve been doing. There’s page after page of words that could easily find its wings if it had notes and direction underneath it.

Blowing out a breath at feeling frustrated I never learned an instrument or musical theory, I glance up to find Bee and Jack walking into the apartment. There’s still light outside, so they both finished work at a decent time.

“How did the test go?” Bee asks, walking toward me. They both texted me good luck before I went into the bubble of concentration for the test. After that, I got pulled into writing and didn’t come up for air until now.

“I think it went well, but I’m going to be a mess until the results come in,” I admit. “It feels like a big deal to pass, one step closer to whatever the hell I'm meant to do.”

“You have time to figure that out,” Jack says, walking further into the apartment. There’s grocery bags in his hands, which is good, since I’m starving. He must notice my glance at the bags, because he tosses me a thing of chips.

“We are going to talk about how you obviously skipped a meal if you looked like you wanted to cut me for a snack, baby girl.”

Giggling, I open the bag and happily crunch away as he disappears into the kitchen to put things away. “I lost track of time,” I tell him. Jack’s eyes catch on my notebook as he comes back into the living room, and raises his brow.

“Are you writing or drawing?” he asks. The nice thing about Jack knowing me my entire life is that he gets me. He’s had notebooks stacked on the coffee table, and I don’t think it was for himself. I think he may have left them for me.

“Writing,” I say, taking a refilled bottle from Bee when she hands it to me. I wolfed down these chips. “I finished the test and felt the need. I really wish that I had any sort of musical talent so I could watch the words dance, but I don’t.”

Jack blinks at my words, trying to figure out what I mean, and I sigh.

“That’s weird, right? Words don’t move,” I mutter.

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