Page 64 of Saved By My Buyers

Jack looks appropriately chastised as he nods. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m freaking out, but you do not need to be on my level to tell me what happened.”

“Thank you,” I rasp. Maybe I am pulling away from what happened, but I have to. Otherwise, I would have my own little padded room somewhere.

The world moves on.

It has to, right?

Jack

Rage, sadness, and shame. These are the emotions at the forefront of my mind, cycling through repeatedly at a rapid pace. I feel as if I’m losing my mind as I ping-pong back and forth. I need to talk about something else, anything else.

“I need a second,” I mutter. “You said that you were still doing what you planned to do with the money. Can you tell me about that?”

I need to move, start the dishes, but I don’t want to miss a single word of what she has to say.

“You’re not going to like it,” Dahlia sighs, leaning back in her seat. I tell myself that no matter what she says, I’m going to grit my teeth and keep my mouth shut. I don’t have to like what she tells me, but I can keep her from regretting that she told me.

It’s really just that simple.

“Fine,” she murmurs when I mime zipping my mouth shut. It’s corny, though effective. “So I live in Belmont…”

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to keep my mouth shut as she trails off, testing me. Belmont is one of the worst places in Detroit to live in. Fuck. Now I know why I didn’t find her earlier.

“Good boy,” Dahlia taunts, smirking. Bee simply shakes her head, knowing I’m trying. “I was homeless for a little over a year after I left. I hopped from shelter to shelter when it got cold, or squatted in abandoned warehouses. I saw there was a sign at Percy’s club looking for girls, so I went in and applied. I lied about my age so I could dance.”

She pauses, but I impassively wait her out. Inside, I’m dying. Dahlia started stripping for money at seventeen-years-old. Fuck. There’s good money in it, and it was a smart way to get off the streets, but I guess I just don’t understand why she’s in such bad shape if she’s making good money.

“That’s what you meant when you said you had a shift on the phone,” Bronwyn mentions, her eyes cutting over to me. Blinking, I nod, telling her I remember the call she told me about.

So that really was Dahlia.

“Oh? Yes,” Dahlia says. Somehow, I feel as if this part is done for my benefit, and that they already spoke. I appreciate the effort to keep me looped in, I’m used to them having their secrets.

It doesn’t bother me at all.

“I made enough in a night to be able to get an apartment with a couple other people. They had an opening and the rent wasn’t half bad,” she explains. There are shadows in her eyes that tell me there’s more to the story, and I can feel myself growling.

“Pipe down, Jack. I’m still talking. It’s my story.”

My hands twitch, forcing me to straighten and shake them out.

“I know, I know, Dolly. I’m not saying shit, even though you’re leaving things out.”

Bronwyn gazes hard at Dolly, as if rewinding the last few minutes in her head. “Huh,” she mutters. “He’s right. His Dolly radar is still disturbingly good.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dolly complains. “Fine. Frankie, one of my roommates, is a dick. The three of them are drug users, and he made me give him my first blow job, because he insisted I didn’t have enough money. I did it because I knew we were having a huge snowstorm that night. Happy?”

“Not even a little,” I grunt, knowing there’s a blood vessel beginning to throb in my forehead. Dolly’s eyes stray to it, and she shifts in her chair. “Thank you for telling me.”

Nodding sharply, she continues, “The guys regularly ransack my room, steal money, break my shit. I bought a safe, and while that helps, they’ll catch me on my way into the apartment from work, so they can steal what I have on me. It’s an endless cycle, one I’m sick of. It doesn’t matter how many shifts I work, they’re still going to find a way to hurt me.”

“Hurt you?” Bronwyn asks, eyes wide. “How?”

“Frankie likes to throw me around when he can catch me. I started sneaking in when they weren’t home, but lately it’s not enough. So I stopped sleeping,” Dolly says as if it’s as simple as that.

“I mainline caffeine, take naps when I can, and shower when I know they won’t be there, or at the club. I pay rent on time, but this month they forced me to open my safe at knife point. I have to get the fuck out of here. There’s too many memories.”

I know Bee and I are a part of those, but I keep my mouth shut. I trust Bee to ask what we need to know. She’s not as intense as I am.

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