Page 42 of Twisted Empire

“Sorry. It’s not you. You just reminded me of something I always heard when I was younger, when you said that I learned the true value of money.”

“Yeah?”

She stared out the windscreen, forehead creasing. “A lot of people try to romanticize poverty for some reason. I would hear this stuff all the time when I was young, from the people I worked for, or my teachers at school. They’d act like being poor is some sort of gateway to becoming a good, happy person with morals and convictions. Like it’s this more pure way of life, where you end up building a ton of character for yourself because there’s no money to be corrupted by. But that’s just not realistic. At least it wasn’t for me.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Go on.”

She waved a hand. “Sure, maybe a broke person understands the value of a dollar more than a super-rich person who’s never had to work a day in their life. But being poor doesn’t automatically make you a better, happier person like all these people would have you believe. It wears you down, makes you feel like you’re living on a razor’s edge. That can really screw you up after a while, like I was saying earlier, and sometimes, you end up being a worse person instead. Look at me. I wound up being resentful and angry at the world most of the time. Not proud of it, but it’s true. And look at my parents. They might’ve been better people under different circumstances, but after all the years of struggling, they wound up fucking selling me. Their own daughter.”

A bitter note had crept into Tatum’s voice. I had a feeling she’d wanted to get this stuff off her chest for a while but never felt comfortable saying it to anyone else out of guilt or shame or some other intangible emotion.

“I’m not saying all broke people wind up like that,” she went on, shaking her head. “Of course not. Most are decent people who’d never do anything like that to their kids. In fact, a lot of the most generous people I’ve ever met were poor. I’m just saying, it’s not as noble and pure and happy as some people make it out to be. Being poor actually really fucking sucks.”

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying.”

“I sound like an asshole, don’t I?” she said glumly.

I shook my head. “No, you sound honest. I like it. I want to know everything you think. Everything about you. Even the things you feel like you should hide from everyone else.”

She looked at me, brows drawn together quizzically. “You really wanna know everything? What it was really like for me as a kid?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you a story.” She chewed her bottom lip for a second. “One time, I bought some new shampoo and conditioner because we ran out at home. The bag split when I was walking back from the store, and the bottles broke open and splattered all over the sidewalk. I cried for three fucking hours.” She exhaled deeply. “It was just seven dollars worth of stuff. Most people would probably buy more and maybe be a little annoyed about having to go all the way back to the store. But me… all I could think about was how that extra seven dollars might be the difference between getting our electricity shut off that month or not. Doesn’t that sound totally crazy to someone like you? Crying for hours over seven dollars and a bottle of shampoo?”

“Nope. Not crazy at all. Sounds like you were fucking stressed.”

“Yeah. I was. And that’s my exact point. That’s what it’s like being broke your whole life and never knowing anything else. You end up with this horrible stress knot in your stomach that never really goes away.” She sighed deeply. “You can never relax properly, because there’s this constant fear that if you do for even a second, everything will come crashing down on your head, and your life will get even worse.”

“Jesus.”

“I used to think that little knot would vanish as soon as I got my life together, but even after I got the scholarship to Roden, it was still there all the time. Sometimes I think it’ll always be there, even if I magically become the world’s first trillionaire.”

I reached over and squeezed her leg while we waited at a stop sign. “I’m so sorry, Doll. I wish I could take it all away.”

She gave me a watery smile. “You’ve helped.”

“How?”

“By trying to make me feel safe. That’s all I really want in the end. Security,” she said softly. “And with you, I feel like I can finally breathe a bit easier. Even now, with all this horrible shit going on. I know you’ll take care of me, and you won’t let anything bad happen to me.”

“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I said softly, staring into her beautiful eyes. Knowing how much she trusted me made a powerful heat radiate through my chest, lifting my spirits high. After everything I’d put her through, she still saw enough good in me to believe me when I told her I’d always look after her. That meant the fucking world to me.

“It’s just how I feel,” she said with a light shrug. “That’s what you wanted, right? Honesty.”

“Yeah.” I returned her smile and then turned back to face the road as I stepped on the gas. “I’m guessing you don’t want to hear about my childhood, given what it was like compared to yours.”

“No, I actually do,” Tatum replied.

“Really?” I didn’t expect to hear that. The wealth and privilege I had all my life made me feel a dirty, creeping sense of shame when I compared it with everything she’d gone through, and I assumed it made her feel like shit to hear about all the stuff she’d missed out on.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ll admit, some parts of it might make me a little envious, but honestly, I don’t think your life as a kid was much better than mine.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because you might’ve had all that money and all those advantages, but you still grew up with your father, and he’s totally malignant. He made you feel like it was your fault your mom died, and he raised you in the most fucked up way, trying to force you to be like him.” She hesitated, letting out another heavy sigh. “My parents might be terrible, but I swear they’ve got nothingon that old bastard.”

I let out a humorless chuckle. “That’s true. So we’re both kinda fucked up.”

“Yeah. But we’re fucked up together,” she said, leaning over and rubbing my arm. Then she sat back and closed her eyes. “Go for it. Tell me a story from when you were a kid. Anything.”

We talked about our lives for the rest of the drive, swapping stories and sharing intimate secrets. By the time we made it to Vermont, it seemed like we finally knew everything there was to know about each other, and I felt closer to Tatum than ever before. She didn’t judge me and I didn’t judge her, even when we revealed our most messed-up thoughts and experiences. We never would.

Outside, the sky was pitch dark, the stars lost behind thick masses of clouds. The moon was out, but only a sliver of it, a pale crescent that did nothing to light up the night. It wasn’t easy for me to navigate my way to the area where the Ark was situated, because I hadn’t been there in years, but with the help of the old GPS in the van and my vague memories, I found my way there eventually.

We turned down a long, winding dirt road and pulled up to an electric gate with a ‘Private Land: Keep Out’ sign attached to the side.

I turned to Tatum with a smile. “We’re here.”

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