Page 84 of Lie With Me

“I can’t have kids,” she blurts out. Her foot kicks out of the water to anchor herself as she sinks lower into the suds. The bubbles in the tub and the champagne fizz as silence stretches between us.

“Is that what this is about?” Reaching down, I try to push back a strand of hair that’s fallen from where she’s gathered it on top of her head into her eyes, but she jerks away from me, causing the water to slosh over the side of the tub and soak my pants.

“We haven’t talked about it since that first dinner with your parents, but I know you want a family, Tripp. This was bound to come up sooner or later.” Her tone is watery.

“Can you really not have kids, Valentina? Or do you not want them because of how you grew up?” My brain screams to crawl into the tub and hold her, but my instincts tell me not to. Sometimes Lennidoesn’t mind breaking down and letting me be there for her, but most times, she acts tough as nails. This is one of those moments.

“I can’t,” she whispers as a lone tear falls down her cheek.

I want to know why. I want to know if it has something to do with her scar. Or if it’s some other reason that has nothing to do with her childhood. But I remember how she felt when my mom pushed the subject. The last thing I want is to make her feel like she’s less than because she can’t have children. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head. “Not really.”

“Then we won’t talk about it right now. Would you like me to join you?” I’m prepared when she shakes her head again, but it stings nonetheless. “Okay. I’ll be in bed when you’re done,” I soothe, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “I love you.”

For some reason, that makes more tears fall. But she tells me, “I love you, too.”

Lenni

The crisp air bites at my cheeks as I walk along the street. Snow falls steadily, covering my hair and body in a blanket of white. My body heat is not enough to melt it, yet it still soaks through my clothes, and the chill seeps into my bones.

My body shivers uncontrollably, pulling at the stitches that hold my lower abdomen together, pinching sharply like a needle when it enters the skin. The site is angry and inflamed. Red spiders out from the jagged line in thin ribbons. I was in such a hurry to escape my foster home that I forgot my antibiotics and the painkillers the doctors gave me.

Luck wasn’t on my side today. I successfully managed to dodge the cops and anyone else who might be looking for me, but I didn’t manage to find food. It’s been two days since I’ve eaten, and I feel weak.

When I make it back to the trailer—home—the lights work, but there’s no heat. I wonder how long they’ll holdMomma at the prison. Surely, it won’t be too long. She was only protecting me.

Though she wouldn’t have had to kill anyone if she’d done a better job at protecting me in the first place.

As usual, there’s no food in the cabinets. The fridge has a bottle of Coke that is almost gone and looks like it has cigarette ashes floating around in it. The only other thing in there is a moldy orange, and I wonder when Momma decided to buy a piece of fruit and how I’d never noticed it before.

My stomach grumbles. Hunger pains spread outward and up into my chest, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. My abs contract as I swallow down bitter stomach acid, pulling at the stitches again.

Tears line my eyes. Hopeless tears. Angry tears.

My room is disgusting. Blood is iced over on my bed. Shards of glass litter the floor where he busted open the bottle. Phantom screams fill my ears, and I rush down the hall to crawl into Momma’s bed. I pull the ratty, old quilt she uses as a blanket over my head and curl up into a ball, ignoring how it pulls at my wounded skin.

I don’t know how long I lay there. Minutes. Hours.

Days.

There was nothing wrong with my foster home. It was warm, and the mother was nice and made good food. The other kids were friendly. One of the girls was only a few months older than me, but promised to help me take care of my wound.

No one has ever been nice to me before. Not like that. I wondered how nice they’d be if they knew what I did. Thefather knew. I could tell by the way he looked at me. How long would it be until he touched me?

I didn’t stick around to find out.

Voices interrupt my fever dream. Someone calls out for Momma. Thundering footsteps pound down the hall.

“What the fuck? What happened to you, little valentine?” The voice is familiar but dampened.

Another one joins it. “Boss. Look at this.”

My breaths leave my sore throat on ragged gasps. Everything is cold. Numb. And all I want to do is sleep. These angels talk funny. But maybe that’s because they aren’t angels at all. They’re demons, come to drag me to hell. After all, I’ve been a bad, bad girl. There’s no room in heaven for kids like me.

“Fuck. Get her in the car. I’m taking her to the hospital. Find out what the fuck happened to Lucille.”

Maybe he is an angel.

---