Page 13 of Unforgettable

4

Rose

There’sa quick knock on the door seconds before the overhead light is turned on, causing instant confusion to my sleep riddled brain. Not to mention temporary blindness from the harsh lighting. The abrupt wakeup has my heart pounding in my chest and the anxiety bubbling up from the dark pit inside me where it lives. Nothing good ever comes from this kind of intrusion, and my brain is starting to click into survival mode again. Before I can get swept away by the storm raging inside me, Matthew pulls me closer to his body in a protective move. “I’ve got you, sweet girl, it’s just Kisten,” his sleep rough voice is a calming balm on my nerves. “That’s it, love, just breath.”

I snuggle closer into Matthew’s arms, utterly oblivious to the fact that I am rubbing my naked body all over his mostly naked body in front of his employee. The only thought I have is that for whatever reason, Matthew cuts through the darkness, unlike anything else ever has before.

“Thanks,” I whisper shyly.

He presses his lips to the top of my head in reply. The sweetness of the move is totally foreign to me, but at the same time familiar. I try to place the feeling of familiarity, but it’s fleeting a thought. Like trying to hold onto a dream after you’ve woken up.

I learned long ago dreams are a dangerous thing. It’s best to not dream at all because, more often than not, sweet dreams are chased away by nightmares. In my experience, you don’t even have to be asleep for the nightmares to find you. I’ve been stuck in my head trying to place these weird feelings Matthew brings out in me and haven’t been paying a bit of attention to the conversation, but hearing my name brings me back to the here and now.

“Rose, I’ve got your things,” Kisten says. “Apparently, Damon had the housekeeper clean out your room, and she was instructed to throw everything away. Luckily, she kept a few things, but I’m afraid all of your clothing is gone.”

“Oh,” I don’t really know what else to say. My stuff is gone. Not that there was much to begin with, but it was all I had. I look over at the small shoebox that’s sitting on the chair, that’s all that is left of my life.

Matthew lets out a few choice words, but ever the fixer, he instantly directs Kisten to have his assistant gather some things that I can wear since I’m supposed to be going home today. Kisten leaves the room, and Matthew gets out of bed, dressing quickly. He helps me to stand and gently wraps a silk robe over my shoulders so that I am no longer exposed. Someone from the restaurant brings breakfast, at the same time Kisten comes back carrying an obnoxious pink bag and a small pile of clothing.

“Several of the girls pitched in some things.”

I am bowled over by the kindness these people have shown me—a complete stranger. “Thank you.”

Two hours later, I am dressed in my hand-me-down clothes, toting my few belongings in my obnoxiously pink purse, as I wander aimlessly down the sidewalk. Matthew insisted that I let Kisten drive me home. Well, since I have no home to go to anymore, I had him drop me off in front of a large apartment complex. I walked right up to the doors like I belonged. When he drove off, I exited the building, and I’ve been walking around ever since. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.

I do know I need to go to the bank and make a withdrawal. No matter the risk that touching an account with my real name poses. I need money. One of the first things I did when I ran away was to open up a bank account. Well, after I got help from one of the women’s shelters getting a copy of my birth certificate and social security card. I wasn’t able to get a driver’s license because I can’t drive, but for the first time in my life, I had a picture ID.

I haven’t touched my account since I moved. Moved, such a nice way to say after I ran for my life when someone showed up at the shelter I was staying at with my picture asking if anyone had seen their missing sister. Of course, it being a women’s shelter, they didn’t give the person any information, but my new home wasn’t safe any longer. When I ran from Kansas City, I left everything behind except for what I could stuff into my backpack. I didn’t waste time closing out my meager bank account, I had two-hundred dollars and thirteen cents in cash when I stole into the night. Half of that went toward a bus ticket to New York City, and the rest quickly disappeared into food costs and necessities.

Being homeless in New York City is a lot different than homeless in Kansas City. I was quickly able to get placed in a long-term shelter that helps victims of domestic abuse get back on their feet again in Kansas City. In New York, not so much. There are a lot of shelters, but the waitlists for long-term housing are long.

For the last two months, I’ve been bouncing from one temporary shelter to the next. Too scared to apply for a job that would run a background check, I’ve been working odd cleaning jobs getting paid cash under the table. Not enough to survive in NYC, but enough to eat and buy a decent pair of shoes. I look down at the lime green flip-flops on my feet and feel the overwhelming urge to cry.

Signing that contract with Damon was supposed to change my life for the better. It was the first step to my new life. Now I’m worse off than I was before I signed. I push back the negative thoughts. They won’t do me a damn bit of good. All I can do is move forward. Even though it makes me nervous, I’ll go to the bank and get the little bit of cash I have, surely, they stopped looking for me after the didn’t find me in Kansas City. After that, I’ll decide which shelter to stay at tonight.

Tomorrow I will track down Lizbet and see if she can find me work. I’m two blocks from the bank when the skies open up, and it starts pouring rain. I have to swallow back a hysterical bout of laughter, knowing if I let it go, it’ll dissolve into sobbing. I wish, not for the first time that I was still at the club. Being there for the last week is the closest I’ve felt to having a home in a long time. I push those thoughts aside. It won’t do me a bit of good to dwell. I need to focus on making a plan for my future.

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