Page 135 of The Dollhouse

That placated him a bit, but not entirely, and I knew nothing else I could say would make him feel better about this whole thing. Roman really didn’t like sharing me with anyone else. Only time and near-death experiences had lessened his hatred toward Lake; Wyatt would never get the benefit of the doubt when it came to me.

I pulled away from Roman, heading to the kitchen, where I got to work getting Wyatt and me some drinks. I got Wyatt some water, while I went for an energy drink. I poured mine into a glass, same with the water. I’d need all the caffeine and energy tonight to do what I planned on doing. Night hadn’t yet fallen, and I didn’t want to start until the world outside was dark and black.

I ignored Roman as I returned to Wyatt, opening my mouth to say something when I rounded the archway into the room, but my feet halted the second I saw Wyatt was not alone on the couch. Someone else sat with him, right beside him, like they were best buddies. Except, you know, Wyatt looked immensely uncomfortable, while the man beside him looked like he currently debated on the best way to get rid of his body.

“Carter,” I spoke to the brown-haired, green-eyed man beside Wyatt, and his head snapped in my direction. “I see you’ve met Wyatt already.” I hoped the meeting wasn’t too violent or awkward, considering how it seemed like Roman and Carter were both trying to do their damnedest to get Wyatt to run out of here in fear of his life.

“Oh,” Carter mused, giving his best deadly glare to Wyatt, who shifted away from him on the couch, “yeah, Wyatt and I are best friends now.” He lifted a hand, slapping Wyatt’s back so hard Wyatt’s eyes widened in shock, and he coughed, as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

“Now that you’ve met, why don’t you give us the room, hmm?” I sounded nice and gentle, but if Carter didn’t get his ass up off that couch, I would set down these two glasses and drag his ass out of here myself. He might be a big, muscled man, but I knew exactly where to pull to get him to bend the knee, let’s just say. When Carter didn’t move, I said, “Now, Carter.”

Grumbling to himself, Carter got up—but only after he squeezed Wyatt’s shoulder. His green eyes landed on me for a few seconds, and then he left the room. I supposed he could’ve made a bigger scene, been more of a jealous boyfriend, so it wasn’t like I had a big mess to clean up. That said, Wyatt did look like he wanted to throw up, so I had to do my best to assuage his anxieties

I handed Wyatt his water, and he thanked me and took a sip. Then he took another. Or maybe it was just one huge sip, like the water in the glass could help him overcome how awkward he felt. “I’m sorry about Carter, too. I swear, they’re not normally like this.” I sipped from my energy drink, and it took every ounce of restraint in me to not gulp it down like Wyatt had done to his water.

“Are you sure they’re okay with me being here? I mean, they don’t seem like they want me here at all—” Wyatt stopped himself from saying anything more, but he’d said enough. More than enough, really.

“They want what’s best for me, and if you decide to stick around,” I paused, choosing my words very, very carefully, “they’ll start to trust you. Not saying they’ll ever like you, but anything with them takes time. They know why I left this place. We met not long after I ran away, so they saw how badly I was hurting.” My eyes fell to the drink in my hands, and I shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d be where I am today without them. I know they can be rude and grumpy and standoffish, but they’re mine.”

That was putting it lightly. They could be downright vicious, assassins from the shadows, but Wyatt didn’t need to know that particular detail of their work lives.

Wyatt spoke with no hesitation, “I’m glad they helped you. I guess, as long as you want me here, I’ll suck it up and deal with them.” He gave me a soft smile, and I knew right then he wasn’t going to run. He wasn’t the type. Just because things were complicated and hard and, yes, awkward as hell, did not mean he would give it all up and go. He was a better person than that, definitely not like anyone from Hillcrest.

Since I didn’t want to get into the show right away, I ordered us some pizza, and together, we did a lot of talking. I found out he needs to reapply for his scholarship every year, so he’s got to keep his grades up, otherwise he’ll lose it. I found out he hates working in the union shop, but it was the only place he could get a job on campus. The scholarship paid for most of his tuition, but he still had to take out some loans to pay for other things. His job paid for books and food and all that stuff.

It constantly amazed me how he was such a down to earth guy. It was like Hillcrest knew exactly who to plop in my path, the one guy who would make me waver.

Wyatt noticed the scar on my arm. We sat side by side, my left half closest to his. We were close at the party, but there was a lot going on that night, plus we’d been outside with hardly any light. Not exactly the best place to notice a tiny scar on my arm.

“What’s this from?” he asked, moving to run a finger around the white, slightly-risen scar.

I waited a moment before saying, “You really want to know? It’s not a pretty story.” That was putting it lightly. Sometimes I still pictured that night when I lay in bed, alone, nothing but the silence of the night surrounding me. How loud the gunshots were. How hard my heart had pounded. How the pain inside my body, on my arm, had been nothing compared to the worry I felt for the other girls. The guilt inside me after I’d discovered the shooters had been after me.

He nodded. And then he added, “I mean, unless you don’t want to tell me. You don’t have to.”

“Before coming back, I worked at this place,” I started, thinking about that very same place. The Dollhouse, all the girls in it. Jamie. Everything I’d been missing while here. “It was a… a strip club.” I bit my lower lip, waiting for him to say something, to look shocked, but Wyatt only sat there and listened.

He might’ve blushed, but that was it.

“One night, this group of men came in. We had bouncers, big guys who dragged out customers who got a little too handsy or drunk or violent, but… for some reason, this group was able to just walk right in. They didn’t look dangerous, so maybe that’s why.” I paused, glancing down at my lap, letting my pink hair drape around my face like a wall of curtains, blocking out the rest of the world.

Even after all this time, the memories felt fresh. They hurt.

“They had guns. They shot me, hit a few others. One of the other girls, a few clients.” Wyatt’s expression had softened the more I’d talked, but I didn’t let myself stop just yet. “No one died. We were so lucky. It could’ve been a lot worse. But sometimes I feel like… like it’s my fault.” And that’s because it was, only Wyatt didn’t need to know why.

“No, Zoey, God no. It’s not your fault. You can’t control anyone else or what they do.” Wyatt shook his head. His voice came out as a mere whisper when he said, “I’m sorry that happened, but I am glad you weren’t seriously hurt.” He touched the scar again, his fingertips brushing against the skin so softly I felt a shiver run up my spine.

This moment… it was too intimate, something I shouldn’t be sharing with Wyatt. Too real to be added to all the lies. I couldn’t help but feel like it was wrong to have shared the details of that horrific night with him.

“Thanks,” I said, resisting my urge to scoot away from him. The room got quiet, and for a while, neither of us spoke again. We sat there, soaking up each other’s presence, drinking our drinks and letting the seconds pass and turn into minutes.

To my surprise, it was Wyatt who spoke first: “So, you work at a… at a strip club.” I heard him gulp, as if that was the strangest thing he’d ever said aloud. And it probably was. “Does that mean you dance?”

When I turned to look at him, his face was flushed, redder than I’d ever seen it. Unsurprising, given his past reactions to everything. I tried to hide my smile as I said, “Yeah. It’s where I learned I liked to show off.” It’s also where I met Roman and Carter, but he did not need to know that small detail.

“Ah,” he muttered, still quite flushed. “Yeah, that makes sense. That makes a lot of sense.” He rubbed his neck. “Do you, uh, still work there now? You mentioned once you didn’t leave your job because you weren’t sure if you would stay here. And, I mean, I don’t think Hillcrest has any strip clubs—”

Chuckling, I said, “It’s not anywhere around here. It’s a bit of a drive. And you’re right: I didn’t know how long I’d be in Hillcrest, so I didn’t exactly quit.” I finished up what remained of my energy drink and set the empty glass on the coffee table before us. I turned toward him, sitting facing him on the couch as I tucked my legs underneath my ass.

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