Page 24 of Ordinary Girl

I frown, because for a second I have no clue who he’s talking about.

“Sofia. She was pregnant. When she died. Those fucking assholes not only killed her, they killed my kid, too. They fucking murdered my child–”

“Woah, hang on… Sofia was pregnant?”

He finally drops his hand, sinks down onto the couch, turning his head away to look out of the window. “We’d been sleeping together, for a while. I was fucking falling for her, Joel.” He looks at me, and I see pain in his eyes. Real pain, and Skip Larsen, he doesn’t do pain. He doesn’t do emotion all that often, so this woman, man, she must’ve been some kind of special. “I don’t know how she felt about me, I think she was confused, y’know? This place, it’s not exactly her comfort zone. But it could’ve been. In time. She was having my baby, we could’ve been a family.”

I watch as he drops his head, rubs the back of his neck, and I know what he’s doing now. He’s pushing all that emotion away, and he’s letting the anger surge forward.

“Those assholes killed my girl. They killed my kid. And then they tried to take Ana, and I’m not letting them get away with that, Joel. That isn’t happening. I’m not prepared to put Ana in danger by letting her leave here, I’m not letting her put our plan in danger, by leaving here. She stays, and we protect her, I owe that to Sofia. We’re bringing those Blackhawk bastards down, you hear me? Because this war – it just got fucking personal.”

Eleven

Ana

My head feels like cotton wool. My eyes are dry and sore. My skin veers from damp and cold to prickly and hot, but whatever they’re giving me, it’s keeping the pain at bay. Keeping me sufficiently out of it to be able to cope. To not let the memories and the guilt hit too hard.

I curl my legs up underneath myself, fiddle with the laces on the sneakers they gave me. Sneakers that are a size too big for me, but I don’t have any clothes of my own, bar the ones I was wearing that night. The women here are giving me theirs, making sure I wash, brush my hair, do all the things I have no interest in now. Mama’s gone. And it wasmyfault.

There’s a knock at the door and I slowly raise my head, look up as the door is pushed open. It’s that same man I vaguely remember talking to that night. The one who was in here the other day, talking to Elise.

“We need you to get ready for the funeral, Ana.”

I drop my gaze and rest my head on my knees.

“Ana?”

I feel him sit down next to me, and I instinctively edge away, I don’t want him close to me. I don’t want anyone close to me.

“I can’t do it,” I whisper as I stare at the bare, gray wall in front of me.

“Well, you don’t have a lot of choice in the matter. You need to show your face, it’s your mama we’re burying today.”

I shake my head, and still I don’t look at him.

“Listen, kid, you’ve got to work with me here, okay?”

I slowly turn my head and look at this man beside me. I can’t remember his name, can’t remember if I’ve even been told what his name is, I don’t know anything about him: don’t know what part he plays in this club, I just know that I spoke to him, that night. “I really don’t think I can do it.”

He gets up, indicates a pile of clothes on a chair by the door. “Get changed. One of the girls will come and get you when we’re ready to go.”

I watch him head for the door, his back to me as he turns the handle.

“When can I go home?”

He stops, keeps his back to me for a couple of beats before he turns back around. “You can’t go home.”

I frown. Did I hear him right? I’m pumped so full of tranquilizers and god knows what else – I don’t ask, I just take – that I might not be fully aware of what’s really being said.

“It’s too dangerous.” He slides his hands into his pockets, shrugs, and leaves the room.

I can’t go home. It’s too dangerous? What does he mean by that?

I get up, go over to the window, and I pull down the blinds, plunging the room into darkness. I don’t understand what he means. I don’t even know why I’m still here, how long haveIbeenhere? It’s almost like the haze is slowly starting to shift and I can see clearly again, it’s just that, I don’t want to see clearly. I don’t want to think or feel or remember. But I can’t stay here. I don’twantto stay here.

I spin around as the door opens again and Skip walks in. I still don’t know what kind of relationship he had with my mama, but I blame him, too. For what happened to her. I blame him, I blame myself; I blame my absent father for dragging my mama into a mess that saw her turn to men like Skip out of desperation.Because she wanted to givemea better life. And now her life is over, which means mine is, too.

“You need to get ready for the funeral, Ana.” Skip’s voice is kind, but it also carries a hint of agitation.

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