Page 152 of Irreversible

“One: always carry pepper spray with you.”

My nose wrinkles. I don’t have any pepper spray.

I figure if the universe fought to keep me alive through an abduction, years of captivity, and the subsequent horrors that made my imprisonment feel like a spa-therapy getaway, it’s unlikely I’ll be taken out by some thug lurking behind a dumpster in the alleyway.

But I nod anyway, smiling politely.

“Two…” She gives me a once-over. “Embrace it.”

“Embrace it?”

“Yes. All of it. The highs and lows. The good days and bad days. Don’t let that shame creep inside you. Don’t overthink,” she tells me. “This is about empowerment. Release. Feel the music, the crowd, the movement. Allow it to guide you; allow it to nurture you.”

A fluttery feeling dances across my chest like a defibrillator paddle. Swallowing, I bob my chin while I study her, seeing the love shimmering in her eyes. It’s nice to feel cared about.

Like I still matter.

Giving my hand a squeeze, Queenie returns to her chair as the woman beside her swaps out her wig, fluffing the long ribbons of fire-engine-red hair. “You’re nervous.” She smiles, teeth gleaming stark white against her dark skin. “Embrace that, too. Nerves give you power.”

Nodding, I inch forward, gathering my hair over my shoulder. “I’ve never done anything like this before. But runninginto you at the coffee shop felt like…fate, or something. I don’t know.”

“Could be,” she says, stamping out her cigarette. “Or maybe it was all you, finally deciding to take life by the shorthairs and pave a new path for yourself.”

“Why couldn’t I start by waiting tables?” My lips twist to the side. “You know, something more palatable. Normal.”

“Normal doesn’t suit you, Angel Baby. You’re a Mayfield.” Her eyes glitter against the atmospheric lighting. “Besides, you’re sick of hiding. You want to be seen again.”

I let her words flow through me as I take a seat in the adjacent chair and glance at my reflection in the bulb-studded mirror.

Queenie is aware of my history.

She used to work with my mother decades ago, often babysitting me when Mom was on the clock. I adored her. She always had this calming aura about her, like she was a warm hug in human form. When Mom secured a different job and moved us both to L.A. for a fresh start, I never forgot about her. She’d visit from time to time, bringing me sweet treats from a San Francisco bakery, and I’d tell her stories.

Queenie loved my stories.

She’s older than me, well into her forties, but she looks ageless and refined. Her black hair is cropped short, nearly buzzed to the scalp, and she’s one of those beauties with perfect bone structure who can pull off the bold look.

Her full crimson lips pucker with regard as she drinks me in from the white chair beside me. “You used to be scared of the dark,” she says, memories sparking between us. “I’d tuck you into bed at night while you cried into your stuffed spider toy.”

I laugh, rolling up to the beauty counter and assessing the collection of makeup products. “Mr. Webs.”

“That’s right.” She swivels her chair back and forth, eyeing me with tenderness. “Remember what we’d do whenever that fear set in?”

“You said I should tell you a story.”

It would distract me. My imagination would steal me away, taking me to sunnier places until the fear subsided, and peaceful dreams eclipsed the notion of boogiemen and ghosts tiptoeing in the shadows.

“You’re scared right now,” she continues. “Your hands are shaking.”

I curl my trembling fingers into fists. “Yeah.”

“So, tell me a story.”

I allow a smile to crest at the familiar prompt as I straighten my spine and reach for the makeup brushes. “All right.”

Inhaling a full breath, I begin spinning a tale that transports us to a bustling cityscape under the cover of night. I paint strokes of foundation onto my skin, setting the stage. The city comes alive in my words, its alleys teeming with shadowy figures and secrets. I speak of a mysterious man, driven by a haunted past, whose steely-brown eyes pierce the darkness like a beacon of justice.

He’s strong, brave.