Page 398 of Rage

tHERapy

By: Pandora Cress

Prologue

Mila

Iwas eight years old when I was touched by a man for the first time.

I had been separated from my parents when they were deported and forced into a run-down home with dozens of other children. I learned quickly to try and make myself small, unnoticed. But it didn’t matter how bad I looked or smelled. The men would find me and take what they wanted.

They called it a “Refugee Center,” but it was anything but that.

I was eight years old the first time.

I was eight years old the sixth time.

I was eight years old the forty-second time.

And I was fourteen when I ran away because I had finally lost count.

Chapter One

Mila

“Mila,” a voice calls out. “Mila Santos!”

I walk up to the counter at my local CVS and watch the tired-looking pharmacist scan my prescriptions. The circles under his eyes could rival my own, and that’s saying something.

“Do you have a savings card you’d like to scan?” he asks, and I shake my head. I don’t speak much in public if I can help it. I stare at his name tag:Stefan.I don’t even know how to pronounce his name correctly, so I don’t bother to try.

I look down again as he starts placing my items in a bag.

Xanax.

Birth control.

Paxil.

Ambien.

“Do you have any questions about your medications today?”

I shake my head again, and this time, I nervously brush my thick black hair behind my ears with both hands. I tap my card against the machine, and once ‘APPROVED’ shines on the screen, I snatch my bag and make my way out of the store before he can even finish his robotic, “Have a nice day.”

I take a deep breath once the cold air hits my face.

And… this is why I’m a hacker. Not because of pharmacists, of course. But because my skills allow me to work from home. I keep to myself and prefer it that way.

It’s safer.

At thirty-three, I should have a better handle on myself, but as the bag in my hand reminds me on the walk home, I don’t.

I learned a long time ago that I can’t rely on anyone but myself. When I was 14, I ran away from the center and ended up on the streets. I hustled, and I survived. I learned how to make money, and I learned how to hide it. I live modestly now, even though I’ve got a nice little nest egg saved up. It’s a habit I picked up along the way. You never know when you’ll need a quick exit, so always have the funds to get away if you need to. Which helped so much when I needed to leave my marriage.

I pull my thin leather jacket together in the front to shield myself from the chill of the morning as I grind my teeth when the memories come flooding back.

I thought I could trust him.

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