Page 70 of Past Due

My fears were confirmed when I logged into my PayPal account. She had completely drained the savings account tied to my PayPal. When I checked the settings, I discovered she had turned off all notifications. All this time, she had been stealing from me, and I never knew.

I wanted to puke. My stomach lurched as I feared what I would learn when I called my bank about my card and the strange message on my account. The betrayal was gut wrenching. On top of what I had already gone through tonight, my mother stealing every penny I had and stranding me in a foreign country with no money had to be rock bottom.

But my belief that this was absolutely the very worst it could get was quickly dashed.

Flashing lights appeared down the road, and a police car pulled to a stop near me. I stood up carefully, making sure my hands were visible. I could only imagine what the two police officers, a man and a woman, were thinking as they approached me. They probably thought I was a lunatic!

Or a penniless, lost tourist having a complete breakdown on the side of a residential street in one of the toniest areas of their city.

The male police officer used his blinding flashlight to check me over, sliding it up and down my body. He kept it trained on my face so I couldn’t see them, making sure I wouldn’t be able to attack. The female police officer asked me a question I didn’t understand.

When she repeated it, I said, “Um, flisni Anglisht?”

“Yes,” she said, stepping closer. “Are you American?”

“I am.”

“What are you doing on the road like this?” She got close enough to smell me. “Have you been drinking?”

“Earlier, yes,” I admitted.

“What happened to your hand?” Before I could answer, she gestured to my face. “You’ve been crying. Your makeup is a mess.” I started to tell her that I’d done my best to wash up at the hospital, but she didn’t give me a chance. “Have you been assaulted?”

“No!” Embarrassed and unsure how to explain stabbing a man and then being thrown out on my ass, I finally said, “I had a fight with my fiancé and his family.”

The male police officer moved his flashlight beam to my suitcase. “So? You thought you would walk to a hotel?”

“I was going to get a cab,” I said, feeling really stupid. “I was just...you know...upset and not thinking clearly.”

The two officers exchanged glances. The woman held out her hand. “Can I see your passport please?”

“Sure.” I shifted my backpack off my shoulders and unzipped the main compartment. I shifted aside a few things to reach the hidden pocket where I had stowed my wallet and passport.

Except, when I reached inside, it was empty.

And then I remembered.

Besian had taken my passport and put it with his for our appointments with the embassy and the wedding registrar.

My shoulders slumped in defeat. This was it. I had officially hit rock bottom now.

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