Page 127 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

“Their town isn’t even on a map, and you can’t get there without snowmobiles. There was no way to find and return her to where she belonged without her telling us where she came from. So that’s one example of a delayed return.

“My second daughter, Kayla, asked me not to send her back. Her uncle had been sexually harassing her before she was ever trafficked, and she feared it would be worse if she went home, or was put into foster care. So yes, we did choose to keep her away from her legal guardian. I contacted him and asked him to give up guardianship, and he agreed, and I legally adopted her instead.

“There are many cases of this happening for a lot of our girls. Should we have sent Kayla back? Legally, yes. Should we have contacted the FBI to get Olena back home? Sure, but she would have been trafficked again before they ever found her family, and even if she wasn’t, it may have taken years to locate the town she lived in. The year she spent with me was faster and less traumatic for her.

“Sometimes, we bend the rules a little to do what is best for them instead of following the letter of the law. At the end of the day, we care more about the girls than following the rules. That’s why this whole project is so secretive. That’s why we rely mostly on private funding instead of government funding... because we know the government is too corrupt to allow us to make the full impact that we do.”

The snotty-looking business woman nodded, satisfied with Doctor Black’s answer.

“Any other questions,” Reuben asked.

An older gentleman spoke up. “You said you don’t take every single victims, that you only take those who have suffered extreme levels of abuse. How do you determine who you take?”

“We take those nobody else can help,” Reuben said. “We take those who can’t speak, who have no teeth due to injuries or drug abuse. We take those who are so traumatized that they can’t recognize they’ve been rescued. Taking girls like that and putting them through conventional programs like drug rehab, or sending them to shelters doesn’t help them heal or learn to be independent. It keeps them scared and makes them vulnerable to other abusers.”

Becca spoke up. “When I got out, I was brought to the police. I was given papers and a little bit of money and dropped off at a women’s shelter. But there wasn’t enough food for us all, and I spent all day hiding and sitting around. I was addicted to Heroin, and I couldn’t get out of that addiction on my own. I ended up back on the streets as a prostitute almost immediately, because a pimp recognized that I was on my own. That’s how Reuben found me... and that’s how most of them end up. They don’t know any other way to survive, and they don’t know how else to get their drug fix, especially once they’ve been forcibly addicted to them.”

The conversation continued and I listened in shock while Sam Bronson and his wife shared both success and failure stories of their experiences working with the police. Becca shared about her time as a slave, and a few others I didn’t know talked about their experiences taking the girls.

“Explain to me how this project will be different from The Weston House,” one man asked.

“This is a continuation of the Weston House. I plan to build a second dormitory on the church property, allowing for more housing for the girls who have gone through the program and want to be independent and start their lives. Everly is a great example of that,” he said, gesturing to her. She rose and smiled politely. “She lived with Jackson for a few years until she was ready to be independent. She worked at one of my restaurants for the past two years lived in her own apartment with a few college students. She wants to go to college, get a degree, have a career. Jackson can’t afford to send her. I can’t afford to pay for every single girl to go to school. Scholarships help, but housing is almost impossible.

“So, I’m working with Alex and Jake Greenwood to expand their services at Greenwood Valley. They’ll offer more housing to the girls who want to go to school. They’ll have all the resources the church members do. They’ll have a community in a safe, guarded place. And... I’ve already got liaisons with the local university, the two local community colleges, and the university in Asheville. We are working to provide a program that will offer them free education, and opportunities for community service.

“My colleagues and I will be available for questions for the rest of the evening. If you are willing to participate in the funding of this project, I urge you to get in touch with me. Our goal is to start construction in the spring of next year.”

A round of applause went through the room and glasses of wine were lifted in cheers. Reuben thanked his friends and returned to mingling. One of the girls who I had seen on the PowerPoint earlier came up to him, brought him a drink, and kissed the back of his hand in silent gratitude. He accepted her gesture and put a hand on her head in thanks.

I suddenly felt very out of place, and in over my head. Turning on my heel, I walked back through the house and went out the back door, circled around to the front lawn, and climbed into my car.

I couldn’t do this. This was a bad, stupid, awful idea.

Reuben Weston was a good, honest man with a big heart. He deserved someone who was going to serve him, to be a safe place for him to come home to. He deserved someone who would bring him peace at the end of the day, someone who he could rely on. He deserved someone consistent. Trustworthy. Able to fulfill his needs so he could serve others.

That was not me. I was the complete opposite of that. He was way, way too good for me. After a week of dealing with my shit, he would throw me out on my ass. I would push him too hard, say something too rude, or stress him out too much. And he deserved so much more than that.

This isn’t working.

Sorry, kid, but I’m out.

You’re not a brat, you’re fucking insane.

It had happened before, and it was going to happen again. The reason I always had such shitty relationships was because I didn’t deserve anyone good.

As I backed out of his driveway, I saw him jogging out of his house towards me. I ignored him, even when he shouted after me, and drove back down the mountain.

When I got home, Ichanged out of my fancy clothes and took a shower, washing off all the hairspray and the makeup. Pulling on my comfy silky pajamas, I lounged in bed and scrolled on my phone, trying to ignore the static in my brain. My whole body felt empty and numb, like it wasn’t mine, like I was just watching it from a distance. I couldn’t focus on anything. Every thought I had, it would stop halfway through and I’d lose track of it. But the thoughts on repeat through my head... I couldn’t distract myself from those.

Worthless. Useless. Fucking annoying.The ache from my self-hate made my body burn and throb, and the sense of loss of a relationship that never even happened weighed me down.

I should have followed my gut and avoided him from the start.

Eventually I couldn’t ignore how hungry I was, and I went down to the kitchen to find some food. In the dining room the Murphy’s were laughing and talking with some of the musical theater students. They smiled and waved at me, and I acknowledged them, but didn’t have the energy to interact.

Maybe eating something healthy would make me feel better.

Doubtful. I felt like absolute dogshit.

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