Page 38 of Selling Innocence

Or maybe I just don’t want to pinpoint it.

“They had to tell me no a lot. It was before my mom died, so I still had a parent around, but she was busy, too. She also wasn’t the warmest person. Maybe they weren’t either, but they were all I really had. I remember one time they said I couldn’t go to an ice cream party that a classmate was having. I couldn’t go because they worried it wasn’t safe. Also, my glucose levels weren’t all that well controlled and telling a seven-year-old not to eat ice cream and cake at a birthday party was just about impossible.” Her voice held such fondness, though sorrow tinged it.

I’d found that whenever she spoke about her past, she had that same mixture. She’d had a family of some sort—even if it consisted of people paid to protect her—but the sorrow exposed her loneliness.

“He brought you candy?” I pressed so she’d keep going.

“Yeah. I found out years later that he had a bunch of bags of sugar-free candy that he kept just to give to me, to cheer me up. Since I couldn’t go to the party, they had a special party at the house, just us. He had a chef come and make a sugar-free version so I could have it, and we ate so much we felt sick.”

“And your parents? Were they there?”

She shook her head, but it was with the resignation that came with time. She didn’t seem to even blame her parents’ absence. “They were busy. They both worked a lot, so I didn’t see them all that much.” She peered at me, then chuckled softly, the sound lovely after the tears the night before. “Don’t look at me like that. I missed them, but I understood, and I was luckier than a lot of others. I didn’t have to worry about much, and I had other people in my life.”

I reached out to pat her leg, to tell her how strong she was, but froze halfway there.

What are you doing?

I pulled my hand back. Sure, I knew exactly how much of a difference a little physical contact could make. There were times when, after an attack, a client needed a hug, needed someone there to assure them they weren’t alone.

That was all part of my job.

This was different though. I’d reached out not because I saw a client in pain, but because I saw a woman hurting.

She’s young enough to be your daughter. Knock it off!

I scolded myself and placed my hands on the steering wheel to keep them occupied before I made that same mistake again.

“Are you happy to get back to class?” I asked.

The smile she offered said she knew I’d changed the subject, but she allowed it. “Yeah, I am. It feels like weeks since I’ve barely created anything.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“I don’t have much of my stuff. I’ve got pencils and my sketchbook, but no paints or canvas.”

I cursed at the fact I hadn’t thought about that. It stung, a failure to think about the wellbeing of my client. “You should have mentioned it. We could have picked that up at the store.”

“I didn’t feel much like drawing when I first got here anyway. Stress isn’t good for the artist, you know? Being in class means I’ll have assignments, though, so that’ll force me to work. When I don’t draw, it feels like this creeping, crawling sensation inside me. Sometimes I think art is the only outlet I really have, the only way to get rid of that.”

“Other than the anti-anxiety meds?”

She sucked in a sharp breath, then looked out the window as though to avoid my gaze. “So you found those, huh?”

“Yep. When we went to your place to pick up things and make sure no one had broken in, I found them in the bathroom. They had a different name on them. You don’t look that upset,” I pointed out when she didn’t react.

“I’m used to not having any privacy. It’s not like I ever had any growing up. If I got upset each time it happened, I’d spend all my time mad.”

“So why are they in a different name?”

“Because I didn’t want anyone knowing about them. My old bodyguards would ask about it and worry if they knew, so I used a fake ID I have that they don’t know about to go to the doctor.”

“And why do you have them?”

“Because I have nightmares,” she said, her voice soft. “I sometimes struggle to sleep, because I can’t calm down, because I close my eyes and I see…”

“See what?”

Kenz sighed and shook her head. “That’s not something I want or need to share.”

---