Page 1 of Forget Me Not

Prologue

RHEA

Savannah, Georgia

Fourteen Years Old

I’m tryingto remember my earliest memory as my mind completely drowns out the reality of what is happening around me. The desperation in my mom’s pleading eyes. The fear of what lies ahead for both of us.

It’s all too much. So for just a moment in time, I let it be nothing at all.

Just me and my thoughts.

She doesn’t exist.

Neither do I.

I’m pretty sure I was five years old—my earliest memory, I mean. It’s a little spotty, but I remember sitting on a curb in a big city surrounded by people who passed me by like I was nobody—except for one person. Wearing only a torn tee shirt and one sock, I sat there freezing in the dead of winter. I remember sobbing uncontrollably just to gain the attention of a wealthy man. He was probably in his late sixties to early seventies. Sort of reminded me of Santa, save for the jolly belly. He scooped me up on his hip and said in the softest, most consoling voice, “You’ve got to be freezing. Are you lost, cutie pie?”

I nodded and cried out for my mom while pointing to the alley where I knew she was. And just as expected, he walked me into the darkness, holding me tightly. I felt safe. No harm could come to me—at least, not in that split second.

Our plan was timed out strategically. We watched that sweet old man for weeks while Mom trained me. I practiced crying, memorized the words she told me to repeat. Then I helped her lure him into that alley, only to watch her manipulate the situation and play victim. After roughing herself up and throwing out countless false accusations toward the man, including attempted kidnapping and sexual assault, she got what she wanted. To ensure her silence, he gave her all his cash. I’m not sure how much, but it was enough for us to eat dinner and get a room for the night.

I knew that man would never hurt me or my mom. But nobody else knew that.

Since that day, the only tears that ran down my cheeks were trained ones.

Like my mom has always said,this is work and we can’t allow emotion to interfere with what we have to do. It’s nothing personal. It’s a job, plain and simple.

“Look at me, Rhea.” Mom crouches in front of me as if I’m that five-year-old girl again, even though I’m nearly the same height as her. She cups my cheeks in her hands and the look in her eyes nearly crushes my soul. I don’t like when she’s nervous. It makes me nervous and there is no time for feelings when it comes to our line of business. And yes, this is business. Even this moment that will one day feel as if it was frozen in time.

Mom and I live on the run while bouncing from one hotel room to the next. I’ve never attended school or had friends. I learned to read from literature in the lobbies of the various hotels we’ve stayed at. Everything I know was taught to me by either my mom, or myself.I don’t know how to form relationships because I’ve never had the opportunity. No sleepovers, dances, or talks about boys. I guess I can’t miss something I’ve never had. Although, I do find myself wondering what it would be like to experience those monumental things in a girl’s life.

She says this lifestyle is necessary to protect me from my biological father—a very wealthy and powerful man. Because of it, I’ve assumed other identities more than I have my own. We've survived off the accommodations of others and the money of strangers. We steal, lie, and cheat our way through life. But wedosurvive, and that’s what matters.

“I need you to take this one for us, Rhea.”

I stare back at her in a state of shock. All the air rushes out of my lungs as I gasp, “Me? But, Mom…” My eyes dart around the room, head shaking, no, because I can't. I won't. This wasn't the plan.

Her chest heaves and she tries to stifle the coughing fit that takes over. Fighting to clear her lungs of the virus she has been fighting for days, she hacks into a balled fist pressed firmly to her mouth. “I’m not well today, Rhea,” she says, voice coarse as she weakly gasps for air. “I don’t think I’ve got it in me.”

I take her by the wrist, attempting to lift her to her feet when the realization hits me that she’s not on her knees because of a failed attempt to console her child, but because she’s weak. She has been for a while now. Instead of tugging her arm, I allow my fingers to graze softly over the tattoo on her wrist—flowers. Forget-me-not flowers, to be exact. Beautiful blue petals surrounded by blooming stems. I have the exact same one on the back of my shoulder.

My love for you is immortal. If something should ever happen to me, let these flowers be a reminder that near or far, we will never forget what we did to survive this life together.

That’s what Mom said to me after she surprised me with the tattoos two months ago. Yes, I’m only fourteen. And no, it’s not normal for a girl my age to get permanent ink tattooed on her skin. But I’m not normal, and what I’m being asked to do right now is proof that neither of us are.

And my response only confirms just how completely abnormal we really are. “Okay,” I tell her on a whim. “I’ll do it.” Suddenly, the weight of the world lands on my shoulders, slowly drilling me into the hotel floor.

Mom’s lips curve downward, and it’s the response I expected. Neither of us are happy about this. There is no reason to smile or feel joy over what I’m about to do. It’s not until the job is done that we can allow ourselves to feel relief. However short-lived it may be.

Two thousand dollars for a fifteen-minute task can bring us that joy back, and maybe even help my mother feel better. If I do this, it will be a moment worth celebrating. Two thousand might not sound like much, but to us, it’s practically millions.

This job is a new one for me. I’ve never dealt with drugs before, let alone delivered them to a flock of middle-aged men who could scoop me up in a second and sell my body for more than they’re making off the goods I’m bringing them. Sure, I’ve seen them, but my mom has always tried her best to protect me from that line of work.

We don’t usually work like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Mom got an offer to deliver some goods on the east side of town where the heat runs hot. It was an offer she couldn’t pass up, considering we’re fleeing this state before dawn breaks and we’ve got no money to our names.

Am I scared? Hell yes. Will it stop me? Nope. Mom and I are a team, and when one of us is down, the other stands tall. It’s my turn to stand tall for her.

---