Page 31 of Mine

Rien raised his eyebrows. I wanted to hit him then, punch him right in the face. I could see it in his eyes. He was judging us all, judging my mother for selling her body. Judging me.

“A client,” he repeated tonelessly.

“I told you we were poor,” I said.

“And then?”

I breathed out in relief and looked away from Rien. I would survive. I remembered surviving back then, when my mom went out late at night and slept with any guy who would pay her. Yes. I was a survivor. So was she. She had done whatever it took to survive.

“Then? Then I grew up taking care of my sister. We were on and off the streets. I hated it. When I turned eighteen, I left and came to Hollywood to try and make it.”

“Have you made it?”

“Sure,” I said, sarcasm biting into my words. “Of course I’ve made it. Look at me. I’m on a leather couch, giving an interview of my life story. If that’s not making it, what is? I’m bigger than fucking Oprah Winfrey. I’ll give you my autograph later, if I can ever move my paralyzed hands again.”

A small smile crept over his face.

“So that’s why you took this job.”

“So that I wouldn’t have to fuck a guy to make rent? Yeah, that’s why I took the job. That’s why I take every job.”

“I’m sorry.” He pressed his lips together. It was stupid, but he looked so sincere that I actually thought he was sorry. I felt sorry for myself, anyway. What a stupid story. What a stupid life. I should’ve stayed with my mom and sister. I should’ve helped them more. One measly check every now and then was ridiculous. I wasn’t going to become an actress, and what’s more, I didn’t even want to act. I just wanted to get as far away from my real life as possible.

I bit my lip. I wasn’t there anymore. I was here. I had to take care of myself here. And this was about as far away from real life as I could get.

“Here,” he said. He picked up the bowl of soup. “You’re hungry. Eat.”

I opened my mouth, not knowing what had changed between us, only that something had. He held the spoon to my lips and warm soup spilled over my tongue. I swallowed, trying to think about anything besides the memories Rien had stirred. I didn’t want to talk about my past. I didn’t care about my past self. I was a new person here, or that’s what I wanted to be. And if I hadn’t been so stupid as to take this job…

I swallowed the soup spoonful by spoonful. Rien didn’t talk at all. He held the food to my mouth and I ate.

It was strange. Not being able to do anything else, I relaxed. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have to worry about what to do next. I didn’t have to worry about being fed. Stupid as it sounds, I didn’t feel half as scared now as I had back when I was a kid. Not even with a killer sitting next to me with a bowl of tomato soup in his lap.

Soon the bowl was empty. He fed me crusts of garlic bread, pinching off bite-sized pieces. I chewed the buttery bread, savoring it. Even the fanciest dinner on Melrose hadn’t tasted as good. I felt stronger. Better. Comforted, in the weirdest way possible.

“You believe me, then?” I asked, once the last of the food was gone. “That I’m an actress? That I’m not this guy’s wife or whatever?”

“Of course I believe you.”

“Then… are you going to let me go?”

“No.”

My heart sank in my chest. After I told him all that, just to have him shoot down any possibility of escape–

“Why not?”

“How can I trust you enough to let you leave? You’ve seen me with one of my victims. You know his name.” He shook his head, as though thinking it over and coming to a conclusion. “I can’t.”

“What are you going to do, then? Keep me here forever?”

“Maybe. Yes. That’s a possibility.”

Panic gripped my chest. The thought of staying in this room as a prisoner made me feel like the walls of bookshelves were shrinking, closing in on me.

“Rien. Please. I’ll do anything you tell me to do. I’ll go straight home and I won’t tell anyone about this ever.”

He raised his eyebrows, smiling.

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