by Claire Adams
“Nothing did this to you, Jake. You’re a predator. Not a fucking victim.”
“I am not a predator! It’s that bitch, Mildred.” A wail erupted from my throat. “She did this to me.”
“Mildred? Like, Mildred Mildred? The babysitter?”
I gave him a dangerous look.
“Jake… You’re not saying…” He went silent.
“Yeah, I’m fucking saying. The fuck else did you think it was?”
“She did something to you?” His voice was choked with emotion.
“That’s all you get. After all these years of nothing but resentment and scrutiny. Motherfucker, you want to call me a predator?”
“I was wrong. We were all wrong. Don’t listen to anything they say. If this is what she did to you, then yes. You are a victim in the worst possible way, and I cannot apologize enough for the things we’ve all said.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t mean jack shit now, does it?”
“Then I’ll defend you.”
“I’m not talking about the family,” I raged.
“Oh? Then what?”
“What do you think, man? She ran off. She won’t answer any of my calls or texts. Mercedes is gone.”
“Mercedes? What happened to Maria?”
“Her name is Mercedes.” I took a seat across from Andrew. “Her hooker name was Maria.”
“You fell in love with a hooker.” Andrew laughed.
“Hey, screw you. You don’t know anything about this crap. I’d never get with a hooker; not like you mean. She joined an escort service thinking that it was a courier service. She had no idea what she was getting into. I was her first trick—ever. She didn’t belong. She didn’t have surgery or a crack pipe in her bag. She was a good woman in a bad situation, and she never wanted me to pay her. She just wanted to be around me, and I wanted to be around her. So I stuck with her for a while, and it just happened.”
“You took her to my house.”
“Have you ever knowingly laid eyes on a hooker, Andrew?”
He didn’t respond, which meant yes.
“So you’ve seen what they’re like. They’re party girls that think about nothing but cock and drugs. I don’t even like letting them in my home. I certainly wouldn’t bring one to your house.”
“It’s still kind of weird.”
“Yeah, well, you guys were screwing with me, so you deserve it.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Why did she leave you?”
“Because she met Becky.”
“Who’s Becky?”
“The only other person I’ve tried to be with. It was years ago, when I was younger. She was a walking stereotype, the exact opposite of everything Mercedes is.”
“What’d you do to her?”
“I was the richest guy she ever met, and I broke up with her.”
Andrew laughed. “The women you deal with are probably a nightmare.”
“They are. That’s why I liked Mercedes so much. I took her to a famous designer to have a gown made, and the woman was begging her to model for her.” I laughed. “And Mercedes was completely convinced that she was ugly. She refused to believe that she was pretty enough to be a model.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and you have no idea how refreshing that is, Andrew. The women I deal with have such big heads; it’s not even funny. Modesty to them is a thong.”
“That’s sick.”
“But it’s not just that. She’s so dedicated to her family. The only reason she took the job was because her father has cancer, and she’s staying with her parents to take care of him.”
“What did that girl, Becky, do? I don’t get it. She really liked you, Jake.”
“Mercedes won’t tell me what’s going through her head.”
“You need to find out.”
“It’s too late.”
“Maybe so, but that girl really liked you. You have never in your entire life, not once, felt this way. We both know that. If you let this go, you will regret it the rest of your life.”
I pursed my lips. “I know you’re right, but I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“You’ll figure it out. You have to. This is your chance, Jake. You probably won’t get another.”
“I don’t even know if I have a chance, but I’m sure as fuck going to try.”
“Good,” Andrew said.
“What about you? What are you going to do about Elizabeth?”
“I don’t know,” he said, sighing. “You might have a chance, but with Elizabeth, there’s so much there, and she won’t talk. She just shuts down, or starts screaming every time I try to talk to her.”
“It’s been going on a long time, hasn’t it?” I asked.
“Yeah. Too damn long. See, that’s the thing. The longer you wait to make up, the harder it gets. If this went on for years, even months, you’d never be able to fix whatever problems you’ve got between you two. Whatever it is, Jake, it needs to be squashed right away.”
“She won’t open up. She won’t even answer her phone.”
“Then it won’t work, and if it does, it will only get worse.”
“What’s going to happen to Haylie, Andrew?”
“I don’t know. I’m gonna fight, keep my shit together, and if she tries to get full custody, I’ll take her to court. But I don’t want to do any of this. I want my fucking family. Honestly, Jake, I wish I were you right now. Even if Mercedes doesn’t come back to you, you haven’t been with her as long as I have. It’s different for you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But you need to make sure that you get rid of any unresolved issues you might have with her. If you don’t, it’s going to get a lot worse, and I don’t want to see you go through something that you can’t come back from.”
“I won’t let things go on like this. You’re right.”
“Let’s go.” Andrew stood up and started picking up his napkins.
I drove him back to the house and had some of the staff help get him cleaned up. I went up to my room so I could decide what to do.
Chapter 32
Mercedes
I felt the sun hit my blanket, and my eyes shot open. There was a dull, weary ache behind my eyes that wouldn’t go away. It had been there for days. It would’ve made me cry had my tear ducts not been drained already. Instead, it sat there, weighing my head down against the pillow while a sob rolled through me.
I’d screwed everything up. Now, there was nothing I could do to fix it because I made the right decision and there was no going back on it. Jake and I couldn’t be together. I should’ve listened to my instincts.
I never fell for anyone, even when I was younger. Life was always about my ambitions, like finally getting through school and getting a real job. I didn’t have time for men, but they kept popping up, so I taught myself a trick. Every time I found myself starting to get attached to a man, I started scrutinizing him. I’d focus on all their flaws and pick apart their head.
I looked at everything, from their career to their beliefs. Even their mannerisms. Then, I used what I found to stick a label on them. One guy was a washout. Another was a stoner. Nothing could possibly be enough for me because I simply didn’t have the time to deal with their crap.
My instincts were finely tuned. I could smell crazy on a guy. I knew when I was looking at a bad seed. I saw it coming. The second I took the money from Jake’s hand, I knew I was making a mistake. I shouldn’t have taken the money from him. I should’ve walked away. Instead, I let myself get pulled into a demented charade, and then I got attached to a liar. Someone that talked about me behind my back to his ex-girlfriend or whatever the hell Becky was to him.
Tears flowed out now. It was a neverending wave, stinging my cheeks and filling my pores. The grief was unimaginable. I thought I cared about him, that he really meant something. He was so sweet. He really wanted to do something good. He wanted to change my life and s
how me the world, and he would have, had I not come to my senses.
I knew why I was blind to his faults. He had that face, bright and youthful, and his eyes constantly gleamed. Then there was his smile, the most disarming thing about him.
He had the most beautiful golden hair. It seemed to glow every time the sunlight hit it. It was his defining feature, and I loved it. He was my golden god. It didn’t seem possible for the sun to keep shining now that he was gone, but it was, and I had to face it. Every speck of light peeking through my blanket was a ruthless reminder that he was gone.
His golden hair wasn’t a halo. He had the right intentions, and I had no doubt that he thought he cared about me. But I was the poor, innocent girl, and I was desperate for cash. My hesitation just made it better. He liked the hunt, and the worst part was that he didn’t even know what he was doing. He’d bought the lie that his love life was based on.
That’s what made him sick. I would’ve given into him if he were lying. That would’ve been so much easier. His façade would’ve fallen away, and the real Jake would creep out. But this was a real delusion. He bought into his own lie.
That stung.
People don’t choose the type of person they fall in love with. It’s like girls with a daddy complex, or men that choose women just like their mother. That’s not an intentional thing. It’s subconscious, sitting deep inside you, and in order for that sadistic process to start, there has to be something about the person they’re falling in love with that sets it off.
If he liked whores, he had to see me as a whore. Something about me must’ve set that instinct off. Was I just like all the other poor women that got stuck in that life? Was I vulnerable? Loose? That thought kept me in bed.
This was my fault. I should’ve been smarter; I was smarter, but he was the embodiment of masculine sexuality. Every time I saw him, I thought about what it was like to have him pounding through me with sweat dripping down his chest.
Those thoughts brought on an unbearable wave of guilt, so powerful that I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t face myself. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a self-destructive, callous fool with no self-worth and not one ounce of integrity.
I broke his heart. I led him on because I was blinded by a dick when I should’ve been focused on the man dying on the other side of my bedroom wall. It wasn’t just desperation. I was past that. I wasn’t there for the money. I was there because I was blind.
There’s no cure for blindness. Throwing the blankets over me didn’t help, and the shower didn’t wash it away. I still missed him, and that feeling wasn’t going away. It took everything I had, everything, to keep from calling him. I had to block his calls just to keep from answering them, and even then, I couldn’t stop myself from reading his messages.
They got worse and worse over time. At first, it was just simple stuff, like, “How are you?” Then it turned into, “Are you okay?”
After that, it got worse. Frantic apologies. Bitter goodbyes. That hurt the most. Then he’d apologize, and he’d leave things alone. I tried to keep my phone off as best as I could, but I had to check. Every time I did, I had to put down the phone to keep from calling him. I was still sick. I still cared, and it was psychotic.
When I got out of the shower, I wiped the fog off the mirror and took a step back. I hadn’t been taking care of myself the way I should’ve. My hair was wild, and my eyes were puffy from crying. I was a good person gone wrong, and it was eating at me. I had to start taking care of myself, so I began with a brush.
I’d always considered the things to be torture devices. My hair was so fine that tangles became an irreparable disaster. I must’ve spent at least an hour trying to make it look somewhat presentable. When I was done, it was damaged and crimped, but at least it was straight.
My makeup was easier. A quick layer of foundation and the damage was gone. I even added a little lipstick and a smoky eye to complete the effect. I looked good. Not as good as I did when I was with him. I’d never have that glow back, but at least I could walk out of the bathroom with a little more confidence.
When I walked out of the bathroom, I heard the sound of my father’s breathing machine. I walked into his room to check on him. His head was propped on a pillow, and he watched TV. He turned the volume down as soon as I walked in.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” I walked around the bed and leaned down to check his heart monitor.
“You’re lying, and we both know it.” I turned around to walk out, and he started shifting around in his bed. “Ow, it hurts. It hurts.”
“What hurts?” I turned around to see him clutching his leg.
“Please,” he whimpered and lifted up the sleeve of his shirt, where the dark outline of patch adhesive covered most of his shoulder.
“Dad, those fentanyl patches are a hundred times stronger than heroin.”
“I know, baby, but it’s the only thing that helps.” He had a strained look on his face.
“Fine.”
Under the TV, my mother kept a safe filled with all of his pain medication. He went back and forth between opioids until he couldn’t handle anything but the strongest stuff on the market. I opened the safe and stood up to help him put it on.
“What is wrong with you?” He lifted his sleeve higher.
“What are you talking about?”
“You had a good thing,” he said.
I took a step back. “You want your drugs?” I asked.
“I need them.” He widened his eyes and stuck out his bottom lip, like he was a puppy trying to get adopted.
“You’re faking, and we both know it.”
“I’m allowed two a day,” he said.
“As needed, and even if I did know what you were talking about, I don’t have time for this conversation.”
“Do I look stupid, Mercedes? I’m your father. Half the time I know what you’re going to do before you do it.”
“What are you saying?”
“You broke your own damn heart,” he said.
“What? No, Dad. I can’t do this now.” I turned around and walked out.
I didn’t want to think about it, but I just spent most of my free time for the day giving my father opioids. There was no way we could possibly pay for his treatments now. Jake wasn’t paying me any longer, and they didn’t pay me anywhere near enough at my new job. I only worked a couple hours every day and I couldn’t even live off of what I made.
I wasn’t sure why I took the job, not at first. The owner, Brenda, was sour and rude. She smoked every few minutes, and she always tried to talk to me and get to know me. But I admired her. People streamed in every day, and she changed their lives. So long as they listened to her, they could find work and a place to stay, even shelter from abusive partners. It was amazing to watch her at work. I didn’t mind being there or going to the coffee shop every morning for her before work.
When I walked in, she was sitting in her office with the door open. She looked up from her desk. “Oh my God. What happened? I was starting to think you were homeless.”
“Thanks.” I walked into her office and set the coffee down.
“How are you?” Brenda asked.
“I’m exhausted and pissy.”
“I’ll let you get back to your solitaire, then.”
I walked back to the front desk and turned the computer on. It was an ancient ‘90s model, barely capable of processing modern internet, so I wasn’t surprised when it locked up the second the desktop came up. “Jesus.” I pushed away from the desk.
“What’s going on?” Brenda was behind me with her hands on her hips.
“It’s nothing.”
“Come into my office.”
I walked in and sat down, and she pulled a peppermint shooter out of her desk. “Here.” She handed it to me.
“No.” I set it on the desk.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to go to that place. I’ll break down.”
“You’ll break down.” She nodded her head and snatched the shooter up. “It’s a guy. I can smell it. You know, I see it every single day. A woman comes in, dirty and crying like she’s ready to lose her mind. Well, you know what I say? Fuck him. If it hurts, it’s not love.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Can you keep it together?” she asked. “If you need to cry, you can always step outside.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her desk.
“No, I’ve got it.”
“Okay, but listen, I’m not coming down on you. I see too much to judge people. Mostly I’m worried about you, but I don’t want the clients to see you visibly upset. I hope I’m not being harsh.”
“No, not at all.” I kept my head low. “This is all me. I should’ve known.”
“You’re right, but you can’t blame yourself. He’s the prick who hurt you.”
I threw my hands up. “You’re right. I fell for the wrong guy, and you know what the sickest thing is? All I want to do is call him.”
“Of course you do. You fell for him. That doesn’t just go away. Part of you probably likes the things that make him so crazy.”
“You think?”
“Oh, yeah. You have an abusive father? Your man will hit you. You have a crazy drunk for a father? Your man will drink. It’s the same thing with fathers that cheat. We develop complexes about our parents when we’re young, and we act them out when we get older.”
I shook my head. “I should’ve known.”
“We all do it,” Brenda said, laughing. “The sooner you accept that, the closer you are to finding Mr. Right.”
My head fell, and tears started welling up. “I thought that’s what he was.”
“I know, but he’s not. And you’re going to have to accept that because it can get worse. You don’t have any visible bruises now.”
“No,” I sobbed. “I don’t.”
“But you could.”
“Yeah, I could.”
“Don’t go back, Mercedes. I know you think he’s the one, and you’re ready to explain away all of the things he’s done, but you’re blind. You need to know that before you get hurt.” She leaned forward, and I looked up to meet her eyes. “Can you promise me that you won’t take him back?”
