What Unbreakable Looks Like

by Kate McLaughlin

  “Whatever,” she replies. I can’t tell if she’s mad or sad. Maybe she doesn’t feel anything—we’re all pretty good at that. She waves at me as the elevator doors slide closed. I stand there like a stupid idiot, watching the numbers blink on the screen above.

  “Lex?”

  I turn. Krys is behind me. I didn’t hear her approach. I’m taller than her, I realize. She used to seem so tall when I was a kid. Larger than life.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” she asks.

  I nod, shuffling toward her. “I want to go back to bed,” I tell her. What I really want is a hug. I want her to promise me everything is going to be okay, and I want to believe her. I want someone to tell me what to do. I want someone to fix me. Or maybe I want to go to sleep and not wake up. I don’t know. I just know I can’t stay like this.

  We go back to my room, and I take off my sneakers before crawling back into bed.

  “I’ll have to bring you some pajamas,” my aunt comments as she tucks the blankets around me.

  “Why are you here?” I ask her.

  She smiles—it’s a pretty, gentle thing. I haven’t seen anything like it in a long time. “For you, kiddo. For you.” Her smile fades a little. “The girl who left. What’s her name?”

  She’s going to rat her out. “Ivy,” I say.

  My aunt’s head tilts to one side. “Her real name.”

  Maybe she understands more than I think. I close my eyes, because that makes it easier to betray my friend. Easier to remember things I am supposed to have forgotten.

  “Jaime,” I say.

  “Go to sleep,” she tells me. Warm fingers close over my cold ones. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  I don’t believe her. I keep my eyes closed and wait for her to let go.

  When the nurse comes in to check on me in the morning, Krys is asleep in a chair by my bed. She kept her promise.

  Part of me hates her for it, because that’s going to make it worse when I disappoint her.

  chapter two

  I should have run when I had the chance.

  I don’t want to go to this “recovery house” that Krys and Detective Willis are so horny for. Who wants to hang around with a bunch of messed-up bitches? I just got done doing that—I don’t want to do it again without my pills.

  Krys comes to drive me there. She’s been hanging around the hospital a lot. I don’t know if she spent the night again, because I haven’t left my room. Not since Ivy ran.

  When Detective Willis comes by, I ask her about Ivy.

  “I haven’t seen or heard anything about her,” she tells me. “If I find her, I’ll let her know you’re concerned.”

  I shrug. Like concern ever matters for much. As far as Ivy is concerned, I bailed on her. That’s not easily forgiven. “You know this place they’re sending me to?” I ask as I toss a T-shirt into my backpack. I’m wearing leggings and an oversize sweater that’s soft and warm. Krys brought them for me.

  She nods. “It’s a good place. If you follow the program and stay out of trouble, you won’t be there long.”

  “What kind of trouble you think I’m gonna get into?”

  She gives me a look that says she knows me better than I do. I could get in a whole lot of trouble for punching a cop, so I don’t.

  “I brought you something.” She hands me a gift bag.

  The last time someone brought me a gift in a bag that pretty, I ended up giving a blowjob in return. I stare at it.

  “No strings,” Detective Willis assures me. “It’s only a gift.”

  I take the bag. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, is a plaque—the kind you hang on the wall. The background is light turquoise and written across in big black letters is: YOU SURVIVED THE ABUSE. YOU WILL SURVIVE THE RECOVERY.

  My throat is tight when I look at her.

  She smiles. “In case you need a reminder.” She hands me a card. “This is my cell number. If you need anything—even if it’s just to talk, you call me. Okay?”

  I’m an ass for wanting to hit her. “Thanks, Detective.”

  “Marianne. Would it be okay if I gave you a hug?”

  I nod. It’s not a long hug, or even that tight of one, but … it’s nice.

  Krys arrives a few seconds later, right as Marianne is leaving. “All set?” she asks me.

  “Almost.” My aunt picks up the plastic bag of dirty clothes that sits outside my closet. “I’ll wash this stuff for you at home. I hope it’s okay, I picked up a few things for you. They’re in the car. When you come home, we can go shopping and you can pick out your own clothes.”

  Home. Yeah, okay.

  “Have you talked to Mom?” I ask.

  “I left a message. A couple of them.”

  “Yeah, she hardly ever answers her phone. Does she know where I’m going?”

  Krys shakes her head. “No, and you shouldn’t tell her, okay? They don’t want anyone to know where you are.”

  I nod. “In case she tells Mitch.”

  “I would hope that if he contacted her, she’d call the police, not tell him where to find you.”

  “He buys her booze,” I say, and she nods. We both know what that means where my mother’s loyalty is concerned.

  “Let’s go. The sooner we get you settled in, the sooner you can come home.”

  She keeps talking about “home.” Like everything is going to be magically okay once I come live with her and her husband. But how long will it be before he starts telling me I’m pretty, expecting me to suck his dick? ’Cause I haven’t met a man yet who doesn’t go the same way once he finds out what I am.

  Krys hands me a winter coat, one of those light puffy ones. “It should fit,” she says. “It’s one of mine. I hope that’s okay.”

  The last winter coat I had came from Goodwill and smelled like an old woman. “It’s cool. Thanks.”

  “Goodbye, sweetheart,” the nurse at the desk says. The one who put cream on my arms. “You have a good life, y’hear?”

  I smile at her and lift my hand in a wave. “Bye.”

  Krys thanks her and the other nurses for everything they’ve done, and then we’re in the elevator, sinking.

  It’s cold out. The street, the sky, even the trees, are gray. The air is thick and heavy.

  “We’re supposed to get a storm tonight,” Krys says as she puts my laundry in the trunk. “I got you some slippers and a fuzzy robe so you’ll be warm.”

  “Thanks.” I climb into the car. It’s nice and clean. New, and it doesn’t smell like cigarettes. I glance in the back seat. No beer cans or wine bottles either.

  “How do you feel about this?” she asks. “Are you scared?”

  I shrug.

  “I would be,” she goes on. “I don’t know how you’ve been so strong through all of this. I’d be a wreck.”

  I look at her as she drives. “Once you lose control, it’s easier to let other people take it.”

  Her knuckles turn white as she grips the steering wheel. “I don’t want to control you, Lex.”

  “Not you,” I say. “Other people. Like the doctors and the cops.”

  “And Mitch?”

  “Don’t talk about him.” Mitch was there for me when no one else was. He took care of me. He sold me. Beat me. Told me I was beautiful and said I was an ugly bitch. He said he loved me.

  Nobody else has ever said they love me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to think about him, okay? Ain’t your fault.”

  “Isn’t,” she corrects me.

  I smile. “Yeah, okay.” Is it weird that I like that she cares how I talk?

  I haven’t been outside in months, so I stare out the window as we drive. “Where are we?” I ask.

  “West Hartford. The place we’re going to is in Middletown, not far from where Jamal and I live. We got lucky—they had a bed open up.”

  “How long before I can go out?”

  “You can come home with me next weekend if you want. We’
ll start with day visits and then overnights. It’s whatever you want.”

  Yeah, right. If it’s what I want, she’d drop me off at a bus stop.

  “I’m new at this,” Krys says. “I’m going to need you to help me.”

  I look at her. “Help you what?”

  “Be what you need.”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  She smiles, but somehow manages to still look sad. “I guess we’ll figure it out together, then.”

  I don’t want to feel this hope in my chest. I want to shrug and turn away from her, so she won’t know she has power over me. I don’t want to trust her.

  “Okay,” I say. Fucking traitor.

  * * *

  Middletown isn’t a city like Hartford. It’s a town, and not a really big one. It has Wesleyan University, though, which is supposed to be, like, a top-shit school. The main street is lined with shops and restaurants that look newer the farther south we drive.

  “Is that a Thai place?” I ask, turning my head. “I like Thai.”

  “There’s just about whatever you might want,” my aunt replies. “Thai, Vietnamese, Japanese, Indian, Mexican, Chinese, Italian. We can go to some of them if you want. And I can always bring you takeout.”

  “You’d do that?”

  She shoots me a glance, frowning. “Kid, I’d do that and so much more if I thought it would help you.”

  I swallow. Is she for real? “Thanks.”

  Sparrow Brook. That’s the name of the place where I’m going. It doesn’t have a sign out front or anything, but Krys has a pamphlet stuck in one of the cup holders and I recognize it from the photo.

  It’s an old hotel or something—red brick with white trim—not far from the river and down the street from a large mental hospital. That’s where I would have gone if I hadn’t had Krys. If she hadn’t wanted me. If I’d been trouble. It’s where I heard they were taking Daisy.

  When we pull into the parking lot, there’s a group of girls out by the stables, feeding horses. I can’t see them that well, but they’re different sizes and colors—the girls, not the horses.

  Some of them are smiling, some of them aren’t. It’s easy to pick out which ones have been out of the life the least amount of time.

  They’re the ones I want to stand next to. The ones I know won’t try to make conversation or be friends.

  We’re met by a woman named Song, who smiles at me and takes me up a wide staircase to my room. It’s nicer than the room I had at the motel. There are windows on two of the walls that let early spring sunshine into the room. The curtains are light and airy, the walls painted cream. The bed I’m given is a twin, but it’s a four-poster and the sheets and comforter are new.

  Clean sheets.

  I have a dresser and a small closet to myself. Krys begins putting stuff away. My roommate comes in while she helps me unpack.

  “Hey,” she says. “I’m Sarah.”

  I nod. “P—Lex.” Not Poppy. Not anymore. Not out loud. I size the other girl up and she does the same to me.

  She gives me a binder that has my name on it. “It’s got a schedule and calendar in it,” she tells me. “Plus pages for you to journal or make notes, draw—whatever. It’s part of therapy.”

  “Yay,” I say, without any real enthusiasm.

  She dares to smile at me. “Yeah, that’s what I said when I got mine too.”

  I bristle at her tone. She doesn’t know me. I don’t want her talking to me like she understands or she knows what I’ve been through. She doesn’t know shit. But I don’t tell her that. Something keeps me quiet.

  Sarah and Jill show me where the bathrooms are. There are three for the twelve girls that are living here at the moment. They also show me where the laundry is, the linen closet, kitchen, common area—the whole tour. After, we move outside. It’s a damp, cold day. The sky is gray, and the air smells of snow and horse manure. I’m taken through the stables while the horses and other girls watch me. Song reappears in time to introduce me. I don’t remember all their names. I don’t want to.

  I don’t plan on being there long enough to get to know them.

  I spend the rest of the day meeting the staff and being treated like an idiot. Everyone talking to me sloooowly and LOUDLY in case I don’t understand. Like I’m a kid. That night, there’s a group meeting that’s like a twelve-step thing for those of us who are addicts.

  It makes me wish I were stoned. Food’s good, though. And they give us a lot of it, but this place isn’t for me. I’m not into “higher powers,” and I don’t need to fix my problems by falling in love with a horse, which is kinda creepy if you ask me. Even if they are pretty.

  There’s a girl who stares at me all through the meeting. I’ve decided to punch her in the mouth if she keeps it up. I may be the new girl, but I’m not anyone’s bitch.

  She comes up to me afterward. I didn’t speak throughout the entire thing. No one asked me to, which surprised me a bit, but maybe they like to listen to themselves talk.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she says.

  I turn my shoulder to her. “You think?”

  “You’re thinking how stupid this is, and that you don’t need it. You probably hate horses and have already made your escape plan.”

  I glare at her for being so spot-on. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  She laughs. “Sure I do. You’re here. That means someone took you from your home, put you on your back, and let people rape you for money while they kept you as numb as possible. Am I wrong?”

  I clench my jaw, try to stare her down, but I’m the one who looks away first.

  “Look, you don’t have to play tough here. No one’s looking to hurt you, so try to check the attitude and show the women who run this place some respect.”

  “Or what?” I challenge.

  She shrugs. “Or you piss away the chance you’ve been given. You know how many of us never even make it this far?”

  “No, and I don’t care.”

  “Not yet,” she says. “You will, and that’s when it gets hard. Right now, it’s easy.”

  I give a rough laugh. “Yeah, cause this is so fucking easy.”

  She tilts her head. “Would you rather be back with your pimp?”

  “No.” I say it before I can stop myself. I kick myself for giving anything away.

  “Good. Maybe you’ll be one of the ones who make it.” She turns and walks away before I can reply. She walks with a limp—a heavy one.

  Sarah comes up beside me. “That’s Lonnie,” she says. “She’s been here longer than I have.”

  “What’s up with her leg?” I ask.

  Sarah glances at me. “Her pimp hit her with his car and left her for dead.”

  I look at her in surprise, then turn my gaze again to Lonnie, who’s talking to one of the other girls. As if she feels the weight of it, she lifts her head and returns my stare. The scars on my back itch and pull.

  Maybe she knows something about me after all.

  * * *

  I go to bed with every intention of sneaking out before dawn. No idea where I’m going to go, or what I’m going to do, but I can’t stay here. This place freaks me out. Too many people getting in my head.

  “Do you like to read?” Sarah asks. She’s sitting on her bed in her pajamas and a pair of fuzzy socks. Her long, dark hair is back in a braid. She looks young until I look in her eyes.

  “Yeah,” I say. I used to read a lot.

  She opens the door of her bedside table, revealing a small stack of books. “Take one if you want. We’re allowed to read before bed.”

  I hesitate. But the temptation is too strong. Not like a book is a magical thing that can make me stay if I don’t want to.

  Slowly, I ease off my bed and cross the distance to her side of the room. I crouch down and look inside the cabinet. There, second from the top of the pile, is the latest book in a series by one of my favorite authors. It came out while I was at the motel.

  I h
ate the excitement that rises in my chest, but I take the book anyway. “Is it okay if I borrow this one?”

  “Sure,” Sarah says with a smile. “I’ve read that one already. It’s awesome. Have you read the series?”

  I nod. Clutching the book to my chest, I retreat to my bed.

  I read for half an hour before we’re told to turn out our lights. I haven’t gone to bed this early in months, but I press the switch on my lamp and settle into the pillows.

  There’s a tiny night-light in the opposite corner of the room. It’s not enough to keep me awake, but it’s enough to break up the darkness. I like it. It will make my escape easier, I think as I close my eyes—just for a minute.

  I don’t escape that night.

  The bed is too comfortable and warm. The sheets smell too clean. Outside, it’s windy and cold. I fall into a deep sleep that turns into a nightmare. Mitch is there, and my mother. They’re arguing over who gets to have me, but they don’t want to love me. They want to chop me up and eat me.

  “No!” I jackknife up into a sitting position on the bed. I’m panting and sweating. Sarah is there beside me.

  “You’re safe,” she says, catching my hand in hers. “Lex, you’re safe.”

  I gasp for breath, my gaze focusing in the gloom. I look up into her concerned face and relax.

  “Sorry,” I say, pulling my hand free.

  “We all have them,” she says, letting me go. “Eventually, they’ll start to happen less and less.”

  “If you say so.” And then, because I’m uncomfortable, “You can go back to bed.”

  “Here.” She gets off my bed and goes back to her own, only to return a couple of seconds later. She presses something warm and fuzzy into my hands. It takes me a minute to realize it’s a stuffed cat.

  “It seems ridiculous, I know,” she says, “but you’ll sleep better with it. Trust me.”

  I’m doubtful, but I don’t give it back. “Okay.”

  Sarah smiles. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here if you wake up again.”

  The idea of her hovering over me should be enough to keep me awake, but it isn’t. Clutching the plush cat, I fall back to sleep almost instantly, and I don’t wake up until Sarah’s alarm goes off at seven.