What Unbreakable Looks Like

by Kate McLaughlin

  There’s a desk with a computer, two large bookshelves, a TV, gaming console, and a king-size bed. I guess a guy his size needs a lot of room.

  “Yeah,” he says. “This is where I sleep and stuff.”

  “I like it.”

  “So, the bed is really the only place to watch the TV. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He props up a bunch of pillows along the headboard for us to lean against, and we sit side by side, the bag of chips between us.

  “I’m going to turn off the lights,” he says.

  “Okay. I’m not going to freak out, Zack.” Maybe he’s the one I should worry about. “Am I the first girl you’ve ever had in your room?”

  The lights go out, leaving us with only the glow of the television. I can see the screen reflected in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “You are.”

  “Are you uncomfortable?”

  “No.” He pops the top of his soda can. “It’s nice. Really.”

  “But weird?”

  He laughs. “Yeah. Nice weird.”

  “Well, hey, you’re the only guy I’ve ever had in my room.”

  “Elsa was there too.”

  “Next time you come over, we can hang out in my room. Just us.”

  “You’ve never had a guy in your room before? Not even before you moved in with your aunt?”

  I look down at first, but make myself meet his gaze. “You’d be the first that was by choice.”

  “Shit.” He looks mortified. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  I stare at him. He forgot that I’d been trafficked? Forgot all my baggage? Forgot that I wasn’t like any other girl?

  My throat is tight as I lean over and kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” I say.

  “For what?”

  I smile. “Forgetting.”

  * * *

  When Ivy recovered, I got sent back to my old room with Daisy. I didn’t know why Mitch didn’t let me stay where I was. Maybe he realized Ivy and I had become friends and he didn’t like that. We might have plotted against him or something.

  Or maybe I was the only one who would put up with Daisy’s shit.

  I walked into the room to find Daisy on her bed in her underwear, painting her toenails a dark pink. My bed was unmade. “What the fuck is this?” I demanded. There was blood and … other stuff on the sheets.

  Daisy glanced at the bed and shrugged. “New girl.”

  I made a face. “I’m not sleeping in that.” Gross. I picked up the phone and hit 0 for the front desk—it was the only button that worked on our phone. We couldn’t make outgoing calls. We couldn’t even call room to room. Only the front desk.

  It rang three times before someone picked up. “What?”

  It was a guy. It was always a guy. I didn’t think any women worked here except to maybe clean the other rooms. And honestly—they didn’t really clean.

  “I need clean sheets,” I told him.

  “Gotta charge ya.”

  Yeah, and I knew how he’d want to collect too, the asshole. I wasn’t in the mood. “Either bring me clean sheets, or I’ll throw these out the window.”

  “Fine.” I heard him mutter, “Fucking bitch.” He hung up.

  “Listen to you bein’ all dominant,” Daisy commented, setting aside her polish. Her toes glistened wetly against her dark skin. “You looking to take my job, pretty little Poppy? You got a plan?”

  “I just want clean sheets, Daisy, and a fucking nap.” I started yanking the soiled sheets off my bed.

  “Don’t let me stop you,” she muttered—always had to get the last word.

  When the door opened—no knock—I had the old sheets balled up and I thrust them at him after he tossed the new ones onto the bed.

  “Whoa!” he said. He was young and skinny. Tattooed and missing a tooth. But shove some sheets with girl blood on them—and God knew what else—at him, and he was suddenly not so tough. “I ain’t touching those.”

  I threw them on the walkway. “So call housekeeping. I don’t care. They’re not staying here.”

  He whirled on me. We were in the doorway to the room and I could see the parking lot below. “Cleaning up this shit is not part of our agreement,” he argued. “This is gonna cost you.”

  “Take it up with Mitch,” I told him, turning to go back inside.

  He grabbed my arm. “I’m takin’ it up with you, red.”

  Slowly, I turned my head to look at him. A few rooms down there was a man about to unlock the door. It wasn’t one of our rooms. I didn’t know this place got legitimate guests. He looked at me—and at the sheets and the guy holding my arm. I held his gaze for a second, then gave my attention back to the scrawny addict about to lose it on me.

  “Leave a mark and Mitch will have your balls,” I reminded him. He reluctantly let me go.

  “You and me ain’t done,” he said. There was sweat on his upper lip. “You gonna pay me back for them sheets. I’m thinking a little BJ.”

  I forced myself to meet his gaze. “If you ever take your dick out in front of me, I’ll bite it off.” I gave him a shove and shut the door. I didn’t know what I was trying to prove—he could just open it again.

  Daisy laughed maniacally. “The look on his face! Girl, what’s gotten into you?”

  I ignored her as I started making the bed. I didn’t tell her about Ivy or Doc, or that I’d been forced to let my mother’s boyfriend have sex with me. And I certainly didn’t tell her about the man down the hall who looked at me like he wanted to help.

  And then looked away.

  chapter twenty-four

  On Veterans Day, Zack and I hang out at his place. His mother is at the college, so we have the place to ourselves. We’re on his bed, kissing. We lie facing each other because that’s more comfortable for me. I also like to be on the outside of the bed because it gives me an escape route.

  We haven’t progressed that far—at least I don’t think so. We’ve touched each other, but there’s been very little nakedness involved.

  “This has got to be driving you crazy,” I say to him during a break in the action. I’ve noticed I only allow myself to get so involved in what we’re doing before I back off. I’m frustrated that I haven’t let myself come. I can do it by myself, and I have when I think of Zack, but I stop when I’m close with him.

  That I know of, he hasn’t gotten there either.

  “I don’t mind,” he says.

  I raise a brow. “Seriously? Because I feel like I’m about to explode.”

  “It’ll happen when you’re ready.” He sounds so certain that I feel panicked. What if I’m never ready?

  “I know where your crazy brain just went,” he says. “Stop it. If you want to have sex, you’ll have sex.”

  I snuggle up next to him. “A few weeks ago, I practically tried to rape you, and now that I have you on a bed, I can’t do it.”

  “You didn’t try to rape me.”

  I don’t correct him, even though we both know I tried to force the issue. And if it had been possible for me to overpower him, I might have done it. I’m not proud. His phone rings and he checks it. “It’s Mom.” He answers it.

  I roll away from him and get off the bed to go to the bathroom. When I come back, he’s leaving his room. “Mom wants me to bring her a book she forgot this morning. Want to come with me?”

  “Sure.” I don’t have any other plans until later when Elsa and I have a girls’ night scheduled. She’s going to spend the night, and we’re going to do facials and pedicures and watch rom-coms while eating too much.

  Zack grabs the book from his mother’s office, and we make the short drive to the college. It’s gotten cold, and the damp cuts through me like a knife, straight to the bone.

  He parks and we walk into the building. I love the Wesleyan campus. It’s so pretty. Since Jamal works there, it’s pretty much understood it’s the school I’ll attend next year—if they accept me. Krys, Jamal, and I have talked about them legally adopting me because it will
drastically help with tuition costs. It will also prevent my mother from having any claim to me.

  She called the house last week and wanted to talk to me. Krys lost her shit. She didn’t tell me what the conversation was about, but I can guess. Mom wants to convince me not to testify against Mitch. My mother has known where I am since the day I moved in. She never called to talk to me until after Mitch got busted. Doesn’t take a genius to make the jump.

  It was probably Frank’s idea. Asshole.

  We walk into Dr. Bradley’s classroom right as her students start coming in. She smiles when she sees us and comes around her desk. Her movements are stiff and slow, and I notice she’s got a cane by the podium.

  I watch students fill up the seats as Zack talks to his mom. No one seems the least bit interested in me, until …

  “Lex?”

  I turn my head. Standing in the aisle is a girl a little older than me. It takes me a second to recognize her because she doesn’t look the same. Her dark hair is shoulder length now, and her blue eyes are brighter than I remember. The first time I saw her, I wanted to punch her in the mouth. The last time I saw her, I cried because it was goodbye.

  “Lonnie.”

  I move toward her, so she doesn’t have to come to me—she still has a limp. When she immediately comes in for a hug, I give her one.

  “You look fabulous,” she tells me before letting me go.

  “So do you.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  I point at Zack.

  Her eyes widen. “Are … are you dating Dr. Bradley’s son?” She sounds impressed.

  I nod, surprised to be admitting something so personal. “We haven’t been seeing each other that long, but yeah.”

  She looks so genuinely happy for me, it hurts. “That’s amazing.”

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  She shakes her head. “Not ready yet.”

  That makes me hurt for her even more. And makes me feel better for myself.

  “You’re going to be on the panel, aren’t you?”

  She nods, glancing around. “I haven’t told anyone in class yet. How did you know about it?”

  “Dr. Bradley asked me to be on it.”

  Lonnie’s pretty face brightens. “Oh! You should be. It would be fantastic to have you next to me. Maybe we could get a coffee after and catch up? Here, let me give you my number.”

  I punch her number into my phone and text her so she’ll have mine. When she goes to sit down at the table, I recognize someone else right next to her.

  Amanda Fischer.

  “What are you doing here?” Mike’s sister demands, glaring at me as though I purposefully invaded her territory.

  Lonnie looks surprised. “You two know each other?”

  “I went to school with Amanda’s brother,” I say, before Amanda can say something rude. Hopefully she’ll take the hint and not say anything. I won’t if she doesn’t.

  “Oh, cool.”

  “How do you know Lex?” Amanda asks her.

  “Oh, we knew each other a long time ago,” Lonnie replies. I watch for Amanda’s reaction. I want to see the moment when she realizes her classmate was trafficked. I wonder if she’ll call Lonnie a whore too.

  But all Amanda does is shrug. It’s that disconnected gesture—one I’ve been guilty of so many times—that makes me say goodbye to Lonnie and return to Zack and his mother.

  “I’d like to be on the panel if you still want me,” I tell her.

  She practically beams. “Wonderful! I’ll send you all the details. Now, do the two of you want to stay for the lecture?”

  “Nope,” Zack says before I can say anything. “See ya later, Mom.” Once we’re outside, he turns to me. “What do you want to do now?”

  Standing there, the sunlight glinting off his dark hair, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. He deserves to be happy. He deserves to know exactly what he’s getting with me. And I deserve to know whether or not he can handle it.

  “Can we go for a drive?” I ask. “There’s someplace I want to show you.”

  He looks interested. “You know how to get there?”

  I force a tight smile. “Yep.” I haven’t been there since the night Detective Willis rescued me.

  * * *

  Some people think trafficking means you’re taken far away from your home and your family. It’s not true. The motel Mitch kept us in was only thirty minutes away from Mom’s apartment. It’s closer to an hour’s drive from Middletown, but still in the state. Still very close to home.

  “Take the next left,” I tell Zack. He does without question. It’s not far from the highway—that was why Mitch chose it.

  When it was operating, it was called The China Flower motel. I’m pretty sure the owners knew nothing about China, or flowers, but that was where Mitch got his self-proclaimed genius idea of renaming us all.

  It wasn’t ever a nice place. Maybe when it first opened a million years ago. It certainly wasn’t now. It had been shut down after the raid, but it hadn’t taken long for it to become a place for homeless squatters and drug addicts. There’d been a fire shortly after we left—probably set by Mitch to get rid of evidence. The main office was still standing, but the door was boarded up.

  Zack puts the car in park. “Is this what I think it is?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, taking a deep breath. I open the door and get out. No turning back.

  I hear him follow me. I’m slow as I approach the motel. I can see where the fire started, the room right below Iv … Jaime’s. It was usually empty. I think the manager kept it for himself if he wanted a girl or had a friend come by. Or if a girl happened to come by looking for a room …

  Cinder blocks, black with soot, make up the walls. I climb the concrete staircase to the second floor. Dirty strands of yellow police tape rustle against the balcony, but no longer block the way. There is half of a NO TRESPASSING sign on the wall, but I ignore it.

  They didn’t bother to board up all the windows and doors. Or, if they did, someone has decided to “unboard” them. I stop in front of a large broken window. The glass has shattered inward. On the floor by the bed is a red high heel I recognize.

  Zack comes to stand beside me.

  “This was Jaime’s,” I tell him.

  “The girl whose funeral you went to?” I’m glad he doesn’t call her the girl who was murdered.

  “She and I lived here for a while. That’s her shoe.” I turn and walk farther down. The whole place smells like when my grandfather used to dump lighter fluid on charcoal briquettes and drop a lit match in. He was too cheap to buy a gas grill.

  I stop in front of my old room—the one I shared with Daisy when I first came to the motel. The room where I became Poppy. The door is open, as though it’s been waiting for me. I hesitate, reach back for Zack’s hand. His fingers are right there, closing around mine.

  I step inside.

  The mattresses are still on the beds—naked and grimy. The drawers of the nightstands hang as though someone yanked them open and couldn’t be bothered to close them again.

  I turn to the dresser. It’s been ransacked as well, drawers dumped on the floor, clothes reduced to rags strewn across the filthy carpet. There’s a boot print on the pink slip I sometimes wore. I put my own foot on that print to keep myself from picking it up.

  The closet is practically empty—only Daisy’s old bathrobe and a pair of ratty pumps remain.

  “Do you think people came here to take souvenirs?” I ask. “Steal a little something from the trafficking motel?”

  “Maybe,” Zack says. “People might have taken anything that was in good shape and donated it.”

  Sometimes I worry he thinks too highly of people. If Poppy had walked into this place after the fire, she would have stolen every fucking thing she could carry.

  The bathroom is filthy, the toilet seat completely off the bowl, lying broken against the tub. The sink is ringed with black mold, but there, on the edge
, is a pink toothbrush.

  I make a noise when I see it. I’m not sure if it’s a laugh or a sob, but it makes me look up.

  The girl looking at me doesn’t belong here. For a second, I don’t recognize my own face because it’s not the face I should see. Not here.

  “Are you okay?” Zack asks.

  “I don’t know.” I leave the bathroom. He’s right there with me as I return to the main room. I need him to see this place like I do—like I did. I need him to know.

  “That was my bed. The other one belonged to Daisy. She watched TV all the time. Sitcoms mostly. Drove me crazy. Even when some guy was shoving himself in her, she’d be focused on the screen.” I walk closer, bringing him with me. I point at the bed. “I had sex with hundreds of men on that bed. Maybe over a thousand.” I look at Zack. I need to see his reaction.

  His expression doesn’t change. He’s looking at me the same way he always does. “You were raped on that bed,” he corrects me. “What happened there was not your choice.”

  My throat tightens. “They did everything you can do to a person, Zack. There’s nothing I haven’t had done to me.”

  He lets go of my hand, and I think, This is it. This is when he decides I’m too damaged. But he doesn’t walk away. He bends down, grabs the side of the bed, and flips it. The mattress and box spring fly off. The wooden frame splinters.

  “That’s what I think of the fucking bed,” he says, face flushed. I stand there, gaping at him. “Wait here.”

  He could be planning to leave me here for all I know, but I wait all the same. He returns a minute later, a hatchet in his hand.

  “What’s that for?” I ask.

  He hands it to me. “Mom makes me carry one for emergencies. Didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

  My fingers close around the handle. I look from it to the bed and back. The next thing I know, I’m attacking the wooden frame like a Viking at battle. Splinters fly as I swing over and over again. Sweat starts at my hairline and builds until it’s running into my eyes. When my shoulders start to ache, I finally stop.

  I have blisters on my fingers.