There’s a pile of wood at my feet. I’m covered in tiny slivers. I’m warm and sticky and thirsty. Oh my God, that felt good.
Zack takes the hatchet from my stiff fingers, tossing it aside. He pulls me against his chest and hugs me. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek against his sweater. I blink. Frown. I pull away.
“What is it?” he asks.
I walk over to the toppled box spring on legs that tremble with spent adrenaline and move it so I can see the markings better. Zack joins me.
“Alexa and Jaime are girls, not flowers,” he reads. It’s written in black marker. The words have blended into the fabric, but they’re still readable. There’s a date beside them. I remember that night.
That tightness I felt earlier in my throat returns, only this time it brings tears with it.
“Did you write that?” he asks.
“No,” I whisper. “Jaime did. That’s the night Mitch brought her here. She asked me my name. My real name.” I run my fingers along her words, as though somehow tracing the letters will make me feel closer to her.
“You looked after her,” Zack says.
A tear trickles down my cheek, hot and stinging. “We looked after each other.”
She never let me forget who I was. I can’t take care of her anymore, but maybe I can make sure other people know who she was.
He reaches down and takes my hand. “Ready?” he asks.
I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand. “I’m ready.” As we get in the car and pull out onto the road, I take one last look at the motel. Finally, I’m ready to leave it behind.
chapter twenty-five
The panel for Dr. Bradley’s class is the day before Thanksgiving break. I figure this means not too many people will show up.
I’m wrong. The lecture hall isn’t completely full, but it’s close. Lonnie tells me it’s because a lot of people are finally cluing in to what a problem human trafficking is in this country. The only criminal enterprise that’s bigger is drugs, and that’s only because the pimps give girls drugs. You can sell a pill once. You can sell a girl many times before she’s all used up.
Lonnie and I are the only people on the panel that have been trafficked. Detective Willis is there, and a woman named Tina from DCF. There are also people from different antitrafficking organizations, a state prosecutor, and Noreen Williams, a documentary filmmaker working on a new project.
Dr. Bradley introduces us all and speaks briefly about trafficking, giving statistics. After, she starts directing questions our way. I’m twisting my fingers together under the table as my heart threatens to tear through my ribs. I thought having Zack and Elsa here would make me braver, but it’s not. Krys and Jamal are here too, and feeling their gazes on me only adds to my anxiety. I wish I’d taken a Xanax.
It’s going to be okay. It’s fine. No one here wants to hurt me, and the people I love already know my story—or most of it. They know the important parts. Anything I say today isn’t going to change what they think of me.
And if it does, they aren’t the people I think they are.
“Let’s talk about trafficking as an industry,” Dr. Bradley begins. “Detective Willis, can you give us some perspective?”
Detective Willis repeats a lot of information I’ve heard before and the statistics Lonnie shared with me earlier. The prosecutor joins in with her experiences and opinions.
It’s interesting to me, because the lawyer talks about everything from a criminal perspective, while Detective Willis talks about the girls more than the pimps.
“Lonnie and Lex, we hear about traffickers luring girls away from their families and the different types of coercion they use. Would you mind telling a little bit about how you were forced into this terrible industry?”
Lonnie goes first. She talks about how she was brought in by a guy she met at a new school.
“He was a student?” Dr. Bradley asks.
Lonnie nods. Everyone seems surprised. Well, not the panel. “He was a senior. I was a sophomore when we met.”
“And he was actively recruiting at school?”
“Yes,” Lonnie replies. “A couple of girls warned me about him, but I didn’t listen. He invited me to a party at his place, drugged me, and took pictures of himself and a couple of his friends having sex with me. He threatened to show my parents if I didn’t do what he wanted. I thought I could get myself out of the situation, but I was wrong. I found out he was connected to a gang, and I was handed over to them once it was determined I was broken in. It’s a fairly common practice for gangs to use underage ‘recruiters’ to bring girls in. If they’re juveniles they can’t be charged to the same degree.”
I hear gasps and murmurs in the audience. I look out at their disturbed expressions with a sense of wonder. I wish I were that ignorant. It must be nice to live in a world where you don’t see the darkness in people. I envy them.
When it’s my turn, I tell them how Mitch was friends with my mother’s boyfriend, and how he seduced me. It’s hard to make eye contact with the audience. I spend a lot of time looking at the wall, or at people’s mouths.
“Your mother allowed you to date a man twenty years older than you?” This was from the filmmaker.
“Yes.”
“Did she know he was trafficking you?”
“I don’t know. Her boyfriend did.”
“How do you know?”
“He came by the motel I was at,” I explain. I can’t believe I said it.
Detective Willis turns her head and looks at me. I can see the question in her eyes. I tilt my head and let her know that no, he didn’t come to save me.
“My pimp put ads for all of us on Stall313.com,” I tell them when asked how we were trafficked. “My ad was still up until a month ago. In fact, someone got a hold of it and shared it with most of my school.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lonnie whispers.
I almost shrug, but I’m trying not to treat things so casually. “Thanks.”
Detective Willis takes the mic. “I want to add that with Lex’s help, we have arrested her pimp, and he is currently in jail awaiting trial for trafficking, murder, kidnapping, and other charges.”
“Murder?” Dr. Bradley asks.
“Yes. We’ve found the bodies of two girls whom we know were trafficked by this man.”
I stare at her. “Two?”
She nods, her expression sad. “Daisy,” I say softly. I turn back to the mic in front of me. “My pimp called us all by flower names. He thought it was clever.”
“It’s also a dehumanizing technique,” the prosecutor chimes in.
I glance at her. I don’t need a reminder that I’ve been dehumanized, but I guess she didn’t say it for my benefit.
We talk about drugs and how the men who bought us often seemed like normal guys. It was only a few of them that were violent or weird. Some were young; some were old. Some were handsome; some were ugly. Some were nicer than others—but none were ever our choice.
This leads to Tina discussing dissociation and how many of us use it to survive the horror of our lives. She says it like someone who’s been there.
“What got you through it?” a girl asks when we start taking questions from the audience.
“I had a friend,” I tell her. “Her name—her real name—was Jaime. She never let me forget who I was.”
“Where is she now?”
I swallow. “She’s dead.” The girl looks horrified.
“A lot of us go back,” Lonnie says, leaning into the mic. “The conditioning the pimps do is like brainwashing, even Stockholm Syndrome. It’s all we know. Plus, they’ve gotten us addicted to drugs, so we go back to them because they can get us high.”
“You didn’t go back.”
Lonnie smiles at her. “He tried to kill me. I might be an addict, but I’m not stupid.” Hesitant laughter follows.
My turn. “I was very lucky. I had family—my aunt—who wanted to take me in. I wouldn’t be sober or in school if
it weren’t for her. I wouldn’t be here at all, I don’t think.” I look up at Aunt Krys and smile. She makes a heart with her hands.
“What about dating?” someone else asks. “Have either of you been able to have relationships?”
No one has used the word “normal” yet, and I appreciate that. Lonnie tells them that she hasn’t. And it’s back to me.
I sigh. “My last boyfriend is who spread my Stall 313 ad all over school.” The epic groan from the audience almost makes me smile. “So, yeah, we broke up.” This is followed by laughter.
I glance up at Zack and take a deep breath before looking away. I can’t watch him and speak. “I’m actually dating a really great guy right now. He’s been very patient with me, even though I’m totally crazy at times. I also have an amazing best friend who has supported me and always has my back.”
“Support is a huge component of helping these girls heal,” Tina continues. “Just the simple act of being there makes a remarkable difference in the life of a girl who has been trafficked.” She goes on to talk about a girl she worked with. When she’s done, I reach for the mic Lonnie and I have been sharing.
“The thing that has helped me the most has been acceptance,” I tell them. “My friends, my family, my boyfriend, they accept me for who I am. They give me a lot of slack, but they don’t let me get away with being a jerk. When I’m with them, I’m not a victim, I’m just me. I know if something triggers me, I’m safe.”
“How have your experiences altered how you look at sex?” This question comes from a guy. I arch a brow and he continues, “I’m interested in a girl who has been through something similar, and I don’t want to upset her by doing something unintentionally triggering.”
Lonnie answers first. “That’s great of you, but what you need to understand is that we all have different triggers. The best thing you can do is let her know you’re willing to take things at her pace. For me, I’m just starting to trust guys again. I have yet to meet one I want to get to know better, let alone date.” She looks to me.
“Before I was trafficked,” I begin, “I thought sex was some kind of magical thing that would make me an adult and unlock the secrets of the universe, kind of like the Force.” Laughter. My smile fades fast. “That was taken from me, until I knew sex wasn’t magical at all. It became something … well, bad. Shameful. Neither of those views are realistic.”
“What do you think is realistic?” he asks.
I have to think about this—fight the urge to raise my shoulders and avoid it. “I’m not sure. What I want it to be is something special. I think it should mean something, you know? Everyone wants to be treated like they’re worthy of love.”
“This guy you’re dating. What did he do to convince you?”
I laugh. “Well, for one thing, he’s here, so thanks for asking.” Everyone laughs a little. I glance up at Zack. I don’t care who sees. “He gives me the same respect he gives himself.”
Zack crosses his arm over his chest and nods at me. This seems to be getting to him, so I’m glad when the next question is for Detective Willis.
The panel question period lasts a total of an hour and a half. Afterward, almost everyone who was there comes up to thank us for speaking. A few of them tell me how brave they think I am—that I’m inspirational. I don’t scoff or play it down. I thank them.
Noreen offers me her card. “Are you by any chance involved in the lawsuit against Stall 313?” she asks.
I nod. I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to say.
“I’m currently working on a project about their involvement in trafficking and how difficult it’s been to hold them accountable. You speak really well, and I’d be honored to have you involved. Maybe you or your aunt could give me a call and we could meet? I’m based out of Greenwich.”
“I’ll talk to her about it,” I say. She shakes my hand and wishes me the best.
And suddenly, I’m not a victim. I’m not even a survivor. I’m an activist. That’s a label I can wear. By being part of this panel, I’ve morphed from someone who wants to change herself to someone who wants to change the world. I feel like I’m part of a movement—something bigger than myself.
Me against the world is frightening. Us against the world is comforting.
Dr. Bradley thanks me for taking part and gives me a big hug. Lonnie and I make plans to get together soon, and Detective Willis walks outside with the rest of us.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Daisy,” she says. “We only IDed her yesterday. We … we had to use old medical records. I was going to tell you after the panel.”
My stomach lurches at the thought of what she must have looked like.
I clear my throat. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m just … I thought Daisy would survive the end of the world.”
Detective Willis puts her arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. We say goodbye and she leaves me, Zack, Elsa, and Krys standing there, outside the doors of the college. Jamal had to return to class.
“So,” I say. “That wasn’t so bad.”
Krys hugs me. “You were fabulous, Lexi-bug.”
“Like a professional,” Elsa chimes in. “Hey, I’m going to meet up with Maisie. You guys want to join?”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I think I need to unwind.”
She hugs me and promises to call me later before walking away.
“I have to run some errands,” Krys tells me. “Do you want to come with?” She smiles in such a way that I know she doesn’t expect me to say yes.
I turn to Zack. “I can take you home,” he offers.
“Okay,” I say.
The three of us walk to the parking lot together. Krys hugs me again before she leaves.
“Tell me the truth,” I say when she’s gone. “Did I do all right?”
He looks at me. “You did great. Really great.”
There’s something off about him and I don’t like it. “Are you okay?” I ask as we reach his car.
He stops as he’s about to unlock it and turns to me. Tears run down his face. I don’t know what to say. He puts his arms around me and hugs me tight. I hug him back.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.” That’s when I realize he’s not crying for himself. He’s crying for me.
And I love him for it.
* * *
When we get back to his house, Zack is still quiet. We go up to his room.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“No.” He shakes his head. His eyes are wet again. “Fuck, Lex.”
I put my arms around him. His close around me. We stand there in the middle of his room holding each other. He sniffs once and squeezes me tight. I squeeze back.
After a few moments, he pulls back. “I gotta take this sweater off.”
I watch as he pulls it over his head. The yarn grabs the fabric of the T-shirt he’s wearing underneath and pulls it up, revealing his midriff and back.
I see the scars his father gave him—vicious and permanent. They are thin, sharp tears that I can’t imagine inflicting upon anyone you’re supposed to love, let alone your kid.
I reach out and touch one—gently. Zack stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away. I step closer, push his shirt up, and press my lips where my fingers had been, against that warm smooth ridge.
“Lex,” he whispers, but he doesn’t stop me when I move in front of him and pull his shirt up. He bends slightly and lifts his arms, helping me. I toss his T-shirt over the chair by his desk and close his bedroom door.
He looks confused.
I step back, and he watches me as I grab the hem of my sweater and pull it over my head. Zack’s gaze moves from one mark to the next, before lifting to meet mine. “You’re beautiful,” he says.
I blink against the heat that needles the backs of my eyes. “So are you.”
“You don’t have to do this,” he says.
“I want to,” I tell him. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to do this with.
” Sober, clear-headed, and without expectations.
He swallows. I unfasten my jeans with trembling fingers and step out of them. My underwear follows. I stand there, naked and unashamed in the fading light.
Zack’s gaze turns dark and hot. Color flushes high on his cheekbones. He unbuckles his belt and soon he’s naked too.
I’ve seen a lot of naked men. None of them were as beautiful as Zack. I walk toward him, unafraid.
When our bodies meet, I push him backward, until the back of his legs hit the bed. He draws me down onto the comforter with him. We lie facing each other.
“What should I do?” I ask.
His fingers brush my cheek. “Whatever you want.”
“I want to touch you.”
He lies back, splays his arms out across the bed. He lets me explore him with fingers and lips, from his face to his feet. His skin is warm, the muscle beneath firm and strong. I’m amazed by the textures and tastes that are so perfectly blended into his body. I want to know every inch of him.
When I finally lie down beside him, he’s trembling. He kisses me like the bed is the desert and I’m a lake. I give myself up to it. This is what it feels like to be wanted—not as a thing, but as a person.
“Tell me what to do,” he says, lips brushing my eyelids, my cheeks, my neck. I sigh. He moves lower.
“Oh,” I say, heat flooding my cheeks. “Yeah. Do that.”
He does to me what I did to him, his hands and lips tracing every inch of me until my skin tingles and I feel like there’s an electrical hum resonating from deep inside me.
“Zack,” I say—it’s a breath, a plea. “I want…”
He grabs a packet from the bedside table, opens it, and puts the condom on. Then he’s on his back, lifting me above him, letting me take control. Our gazes lock, and I reach down …
His eyelashes flutter. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I put my hands on either side of his head. His palms are warm on my back as his gaze lifts to mine and stays there as our breaths mix, friction warming our skin. We don’t speak, barely blink. My fingers dig into the pillow. There’s a second when I’m afraid of what I’m feeling in my body and in my mind. I have a choice—open a door and hide, or let go.
What Unbreakable Looks Like Page 25
