Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
FRANCESCA
The next day, I drag myself from class to class, grateful to escape Westlake at lunchtime, which, considering the destination, speaks volumes about how unsettled I am in school. I arrive at the sexual health clinic fifteen minutes early for my appointment and rather than wait in my car or inside, I pace back and forth in the parking lot, needing to release my nervous energy.
In a few days, I’ve gone from thinking my problems were nearly over, to having a mountain of new trouble dumped on top of the old.
It’s knocked me sideways, but it’s about time I asserted some control. Nobody is going to save me. I take out my new phone and scroll through the saved contact list until I find the number for freezer-removal-dude.
The man had said no rainchecks and no refunds, but he’s got five grand of my money, and I need to try. Perhaps he’ll be more open to those options if a crying girl is on the other end of the line.
It can’t hurt. I press dial.
“No refunds,” the gruff voice answers.
“Wait! Please… Let me… A boy broke in and held me hostage. I tried to get him to leave, but I…” The tears flow without any encouragement. “I couldn’t get him out, and now everything’s ruined.”
“Nice try, darling,” he scoffs.
“It’s the truth! He broke into my house when I wasn’t there and when I came home, he hurt me.”
There’s no verbal response, but faint noises tell the man is listening more closely.
Suddenly, I’m back in the locker room, hearing Kincaid’s threat. For the five grand this is costing…
He told me how cheap it would be to order my murder. I should see if the reverse is true. “If you won’t reschedule the old job, how about a new one? How much to kill someone?”
“Kill who?”
“Kincaid Tana.”
There’s a pause, then he clicks his tongue, sounding amused. “Lady, if that’s the guy who broke in, you’ve got bigger problems than your freezer. There ain’t no one gonna touch that family. Cut your losses and run while you still can.”
“I can’t run until the freezer’s sorted.”
“Mm. Sounds like a you problem.”
“What about a new identity?”
He clicks his tongue again. “Three k for documents, up front. Birth certificate. Driver’s licence. Passport. What ethnicity do you want?”
“Only if you do the other job. I’m not paying you in advance again when the first—”
“You’re pushing your luck, sweetheart.” I fall silent. It’s not as though I have leverage. “No,” he says after a short pause. “You’re too high a risk. Thanks for the free money, but we’re done.”
He rings off before I can argue, and I stand outside the clinic for a moment longer, struggling to keep my breathing steady.
When I’m as calm as I going to get, I head inside for my appointment.
After checking-in with the practice nurse, I take a seat. It’s hard to keep still in the waiting room. Everywhere I turn there are bright posters with clear information. The entire vibe is non-judgemental, but the voices in my head are less forgiving.
Most of them sound like my stepdad and my body tenses, anticipating a punishment because that’s what it’s been trained to receive.
Guilt grows with the thought of how my body reacts to Kincaid. He’s turning me into the slut Mike accused me so many times of being. I resent every flutter of pleasure that proves my stepfather correct, yet in a perverse way, that adds to the experience. A spit in Mike’s face. Revelling in my behaviour, knowing he would have been horrified.
My knee bounces, the motion enough to draw attention from a girl waiting across from me. Each time her eyes fix on my leg, I stop, then it starts with me barely noticing.
Mike would hate this place.
No, that’s not quite right.
He’d hate me being in this place and even that isn’t entirely correct. Part of him would rejoice—any excuse to hurt and degrade me.
My knee jiggles. The girl glances over. I stop, this time digging my fingernails into my arm.
“Francesca?”
“Yes.” I spring to my feet and follow her through the door.
Inside, the walls are a pale pastel green, pretty and soothing. I let my eyes rest on the colour, defocusing, and stay that way while I explain the reason for my visit.
A short conversation follows, and I squirm on the chair when she advises, in the softest, most caring voice I’ve ever heard anyone use, that they’re able to perform forensic evidence gathering if I’ve been the victim of a sexual assault.
“No, I—” my throat closes, the spectre of Kincaid’s uncle hovering. “No.”
She continues to another question, and I relax, recognising she’s working her way through a checklist. It’s not that she saw something in my mannerisms that prompted her to ask.
After five more questions, I agree to long-form protection.
“We can insert the IUD on premises if you’re able to wait. The next appointment is in another hour.”
“That’s fine.”
She gives me ibuprofen to prepare, and I take my seat in the waiting area again, not bothered that I’m missing my afternoon classes. I turn on my phone and see a string of messages.
Kincaid
Why aren’t you at lunch?
Kincaid
Aidan doesn’t know where you are. What’s happening?
Kincaid
Meet me in the music room before fourth period
Kincaid
Where are you?
Kincaid
WHERE ARE YOU???
I don’t bother to reply. He’s not entitled to an explanation.
While my phone is out, I send a message to Mrs Singh at the bar, realising I haven’t seen the roster for this weekend.
Chess
Hey, just checking on my weekend hours. I’ve replaced my phone
Five minutes later, a message comes back.
Mrs Singh
The roster’s already gone out with your replacement. If you’ve changed your mind about resigning, you’ll need to reapply for the position, no guarantees
Resigned? My breath catches. It must’ve been Kincaid.
I’m about to send another message—the bar is the only place that works around my school schedule—then the nurse calls my name again.
Un-resigning will have to wait until later, if Mrs Singh will even let me. She’s not the type of person who’ll easily forgive or forget, and it’s not like Kincaid will apologise for his behaviour.
Even if I talk her into giving my job back, he’ll probably do something to ruin it again.
The doctor has another sheet of questions before she goes ahead with the procedure, which doesn’t take long. A few seconds of the most intense pain I can ever remember, and it’s done.
After resting in the waiting room for another half hour, I leave.
There’s still a chance I could make it back to Westlake for last period, but I don’t even try. I pop out the SIM from the new phone, reset it to factory settings, and place it back inside its box, doing the same with the bracelet, then walk to a pawn shop at the edge of the mall.
I refuse to feel guilty for pawning Kincaid’s gifts. Not when I’m outraged over the loss of my job.
But I’m still nervous as hell. Like any moment he’s going to come flying through the door, demanding to know what I’m doing.
Prickles nest between my shoulder blades while the appraiser scrutinises the jewellery. Each noise makes me jump, and when a car backfires on the street right outside, I nearly bite through my tongue.
“This is a nice piece. Are you sure you want to sell it?”
I place my hands flat on the counter to hide the trembling. “Yes, I’m sure.”
He sucks air in over his teeth, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Best I can do is ten percent. Say… twelve hundred?”
I duck my head to hide the shock.
Kincaid spent twelve thousand on a bracelet.
“Look, sweetheart. This obviously has sentimental value—”
“No, it really doesn’t. It’s just…” I shake myself. Get it together! “I was trying to do addition in my head,” I add, pulling a face.
“Ah, maths. Always a mistake.”
I titter along to the small joke, then flash a wide smile. “Can’t you go any higher?”
He screws up his face like he’s in pain. “To help a sweet girl like yourself? I could maybe go to fifteen hundred.”
“What about this phone?” I push the box across the counter. “Or the two together?”
“This is new?”
“Yeah.” I watch as he fingers the broken seal. “It was a gift, and I took it out to look at it, but it’s never been used.”
He smacks his lips. “Two thousand for both.”
“Twenty-five hundred and I’ll need another phone.”
He grabs a twenty-nine-dollar burner from a hook behind him. “Twenty-two and that’s my best offer.”
“Throw in a twenty-buck top up card and it’s a deal.”
After a second’s pause, he nods, scanning a card and adding it to the phone. “You got a deal.”
I pocket the cash, insert my SIM and type in the top up code, then find the contact’s number again and dial.
Our last conversation went off course, but this anonymous man has to come through for me.
I don’t have anywhere else to go.
The moment the phone clicks, I start talking. “Two thousand to resume the first job. No extras. Just dispose of the freezer with two grand worth of apology for making you reschedule.”
He doesn’t stop to think about it. He doesn’t even draw breath. “Call this number again and I’ll send four men to your home to make sure you understand why it’s a bad idea.”
The dial tone sounds in my ear.
My eyes close as I fight to contain my emotions. Part of me wants to mash my thumb on the call button, to get him on the line and keep him there until he understands.
But he does understand, that’s the problem.
He understands and doesn’t care.
“If you need more,” the man behind the counter calls, “perhaps we can come to some arrangement.” He licks his already wet lips and hitches up the belt hidden beneath his overflowing beer belly.
A wave of nausea rolls through me, sweat beading on my forehead.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” I say, running from the store and back to my car, slamming the lock once I’m inside.
I’m back to doing the job myself unless… I stare blankly out the window.
Unless I run. Toss my fate to the wind and go.
I’ve resisted that option, scared the police will track me down, but also because I’ve been unwilling to trash my dreams for the future. As a frightened child, I spent hours staring at the stars, syncing my ambition with my yearning for escape.
But if a sacrifice is needed… better to give up my dreams than my life. I can always find a new goal.
I drive home, sickness still rolling in my stomach, the discomfort settling into cramps like I’ve got my period. There’s a pile of delivery boxes at the front door and I kick them out of my way, not caring what’s inside.
The last thing I want is to increase my debt to Kincaid. I’d rather spend the rest of the day pretending he doesn’t exist.
After filling a hot water bottle to the brim, I cradle it against my abdomen to numb the cramping and curl in bed with a book, happy to escape into fantasy worlds.
And when awful thoughts flicker in my head, I put my hand beneath my pillow to touch the knife handle and remind myself that I’m a girl who can do very bad things.