Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CASPER
It took two days for me to finally strike a deal with Don-Don. Partly because I didn’t have much to offer him when I was glued to a hospital bed, and partly because it was hard communicating with a fucker whose brain was mush. Especially when you couldn’t talk.
His sign language was about as shit as mine was, and reading wasn’t in the guy’s short list of favorite activities. So we settled on an awkward game of charades. Thankfully, crude hand gestures were something Donnie was more than capable of understanding.
He was definitely more of a visual learner.
It was the password to Bugs’s favorite porn account that finally had the horny bastard agreeing to swiping Bellatrix’s bag out of Lambo’s office and bringing it to me.
Then the offer of a quick handy had him loosening one of my wrist straps and forgetting to tighten it again before he left.
Wasn’t much the guy wouldn’t do to get a nut off and there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do in general.
If you could beat your own meat, you could beat someone else’s. The technique didn’t change, just the angle.
And if you’re scrunching your nose up at that, it’s clear you don’t know what it is to be desperate. Or imaginative. I was both.
As soon as the fucker was gone and a few cum stains lighter, I reached across the hospital bed and undid the strap on my other wrist. Then I pushed myself upright, grabbed the backpack, and dragged it onto my lap, digging through the contents until I found what I was looking for.
I dropped the notebook in front of me and hunkered down for some light reading. Didn’t know what was in here. But it was important enough for Girly Pop to pack it up with the rest of her gear. Which told me it was juicy enough for me to snag.
Shit was old, like one of those books my aunt used to write down all her recipes in, the paper yellow and the ink smeared with time. I flipped through the first few pages, skimming past all the boring shit before my eyes caught on a name I recognized.
Tuesday, July 7th
Dear Notebook,
I start next Monday. Mr. Prescott was nicer than I imagined he’d be.
He has a son a few years younger than I am.
A blonde, broody boy. Bad news. He didn’t pay me much mind, thankfully.
He was too focused on Maria—the girl who got hired with me.
She didn’t say anything but I could tell she didn’t like that boy looking at her. So I did most of the talking.
I was polite! I promise. Though I may have accidentally slapped his hand away with a dish towel. Sometimes you just have to teach children that touching the stove means you get burned. That’s what Mama says.
Point was… Tate Edward Prescott III seemed to take the hint. He left Maria alone for the rest of the tour. Though I got a few dirty looks.
Fingers crossed it’s enough to make sure he behaves. If it’s not, then I may have to give him a lesson on proper manners.
—V—
Thursday, March 3rd
Something bad happened. Really bad. Maria… She’s not okay. I tried to show her a brave face. But I’m not okay either.
I don’t know what to do.
I’m lying. I know what to do. I don’t have any choice but to talk to Mr. Prescott about his son. It’s probably going to cost me my job. But no job is worth what Maria is going through.
I’m going to do it tomorrow, though. I have to take Maria to the clinic first. She’s worried about the cost of everything. I’ll drop a few classes if she needs the extra cash. Some things are more important. I can take the classes next semester. Or double up.
I’m not going to let some silver-spooned brat stop me. And I won’t let him stop Maria.
—V—
Friday, March 4th
Dear Notebook,
Mr. Prescott took it better than I thought he would. He didn’t yell and he didn’t make excuses. It gives me hope that there are actually good men in this world.
I have another meeting in his office this coming Monday. He wants an update on Maria. He wants to know what he can do to help her. She hasn’t been back to work. She’s scared. And I can understand why. I was scared too.
I’m not now though. I’m determined.
I don’t think Mr. Prescott is going to call the cops or send Tate to jail or anything. The justice system doesn’t treat wealthy folks the same as the rest of us. I’m not na?ve. I know that. It’s why attending law school has always been so important to me.
But real progress, real change takes time. It means taking steps in the right direction. Even if that direction is only reformatory school for a misogynistic predator.
I don’t know how someone like Tate came from a man like Mr. Prescott. Maybe that thing Gran used to say was true. Spare the rod, spoil the child.
Tate definitely never received a good whooping in his life, and spoiled is putting it mildly. That boy is rotten to the core.
—V—
Tuesday, March 8th
I was wrong. So very wrong. Wealthy people never face justice. Men never face justice. We are in this alone.
But I’m not giving up. I won’t give them the satisfaction.
—V—
Saturday, May 21st
Dear Notebook,
I quit school. I’ve decided to go about things a little differently. This can’t wait for me to earn a law degree, and I can’t wait for the slow wheels of justice to turn. I can’t trust the same system that allows—no, HELPS—no, ENSURES these people thrive.
The rules don’t apply to them, and they shouldn’t apply to me either. It’s time to even out the playing field. They go low, I am going to go lower. And lower still if I have to.
I am going back to work on Monday. Someone needs to keep an eye out for Maria and the other girls.
They can do what they want with my body. They will never have my mind. They can’t take that from me. I will learn everything there is to know about Tate Edward Prescott III and his father.
I will learn it all and I will use it to destroy them. To take everything from them. Everything they are so keen to keep to themselves. Till nothing is left…
—V—
Thirty minutes later, the sound of footsteps clomping down the hall had me shoving the notebook under a pillow.
I tossed the backpack across the room—there was no use pretending I didn’t have it.
Bossman would realize it was missing. And looped my arms back into my restraints just in time for Don-Don to come stomping in.
He looked down at my wrist. I grinned and waved.
I honestly thought it would take a lot longer for him to figure it out. Guess his brain was getting slightly less mushy with all the work the doc had been doing on him.