23. Mimosa
CHAPTER 23
Mimosa
Well.
Fuck.
I step out of the building and immediately regret not grabbing at least a sweater before I left because it’s a lot cooler now than it had been earlier in the day. My legs are freezing.
At least I’ve got the laptop and the new wallet with his credit card in it. I’m sure he’ll cut off my access soon enough, but I manage to buy a coffee and load up a subway card.
While I wait for the train, I look at the subway map. I can’t go to the university, and my old room has probably been rented out again. I don’t really want to see my former roommates, and we weren’t close enough for me to want to spill my guts about why I disappeared without paying rent.
Funny that none of them went to the police. Or maybe they did, and they were told nothing could be done.
The train arrives, and I hop on with all the other commuters.
There’s only one other place in the city I can think of.
It takes me almost an hour to get to my sister’s apartment. It’s not the worst place we’ve lived, but it’s far out of the way. I know she’d been talking about moving somewhere nicer before… everything.
I go into the building—the front door isn’t even locked—and walk up the three flights of stairs to her door.
It takes me several minutes to work up the courage to knock.
When the door opens, I brace myself for seeing a stranger and having to explain that I’d gotten the wrong house.
But it’s Irene on the other side.
She’s skinnier than I remember, and her eyes are more sunken than before. But as soon as she sees me, she gasps and wraps her arms around me.
“Amber! Oh my god, oh my god.” She pulls back enough that I can see the tears in her eyes. “You’re alive. I thought… fuck, Giulio said…”
“Yeah, I’m alive,” I say, calm—or maybe just empty. “Can I come inside?”
Irene nods and steps aside, motioning me in. She closes the door and follows close behind, one hand on my wrist, like she’s afraid I’m going to disappear.
There’s less furniture than last time. The small living room looks bare without the armchairs, and the TV is gone, too. I sit down on the couch, and Irene follows, wrapping her arms around me again.
“Amber,” she says, sobbing. “I’m so glad. I can’t believe…”
“Do you have a blanket?” I ask. “My legs are cold.”
She jumps up immediately and nods. “Yes, of course. One second.” She rushes off to the bedroom.
What am I doing here?
My hands curl into fists as I look around. I’d spent months trapped in a small cell of a room, servicing men, all because my sister had pissed off Giulio Pavone—her employer. Her nice boss , the one who tipped well and was always chatty and friendly and made sure the club was clean and orderly.
Irene returns with the blanket and hands it to me. “Do you want tea? Or food? I could order takeout, or?—”
“You didn’t tell me you were a prostitute,” I say, my voice still flat.
She flinches, fidgeting as she looks past me instead of at me. “I wasn’t really?—”
I give her a look, and she stops.
Sighing, s he says, “It wasn’t something I was particularly proud of, Amber.” She comes to sit on the couch again, leaving distance between us this time. “And I never meant to drag you into this.” The tears well up in her eyes again. “I am so, so sorry. I never thought Giulio would do that. If I had, I wouldn’t have tried to leave. I just thought, I could have a higher paying job, and?—”
“Yeah. Guess the higher wages were worth it.” I play with the strap of the leather bag. “It’s not like the mob took it out of your hide.”
Irene hunches down on the couch, looking miserable. “I know. I know . Giulio was—” She shudders, then finally seems to clue in on the fact that I’m actually here. “Wait. How are you actually here? Did you run? Do we need to be getting out of the city? I have a little bit of money saved up.”
“It’s fine. I don’t think anyone will look for me.” I don’t think Drake will, in any case. He’d been very sure of how little he wanted me around.
I don’t want to think about that. I’d rather be angry at Irene than be fucking worried for Drake.
I’d given him a chance. More than one chance.
But I don’t want to be his personal punching bag.
If I’m going to be in a relationship with someone—and it feels unbelievable to think about being with Drake anything like a relationship — I need to trust that they aren’t going to lash out at me all the time, and that my fucking feelings actually matter to them.
“Giulio called me Mimosa ,” I say, mostly to change the subject. “Because you were Champagne.”
Irene doesn’t quite look at me. “He made some really disgusting comments about a sister act,” she mumbles.
I laugh bitterly. “Yeah, I heard that one.” I fumble with the blanket and bend forward, squeezing my eyes shut. “Irene, I want to hate you. You’re the reason I went through all that shit. But…” My voice cracks again, and all my blinking isn’t stopping my eyes from watering. “I think I need my sister right now.”
“Oh, Amber,” she breathes, and without hesitation, she gets close and throws her arms around me. “I understand how you could hate me, I really do. I hate myself for it, too, bu t I’m just so glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re finally safe. I love you, sis. No matter what. And I’ll do my best to take care of you.” She winces. “I don’t have much, but I’m at least not working for Giulio Pavone anymore.”
I rest my head against her shoulder and sob quietly, my shoulders shaking. “Good. Fuck him. Fuck all men. They’re all fucking pigs.”
Irene strokes my hair gently and nods. “They really are. Fuck.” She keeps me held close, squeezing me. “You’re staying, aren’t you?” she asks, sounding anxious. Fragile. Part of me wants to resent her for that when I’m the one who’s been through hell, but then… I don’t know what she’s gone through, either. “I only have the one room, but I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“We can share the bed,” I say. I wipe at my eyes. “But yeah. I’ll stay. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to go.”
Because, just as I’d expected, Drake had taken what could have been good and ripped it apart.
Breakfast is simple instant oatmeal, bland and boring. It’s comforting too, though, because this is what Irene and I used to eat every morning back when she was still caring for me.
“Sorry I don’t have anything more filling,” Irene says, probably for the third time.
“I’ll buy groceries later.” I finish the oatmeal and get up to do the dishes. “Do you work today? I can sort out the household and start job hunting while you’re gone.”
She nods. “I’ve got a shift starting at noon.” She pauses, then adds, “At a restaurant. I’m not doing… that anymore. And I promise, it’s not run by the mafia.” She lets out a nervous laugh. “At least, as far as I know.”
“Oh.” I turn the water off and stare at the sink, now half-filled. “Pavone let you out? Was that before or after?—”
I cut myself off. No. I don’t need to dwell on the past. She can’t change it; I can’t change it. Ultimately, the real people who caused all this shit are men like Giulio Pavone and… and…
Irene flin ches. “You don’t have to do the dishes, you know.” But she’s stalling, and I pin her with a look until she goes on, “I honestly don’t know. One day, I was working at the shittiest strip club he owns, and the next, he said someone bought out my…” Her lips twist in distaste. “Contract.”
The spoon I’m holding splashes into the sink. “What? Bought? When?”
“About a week ago now. He gave me enough cash to catch up on rent, then kicked me out. I got the job waitressing right after,” she says.
A week ago.
I cling to the side of the counter and force myself to take deep breaths. “You don’t know who ‘bought’ you?”
Irene gets close to me, putting an arm around me. “Amber? What’s wrong? No, I don’t, but Elena — Giulio’s manager — told me it was final, that there were no strings attached. Somehow. She was really cagey about the whole thing.”
“I know Elena,” I snap. “But if it was a week ago…” I let out a mangled laugh. “Shit. Did he really? Did Drake really fucking buy you without even telling me?”
Confusion flits across her face. “Who?”
“Drake—” I stop myself before I reveal his last name. “He bought me. Used me. But I guess he started liking me, and tried to change, only yesterday he kicked me out, and…” I laugh again. “You know, I told him that doing a nice thing just to win approval wasn’t really nice at all. But he did this without even so much as hinting at it?”
Irene still looks perplexed, but she steps away from me. “I really don’t know,” she says apologetically. “But this… Drake? He bought you, but he let you go? That sounds like some real Beauty and the Beast shit right there.”
“Beast in personality, I guess, but he’d have an easy time getting women.” I stand straighter and go back to the dishes, this time washing them more forcefully. “Anyway, he was having a fit yesterday and kicked me out because he couldn’t deal with me not taking his attitude. So this is better. It’s definitely better. I don’t need to put up with him, and if he’s surrounded by people who hate him, that’s his own fucking fault, and…”
“Of cour se it’s better. If he bought you and—” She averts her eyes. “And did things to you, good fucking riddance. He bought you, Amber. You’re just lucky he kicked you out instead of doing worse.”
I’d expected him to. That was why I’d taken my shirt off. I figured I’d just get it over with, let him fuck his anger out while I zoned out and pretended I wasn’t heartbroken over him going back to his old self.
Only he hadn’t done that. He’d tossed me out instead.
I sigh and run wet fingers through my hair. “He probably kicked me out to stop himself from doing worse,” I say quietly. “Because he didn’t want to hurt me anymore.”
It’s clearer now. My heart still aches, my mind is still rebelling, but if I look at things closely, I can follow Drake’s less-than-rational line of thinking.
“Okay, and?” Irene asks. “He made you leave so he wouldn’t fucking hurt you? It sounds like he needs serious help.” It’s her turn to stare me down. “And that’s not help he deserves to get from you. I’m not stupid. I can see how bad you’re hurting. I don’t think for one second that he was ever kind or compassionate after the whole buying a person thing.” She pauses, though, and her voice is hopeful as she says, “Unless he was?”
“I don’t know. He got nicer.” I move to sit at the kitchen table again. “He was in withdrawal from some meds. I don’t know which exactly, but he was self-medicating with them. And between that and whatever happened to him at work that day…” I smile darkly. “Let’s not forget a small dose of Stockholm syndrome. Which I know isn’t a real diagnosis, but that’s as close as I’m getting right now without my textbooks.”
Irene joins me at the table, sitting down next to me and squeezing my arm. “You need to stay away from him,” she says emphatically. “How would you feel if I said I was going to like… beg Giulio Pavone for another job? He’s a human trafficking piece of shit, nice act or otherwise. And yeah, I know the guy bought me out of there, but one good deed doesn’t mean someone’s changed. You know that.”
“Yeah.” I press the palm of my hand against my eyes. “Yeah. I can’t do anything now. He made his bed, so he’ll have to lie in it.”
I say that, but I know as soon as she’s at work, I’m going to be researching everything I know about Drake ’s symptoms and those pills I saw him taking.
He really is a psych student’s dream.
But if I’m being honest, I don't just want to psychoanalyze him. I want to save him from himself.