Chapter Eight
Ring-O-Fire
Juliet
“ D O YOU THINK I could do tricks with this?” Even though I didn’t need it anymore, I scootered in circles around the couch. “Maybe a sick kickflip or some ramps. Oh! I know. I could try to scooter my way through the ring-o-fire.”
“Ring-o-fire?” Ms. Vera asked, setting my lunch tray down.
For a glorious week, I’d devoured amazing food. Devastatingly, the coffee had been a one-time treat, but lunch had started including a mini can of Diet Coke. Coffee was my first love, but Diet Coke was a close second.
I’d taken baths with bombs and salts and oils and whatever other fruity fragranced items my bathroom was stocked with. I’d binged movies. I’d read.
As amazing as it’d been—especially compared to my real life or a slow death in the desert sun—I was beginning to go stir-crazy again. A happier stir-crazy than last time, but still.
“Sit and eat,” Ms. Vera said.
“I will. I just need to finish my laps. I’m training for the scooter X Games and since my ankle is better, my time is limited.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your lunch time is limited today, too.”
“Why?”
“Because Mr. Freddy made you a BLT and soup, and if you don’t eat it, I will.” I almost believed her until I saw her smile.
I was good at reading people. Dad had taught me all about tells and cues, and I’d gotten good at picking up on them to avoid getting wailed on.
Ms. Vera had a big one.
Her mischievous smile.
My eyes narrowed. “What do you know?”
“Nothing. Now eat.”
“I’ll eat when you tell me what you know.”
She sighed. “Fine. Starve. Mr. Freddy’s broccoli cheese soup is my favorite.”
“Never mind,” I said, scootering over so fast, I nearly knocked into the table. I sat and removed the dome.
Holy shit, I could’ve sworn my birthday was a couple weeks ago, but maybe it’s today.
Picking up the soft white-bread sandwich, I bit in to the salty, tangy, fresh BLT and moaned. “Sometimes the basics really are the best.”
She gave me a pointed look for talking with my mouth full. “Manners.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, extending my pinkies.
“You’re a silly girl today,” she said, but I wasn’t sure she meant it as a compliment.
“I’m in a good mood,” I said. Probably a better one than I had any right being in, all things considered.
Darkness pushed in, threatening to steal my appetite and good mood.
Into the box.
Into the box.
There.
Crazily enough, I was pretty sure Ms. Vera read my internal battle because she busted out the big guns to distract me. “There’s a visitor coming tomorrow morning.”
Maximo.
I hadn’t seen him since he’d carried me to bed. Which was probably for the best because I doubted I could face him. I’d promised myself I’d never think about him when I touched myself again. It was wrong and stupid and more than a little sleazy.
But I still did it.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“A tutor.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
They know.
A pit in my belly grew even as a thrum of excitement buzzed through me.
“Why?” I asked, playing dumb.
“He’s going to see what areas you need help with so you can graduate.”
All areas.
Shame burned my cheeks. I didn’t want anyone to know how far behind I was.
I didn’t want them to know I was a high school dropout who’d only made it partway through tenth grade before her asshole father had decided school wasn’t a priority.
Appetite dead and gone, I nearly gagged on the bite of sandwich that suddenly felt like a chunk of asphalt. “I appreciate it, but I’ve already graduated.”
Ms. Vera’s eyes flashed with anger, and her easygoing, motherly disposition was gone.
Or maybe she became more motherly because she looked ready to ground me.
“Listen to me. Mr. Maximo hates liars. Learn this lesson and learn it fast. Learn it until it becomes as ingrained in your head as your own name. He will not tolerate liars. Not ever. Do you understand?”
I nodded because what was there to misconstrue?
“An education is important,” she continued. “A priceless gift that others die for.”
Finding my courage, I asked, “He knows I dropped out?”
“He knows you were,” she lifted her hands to make air quotes, “ homeschooled .”
“That’s really embarrassing,” I muttered.
“No, embarrassing would be having this opportunity and then turning it down because of stupid pride. Men throw away their lives for pride. Women are smarter.”
She has a point.
I focused on the excitement that flowed through me, allowing it to dim some of the shame. I’d always told myself I’d go back for my GED. Getting a tutor meant I wouldn’t have to wait.
My stomach loosened enough that I could eat a spoonful of the amazingly creamy soup. Then another. And a bunch more until the bowl was empty.
Only after I was full to bursting did Ms. Vera speak again, her expression somber. “Mr. Maximo is trusting you to work with the tutor in the dining room.”
“I won’t do anything stupid,” I vowed truthfully.
I’m not interested in a painful death in the scalding sunlight.
She gave a single nod. “The tutor owes Mr. Maximo a large sum of money. He’s agreed to work with you to settle those debts. He will not rescue you. He will not go to the cops. He knows you’re not here by choice, and he does not care. He cares about himself and staying alive.”
But I am here by choice now.
Wait, what?
Shut up, brain.
Keeping that insane thought to myself, I repeated, “I won’t do anything stupid.”
“If, for some reason, he tries to help you, he’ll be dealt with and so will you, sweet girl. Last week will seem like a vacation by comparison.”
With that ominous warning, she grabbed my tray and left.
_______________
Ms. Vera was only gone for a half hour before she returned, carrying a canvas tote.
“What’s up?” I asked, surprised to see her so soon. Usually she only came at mealtimes.
“I said you had plans this afternoon.” She reached into the bag and tossed me something.
I looked down to see what I’d caught.
A razor.
Well, it has been a while since I’ve been able to shave, but I don’t think it’ll take all afternoon.
She pulled something else out.
A pretty mauve two-piece.
“I can go outside?” I asked. “I can go swimming?”
She nodded and handed me the suit, plus a pair of flip-flops and a coverup. “Go change.”
Don’t gotta tell me twice.
I rushed into the bathroom and stripped down.
Sitting on the side of the tub, I shaved my legs as quickly as I could without nicking myself and bleeding out just as I was about to get a taste of freedom.
I pulled on the bottoms and ran my fingers along the scalloped edge.
The top had the same detailing on its square neckline.
I’d have gone out in my underwear or a garbage bag if it meant swimming, but it was still nice to wear something so cute.
Throwing on the coverup and sliding on the flip-flops, I literally ran back into the sitting room. “Ready.”
She gestured for me to spin around. “Sunblock.”
“Good idea.”
My painful sunburn from my failed escape was not an experience I was jonesing to repeat. Nor was the itching, disgusting peeling that’d followed.
Ms. Vera rubbed the coconut-scented lotion into my back before handing me the bottle to do the rest. I was just finishing turning myself into a human pina colada when no-longer-ignoring-me goon—or Cole, as I’d learned—opened the door.
He’d stopped glaring and had started half-smiling at me, so I’d taken that to mean he’d forgiven me for the room fiasco. Even glaring goon—or Marco—had warmed up to just ignoring me.
Progress all around.
Since Cole had ditched his suit for slacks and a tee, I wasn’t surprised when he followed Ms. Vera and me.
The only time I’d been in the hallway, I’d been drugged, high on pain meds, or running for my life. Since I was awake and not fleeing at top speed, my eyes darted all around, trying to take in everything at once.
There was beautiful Vegas themed art and photography on the light-gray walls. The plush carpet was white and shockingly spotless.
And there were doors. Twelve doors.
Who has twelve doors in their upstairs alone?
Two of them had weird locks that looked like something from a spy movie.
Intriguing.
I looked over my shoulder to see my room had one, too.
Are there other people held here?
No, I’d have heard.
Right?
After going downstairs, we turned toward the back of the house, passing the living room, dining room, another living room, and some closed doors. I gawked at the size of the place.
Who lives like this?
It was masculine and though it was lavish, there was an emphasis on comfort and coolness. It reminded me of the houses on old episodes of MTV Cribs that were decked out and upgraded with every feature available.
Reaching a sliding glass door at the back of the house, Vera opened it. The dry heat hit like a wall.
Even after living in Vegas for a couple years, I wasn’t used to the weather. I’d spent most of my life in places where blizzards in March were common, so it being hot enough to swim was bizarre.
Glorious, but bizarre.
I stepped outside and shielded my eyes from the blinding sun as I craned my neck to take in the house.
No, it wasn’t a house . It was a mansion. No. It was whatever was bigger than a mansion. I had no idea how many rooms there were, but there were a hell of a lot of tinted windows. One appeared to be floor to ceiling and was the width of three other windows combined.
I wonder what’s in there?
Spinning back toward the lawn, excitement buzzed through me as if I’d chugged four cups of coffee.
I wanted to touch and smell every plant.
I wanted to spread out on one of the thickly cushioned lounge chairs and soak in the sun.
But more than anything, I wanted to dive into the gorgeous blue water and swim until I was a wrinkly prune.
As I followed Ms. Vera and Cole to the patio, I realized that what I could see from my window was a very small fraction of the unusually shaped pool. The thing was massive. It even had a wide waterfall pouring from a rounded, stacked rock mound.
I kicked off my shoes and tossed my coverup onto a lounger before walking along the stone deck, occasionally dipping my toes into the warm water.
When I got to the other end, there was a rectangular planter of rocks that separated the pool from a hot tub.
I got a little closer and realized the planter was actually a fire pit that could be accessed from either side.
This is insane.
Seriously, who the heck lives like this?
The stone path continued to a small building that had the same color scheme and style as the house.
“What’s that?” I asked Vera.
“Pool house.”
That’s the…
No.
A pool house is the size of a shed. That’s a condo that would cost a few grand a month.
“You know how to swim?” Ms. Vera asked, sitting on a patio couch under the shade of an overhang.
“Yup.”
When we’d lived in NYC, my grandparents had taken me to the YMCA all the time.
“Have fun then.” She pulled a floppy hat out of her Mary Poppins bag of tricks and put it on before taking out a book with a shirtless, kilted man on the cover.
Jumping into the pool, I swam laps until my lungs burned and my arms ached.
I floated around for a while before going to check out the waterfall.
When I inched through the cascade, I expected to hit a pool wall, but there was a small alcove instead.
I moved farther in before banging my knee on the underwater stone bench that curved around the space.
Sitting, I stretched my legs out and enjoyed the cool mist that came from the waterfall.
Just a teeny tiny bit better than the pool at the Y, with its fungusy mats, annoying kids, and speedo-clad old men.
Going back out into the pool, I felt like a mermaid in a lagoon. It was a fantasyland out of an epic fairy tale, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the story would end soon.
And, contrary to most fairy tales, there’d be no happily ever after.
I used that to keep my walls up.
This isn’t my life.
This is a reprieve from hell.
And it’ll end.
Everything ends.
Until it did, though, I’d savor the paradise for what it was.
Temporary.