I reach for another. It’s a dress, a beautiful black dress. Like one that would belong to a beautiful wife in Manhattan.
I open another: A blouse.
Another: A shirt.
After opening all the packages, I stare at the neatly folded linens in front of me. I have clothes. Outfits even.
He grabs the box, collapsing it with his hands so he can shove it into the trash.
I reach for a hoodie from the pile and slip it on. If my skin could talk, it would sigh at the softness inside the sleeves. It fits perfectly. It makes me want to cuddle up on his couch with some sweats and just watch TV, like a normal person.
He scratches his head, looking the pile over, a glaze of uncertainty in his eyes.
“Do you have everything? Does the hoodie fit okay?” he nervously asks.
I smile and suddenly feel the urge to hug him. But I don’t. I pull my fist to myself to feel the softness of the sleeve against my face and nod. He forgot panties, but maybe he did that on purpose. My cheeks warm thinking about it, wondering if he deliberately forgot to get me underwear so I would walk around without any. As quick as the promiscuous thoughts come, it goes. He doesn’t want me. I’m used up and no good. He’s just being a nice guy. That’s who he is.
“It does. Thank you.”
A blanket of silence comes over both of us, neither of us knowing what to say or do next. My head slowly draws downward, my hair shielding my face and the emotions I don’t want him to see.
“Nobody has ever done something like this for me,” I whisper with sincerity in my voice.
I hear him moving from the other side of the kitchen and I peer up through my hair, he’s a foot away from me before our eyes collide. The intense stare that flares through his brown eyes, a moment I can’t identify passing between us. He reaches out, touching a strand of my hair and my breathing hitches in my chest, butterflies swarming in the pit of my stomach. It occurs to me I didn’t flinch or jerk away from him, then again, he didn’t really touch me. It’s just my hair. As long as it is, everyone is always touching it.
A ringing sound breaks through whatever is going on between us and he looks over his shoulder at his phone sitting on the bar stool. Walking away from me, I pull both my arms back up, the hoodie cocooning me into security.
“Hello?” He glances at me and then looks back down at the floor. “She’s where?” His voice has a high pitch of alarm in it.
Something is wrong. Who is he talking about? Who is she?
“I’m on my way.” He pulls the phone away from him and looks to me.
“I need to go, to leave.”
My eyes widen. I can’t go with him. I don’t want to go out there. I’m not ready.
Noticing my face pale, he runs his hand over his hair, slicking it back.
“You think you’ll be okay here?”
Relief makes me almost audibly gasp. I nod, but being here by myself without him is still a scary thought. What if the keepers are waiting for him to leave, to take me back. What if his dad comes to retrieve me? Something tells me his dad is nothing like him.
“Does- does anyone know I’m here?” I ask.
His brows pull together with concern. “No,” he simply replies, heading into his room.
Pulling my sleeve up, I run my hand over my arm until my fingertip comes across the grain-size bump conveying the GPS chip under my skin. I’ve seen women tear their own flesh to get theirs out, only to have it replanted in a place they can’t reach. But there’s nobody to replant one, this is my chance. I need it out, and now.
Romeo
Leaving the apartment, I hesitantly shut the front door behind me, my hand still on the knob as an uneasy feeling sits on my chest. I don’t like leaving her behind. What if she runs? I wanted her gone before, but now… I don’t. I can’t explain it. I just don’t want her to leave, not yet. What if my father knows I still have her and comes and takes her just to get at me?
Re-opening the door, I find her still standing in the kitchen. Her long blonde hair cascading down the front of the hoodie, one of her hands curling around the fabric of the sleeve, resting on her chin. I bought her, claiming her small frame. I’ve never seen someone so grateful for clothes, it made me feel good inside. My dark heart not knowing what to do with the felicitous feeling, I suddenly felt anxious and went mute.
The sun beams from the window behind her, making her look like a flower in the midst of an impersonal condo.
“Lock these doors. All of the locks,” I demand, my tone coming out harsher than I intend. She nods, those fucking green eyes making me want to stay, but my mom needs me. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I shut the door and make haste to the elevator. It’s day time, so Jannet will be working. Great, she’s about as observant as a sloth. When the elevator opens to the main lobby, the large glass chandelier hovers over the golden shiny marble flooring. The cream-colored walls toning down the extravagant gold atmosphere, it somehow works. I find Jannet sitting behind the desk with her nose in a book, her hand reaching for a cup with a straw. She has on a tight black shirt with her hair pulled back into a dark slick braid today. She never wears the uniform that Henry does. I bet the owner of this place has their hands full with her.
“Jannet.” She either doesn’t hear me, or ignores me.
Reaching over the counter, I grasp the book and jerk it from
