couldn’t bring herself to throw it out. She kept
it buried at the bottom of her bag, rubbing it through the canvas only when she really needed to, but never taking it out
to be seen. It seemed a reasonable compromise. She lived her life based on suspicion and compromise.
“You okay in there?”
The voice belonged to Devon’s lawyer—her benefactor, for the moment. He seemed like a decent sort, at least on first impression.
But she knew that first impressions could be misleading. She’d been around men enough to know to be careful. She was small
for her age; that played to her advantage. She dressed in loose T-shirts and baggy pants. Better not to draw attention; attention
could be dangerous. In a just and reasonable world, her youth alone would have been sufficient protection from unwanted advances,
but she had learned that the world was neither just nor reasonable.
She’d been ten the first time one of her mother’s “boyfriends” tried something. He and her mother had been out for most of
the night and her mother had passed out cold upon their return to the apartment. Frustrated, angry, and high, he had come
into Sally’s room and stood over her bed. She’d been petrified as she lay there, pretending to be asleep, praying that he
would go away. He hadn’t, though. She heard him pulling his clothes off. Shirt first; then pants; finally his underwear. He
stood there a few moments longer, staring at her, before he pulled up the blanket and climbed into bed with her. She could
smell the booze on his breath and oozing from his pores as he inched toward her. When he put out his hand and pulled her toward
him, she hadn’t fought. She rolled over toward him and opened her eyes. His pupils were wide and glassy, and a serpentine
smile crept across his face as he looked at her. Then he reached for her again and she closed her eyes and kicked out with
all the force she could muster, her shin driving home between his legs.
He screamed and she ran into the bathroom where her mother lay unconscious with her head against the sweating base of the
porcelain toilet. She locked the door and curled up beside her mother as the boyfriend, wounded both in body and in ego, beat
on the door and screamed curses at them both. The next morning, after Sally told her mother what had happened, the boyfriend
was sent away. Her mother cried for days and begged forgiveness from Sally, promising that she’d gotten high for the last
time. She was convincing enough that Sally even believed her, giving in to a flicker of hope.
A week later her mother came home, stoned again, with another man. That was when Sally realized fully for the first time that
no one would ever really protect her. After that, she learned how to protect herself at all costs, and few people messed with
her more than once.
The knock on the door came again. “Everything okay in there?” the lawyer called once more, an edge of concern in the voice.
“Fine,” she responded. She was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants that doubled as pajamas.
“Can I open the door?” he asked.
“It’s your door.”
The door slid open slowly and every muscle in her body went tight, the fight-or-flight response well conditioned. He looked
nervous as he stuck his head in the room, keeping his feet in the hallway. He stood there for a moment, leaning awkwardly.
“I have a TV,” he finally offered.
“Cutting-edge,” she replied.
“I don’t watch it much, but you’re welcome to watch whatever you want.”
She shook her head. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
He nodded. “Do you have everything you need? You want a glass of water or something?”
She shook her head again.
“Okay. If you need anything, give a shout.” He looked at her again for another moment, as if waiting for a response. Then,
clearly realizing that the conversation was over, he pulled his head back and closed the door.
She waited a couple of seconds
it buried at the bottom of her bag, rubbing it through the canvas only when she really needed to, but never taking it out
to be seen. It seemed a reasonable compromise. She lived her life based on suspicion and compromise.
“You okay in there?”
The voice belonged to Devon’s lawyer—her benefactor, for the moment. He seemed like a decent sort, at least on first impression.
But she knew that first impressions could be misleading. She’d been around men enough to know to be careful. She was small
for her age; that played to her advantage. She dressed in loose T-shirts and baggy pants. Better not to draw attention; attention
could be dangerous. In a just and reasonable world, her youth alone would have been sufficient protection from unwanted advances,
but she had learned that the world was neither just nor reasonable.
She’d been ten the first time one of her mother’s “boyfriends” tried something. He and her mother had been out for most of
the night and her mother had passed out cold upon their return to the apartment. Frustrated, angry, and high, he had come
into Sally’s room and stood over her bed. She’d been petrified as she lay there, pretending to be asleep, praying that he
would go away. He hadn’t, though. She heard him pulling his clothes off. Shirt first; then pants; finally his underwear. He
stood there a few moments longer, staring at her, before he pulled up the blanket and climbed into bed with her. She could
smell the booze on his breath and oozing from his pores as he inched toward her. When he put out his hand and pulled her toward
him, she hadn’t fought. She rolled over toward him and opened her eyes. His pupils were wide and glassy, and a serpentine
smile crept across his face as he looked at her. Then he reached for her again and she closed her eyes and kicked out with
all the force she could muster, her shin driving home between his legs.
He screamed and she ran into the bathroom where her mother lay unconscious with her head against the sweating base of the
porcelain toilet. She locked the door and curled up beside her mother as the boyfriend, wounded both in body and in ego, beat
on the door and screamed curses at them both. The next morning, after Sally told her mother what had happened, the boyfriend
was sent away. Her mother cried for days and begged forgiveness from Sally, promising that she’d gotten high for the last
time. She was convincing enough that Sally even believed her, giving in to a flicker of hope.
A week later her mother came home, stoned again, with another man. That was when Sally realized fully for the first time that
no one would ever really protect her. After that, she learned how to protect herself at all costs, and few people messed with
her more than once.
The knock on the door came again. “Everything okay in there?” the lawyer called once more, an edge of concern in the voice.
“Fine,” she responded. She was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants that doubled as pajamas.
“Can I open the door?” he asked.
“It’s your door.”
The door slid open slowly and every muscle in her body went tight, the fight-or-flight response well conditioned. He looked
nervous as he stuck his head in the room, keeping his feet in the hallway. He stood there for a moment, leaning awkwardly.
“I have a TV,” he finally offered.
“Cutting-edge,” she replied.
“I don’t watch it much, but you’re welcome to watch whatever you want.”
She shook her head. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
He nodded. “Do you have everything you need? You want a glass of water or something?”
She shook her head again.
“Okay. If you need anything, give a shout.” He looked at her again for another moment, as if waiting for a response. Then,
clearly realizing that the conversation was over, he pulled his head back and closed the door.
She waited a couple of seconds
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