Read Online The Girl She Used to Be by David Cristofano - Free Book Online Page A

myself and play with my hair and all
     I smell is chlorine and minerals. I have no perfume, no scented soaps, no body lotion—nothing to reaffirm my femininity except
     the Mitchum invisible stick I tossed into my garbage bag.
    Try as I might to look like a woman, the best I can manufacture is a middle-schooler. My fingernails and toenails are chipped
     of their polish and a third of my fingernails are broken. My hair is short and spiky no matter what I do to it, and there
     is no conditioner in my government-issue bag of goodies. No eyeliner, no mascara, no blush. Why didn’t I pack these items
     that are so crucial to the existence of a woman? Because when you are on the run—for real—you would not make time to pack
     them, or much else, for that matter; anything beyond clothing might seem suspect to the Marshals Service.
    So I look like a boy. Again.
    I slip on a fresh pair of jeans—one of the few items I did bring with me (the only pair that has fit me this well in the last
     five years)—and a tight blue cotton T-shirt that is more functional than suggestive.
    I walk out of the bathroom and Sean is missing. A slight tingling runs through me at the thought that Jonathan forced his
     way into my room and was caught off guard at the presence of the marshal—a notion that in retrospect seems unlikely—and that
     he dragged Sean’s bloody, limp body to the Chesapeake.
    So I am not surprised when I find Jonathan next to the side of the bed, out of view of the bathroom.
    He covers his eyes and asks, “Are you decent?”
    I move over to the bed and stick my hands in the pockets of my jeans, annoyed by the constant switching of men in my room.
     “You’re very polite for a captor, you know that?”
    He peeks out of the corner of his eye. “We have to leave
now
.”
    Nervous perspiration begins to pool on my body; I’m miffed since I just showered. “Today is the last day of the rest of my
     life.”
    He sighs and steps closer to me. “I promised I wouldn’t hurt you, didn’t I?”
    “Yes, but you’re a liar. I’ve known you for just a few minutes and you’ve already lied to me.”
    “What did I lie about?”
    “You told me Sean makes forty thousand a year. He makes fifty-three.”
    He frowns and reaches for his cigarettes. “Perhaps you missed my point, Melody. You feel any safer with him knowing he makes
     an extra thirteen K a year?”
    Fair enough.
    He lights one up and adds, “Pay a guy a half mil a year and you’ll get real protection.”
    “Is that what you guys charge for protection?”
    “Bite me.”
    “The President of the United States is guarded by guys that make the same amount as Sean, you know.”
    “The President is guarded by
ten
guys that make what your deputy makes. So we’re right back at a half mil.” He glances at me. “I find it entertaining that
     you call your little clam-digging friend Sean, instead of marshal
or
deputy
.
”
    “We have a… sort of… connection.”
    He laughs and tries to muffle his voice, as though Sean might be around the corner. “Yeah, well, expect to get disconnected
     very soon.”
    I roll my eyes. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? And where is Sean?”
    “Sean is… delayed. He’s having a bit of, um, tummy trouble.”
    I inhale a lungful of side-stream smoke. It feels good, actually. “Is that some inane metaphor for having sliced his stomach
     to pieces?”
    He slouches in my direction, like he’s disappointed in me. “Now, does that seem like my style?”
    “What do I know? It was definitely your dad’s style.”
    He quickly looks away. “Yeah, well, that’s sort of why I’m here.”
    “Your daddy send you on an errand?”
    He stares at his cigarette and extinguishes it instead of taking another drag. Eventually, he looks up at me and his eyes
     sag and it seems I’ve genuinely hurt his feelings. I’m guessing poor Jonathan might have some issues with his father. I can
     only imagine.
    He stops looking me in the