Did he really expect me to fight for him?

I’m not here to fight for him.

I’m here to tell the truth.

And now it seems like the truth is clearer than ever.

His eyes meet mine, and I see anger in them. Betrayal. Like this is my fault.

But he made his own choices. Just like I made mine. Whatever consequences we have to face are our own fault.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I wait back in the cold room, sitting on the metal chairs, drinking water and laying my head on the wobbly table until Sarah comes in.

I’m not sure what to expect, but a part of me doesn’t really care. I feel numb.

I pick my head up just in time for her to wrap her arms around me in a huge hug.

“That was incredible,” she says, though I’m not sure what was incredible or even good at all.

She talks a little bit about the trial, the parts I didn’t get to see and how things changed once I’d spoken. Both sides were supposed to question me, but Luis’s lawyer said they didn’t want to.

Apparently the truth was bad enough that his lawyer was afraid to let me say anything else.

Sarah says I was “that good.” She tells me that she spoke to Jackson, who seems like “a nice young man.” She says that he said to tell me he’s proud of me and he’ll see me as soon as I’m ready.

After a moment, I ask, “Is the trial over?”

“The hearing is, but the verdict won’t be in for a little while. The lawyers are considering making some kind of deal for Luis to turn in some of his friends.”

“Oh,” I say. I wonder if he would really do that. I mean, they lied profusely to help him out, but maybe they were just trying to help themselves. Which is better, saying you had sex with a thirteen-year-old girl, or saying you paid to have sex with her against her will?

“What about the janitor?” I ask.

“Him, too. Are you willing to give some names?”

I nod. “But I don’t know all of their full names. Some of them were there, in the crowd, though.”

Her eyes grow a little bigger, but then she lets out a long breath, like she’s just too tired. “We’ve done enough for the day. Your mom wanted to see you. Are you up for it?”

I’m not really sure, but my body seems to answer for me. After years of feeling like I can’t rely on my mom, I suddenly need her. The feel of her arms around me. The quiet security of her love.

As soon as my mother sees me, she puts her arms around me.

“I love you, Anna,” she says.

“I love you, too,” I say, tears stinging my eyes.

I’m not even sure what I’m crying about. Maybe I’m just too exhausted. My mother holds me tighter, rubs my arms, and whispers in my ear, “Everything’s going to be fine. I love you, and I’m here for you.”

This feeling is a strange one. Bittersweet. Almost like heartbreak… Somehow this feeling is painful and good. Like I’m raw but healing. Finally, I’m healing.

I know things between my mom and me aren’t completely healed, but I’m happy to have this little piece of normal. A little bit of acceptance.

My mom drives me home, and we stop at a little truck-stop diner for lunch.

We both get a roast beef sandwich with chips. Once we finish, Mom orders an Oreo milkshake to split. I give her my first posttrial smile.

“Have you talked to Dad?” I ask as I take my first slurp. An awkward conversation, I know. But at some point it needs to be said.

She shakes her head.

“I wish he’d been there today.” I say. “Maybe then he could have seen…”

Things won’t ever go back to normal, but I’ve learned that even the worst of wounds can find their own way to heal, if you give them the chance.

She shakes her head. “I’m glad he wasn’t there. He never would have understood. Not really…and you didn’t need that extra stress.”

“He’s still my father.”

She takes in a deep breath and slowly stirs the remaining bits of her hot chocolate. She doesn’t speak.

“I don’t want him to come back,” I say. Honestly, I hope he doesn’t. Ever.

“Will you forgive him?” she asks sheepishly, unwilling to look me in the eyes.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe one day.”

She looks up, her eyes red. “But not today?”

“Not today.”

She nods. “Actually, Sarah wants us to go to some family therapy.”

I open my mouth to speak but close it, unsure what to say to that. I take another sip of the milk shake before I speak. “Does that mean she wants you to get back together?”

She shakes her head. “I think she just wants us to figure some things out. Like you said, he’s still your father.”

I nod. “That’s good, I guess.”

I don’t know what will happen with my father, but knowing that my mom’s there for me now—better, that we’re there for each other—lets me know that whatever happens, we’ll be okay.

She clears her throat suddenly and smiles, all trace of her emotions gone. “How about we go shopping tomorrow? Maybe get some lunch together.”

I blink. “Lunch? You mean instead of school?”

“I figure you could use a day off.”

I let out a breath, amazed at how relieved I am. At least I can let some of those rumors wind down before I face it.

I realize how silly I was to fear that knowing the truth would push her away. We didn’t lose everything we’ve worked so hard to build. The truth made us stronger.

We talk about what we’ll do now, and I’m surprised when she tells me she’s okay with me dropping out of school.

“We can talk about it. I can’t expect you to be a child forever.”

I smile, thinking of Jackson.

“I think I’ll finish out the year,” I say. Which is surprising, even for me. But the truth is, the learning stuff isn’t so bad, the looks are bearable, and I actually kinda sort of have some friends now.

Four years is a really long time, and I’d be insanely old if I went through high school normally. But maybe I can have one sorta-normal year of high school before moving on.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Just a few months ago, I was a prostitute. I feel like I should be in one of those support groups.

Hi, my name is Anna, and I’m a recovering whore.

Do they have recovery groups for hookers? They should. We’re just as jacked up as anyone else, drugs or not.

Mom tells me I can take all the time I need before I go back to school, but after a few days hiding out in my bedroom, I realize I’d rather go back now than keep putting it off.

I’m not sure what I expected to happen when I go back to school. Once inside, I head for the bathroom, just for a splash of water to wake me up, but I stop when a rather large body blocks my path. When it doesn’t move, I look up.

It’s Eric, Brandon’s old friend, the guy who asked me if he could buy my services.

Well, this should be good.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks me.

I say nothing.

“How much money do you make sucking cock?”

I guess there’s a reason Brandon got along so well with this guy.

A sly grin spreads across Eric’s face. I guess he’s going to milk this for all he has.

“So what’s the going rate?”

I don’t know how to respond. Honestly, the only thing going on in my mind is how much I’d like to kick him in the balls. But talk about making things worse. Instead, I twist away from him and disappear into the crowd.

I hide in the bathroom and wonder what’s going to happen now as I work on a random sketch of a bush of honeysuckle. Will the whispers and stares ever calm down? Will Jackson forgive me for real? Will I ever escape my past?

I pause when I hear a set of slow footsteps enter the bathroom. They’re too slow to just be someone coming in to use the restroom or “freshen up” or whatever girls do when they look at themselves in the mirror for thirty seconds.