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“I had no intentions to. What can I do from in here anyway?” I ask her, holding my arms up. “I get that, by the way. I thought I was in love once. My babysitter. She was like eighteen when I was twelve. She used to carry me around the back of the house and you know, teach me about sex. We’d fool around and I remember feeling strange about it but at the same time, as boys, stuff like that’s taken as a compliment,” I speak with no emotional effects because I’m almost too embarrassed to feel anything about it, therefore I’d rather not feel anything in totality. “So I thought I was the big man, until a neighbor caught her and called the cops. I thought I’d die if I wasn’t able to ever see her again. The bitch did a number on me, for sure.” I laugh.
She looks at me in shock and I see compassion flit across her eyes before she lowers her head as if remembering that I don’t deserve her sympathy. I understand. “So that’s what’s bothering you then? Your breakup with one of them?” I ask her.
She looks at me as if I’m an idiot, her cheeks creasing as her nose flares and she makes her eyebrows crooked. “What? No.” She pauses and looks me in the eyes as if wondering if she should disclose more to me. “Ah, fuck it,” she says. “I’ve got a mole in my camp. I thought I got rid of them but something still doesn’t feel right. I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Like what?” I ask.
She looks bored with me yet I feel the need to prove myself to her for some odd fucking reason.
“I mean, I could probably help you catch them, you know, having some experience in that department myself,” I tell her.
She turns her head toward me examining me and with an unconscious nod, she says, “Okay, you’ve got a point. Here’s the thing, I get if the ones who are already dead were allowing traffickers to pass through for some money but how would the motherfuckers who raided my house know that they work for me? Why would they offer them money for that information? And why would they ask them where to find me? Something’s just not adding up. Unless the recruits at the border were obvious about the fact that they’re undercover, I’m not sure how they would draw that conclusion since security is SUPPOSED TO BE tight there, it shouldn’t be suspected that they’re working for anyone else but the government. So, I feel like eliminating those girls were necessary but I just have this gut feeling that they’re not the reason I was visited by some unwanted fuckers recently. But if it’s not them, I’m suspicious of everyone now.”
“What happened? Who visited you?” I ask her, overcome with worry which is so damn fucking stupid. I shouldn’t give a shit.
“That’s none of your business,” she says, putting her pipe aside and closing her eyes while holding her head against the hard wall.
“Okay, does your gut lead you to anyone in particular?” I ask her.
“Yeah, but I think I’m just super paranoid right now. There’s no way it could be any of the people I’m suspecting,” she says.
“I don’t know. I’d say if your gut is telling you something, you should at least investigate it. What I’d do is have a one-on-one meeting with the ones you suspect, ask them a few questions and watch how they react. Are they defensive? Do they make eye contact with you? Are they in a rush to be done with the questions? Stuff like that and I mean sure, all of that shit could be because of nerves so I say after you question them and get a feel for their answers, keep an eye on them for a few weeks. You’ll find your mole. They’ll reveal themselves,” I suggest.
“Yeah, well I don’t have a few weeks.” Her voice has become drowsy and in a couple of seconds, I hear soft snores escaping her mouth that’s fallen open. I scratch the back of my neck, unsure what to do. Is she going to sleep here? Should I sleep on the floor?
I make my way over to her. “Hey, uh…” I give her a slight shove on her shoulder. She jumps awake and looks at me like a frightened deer. “You fell asleep.”
“So?” she says.
“Uh, I was just wondering um if you wanted to sleep somewhere more comfortable? And I’m not sure where I should sleep?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes and gets up to get dressed. “I’ll be out of here soon.” She walks back over to the bed. “Go to sleep if you want, I’m not stopping you,” she says as she sits on the edge of the bed and rests her head against the wall again. “I’m just so fucking tired, I think I’ll just fall asleep in the hallway if I try to leave now. I just need a few minutes.”
I sit on the bed toward the far end, resting my head against the wall as well where I drift off to sleep only to awaken sometime later to find that we’re both lying in the small, hard bed, next to each other. I can’t resist the urge to turn my body without waking her so that I can cuddle her. I don’t know what it is with me but I haven’t had the pleasure of a warm body next to me in so long and I’ve needed someone to hold during this fucked up time. And somehow, I want her to be the one I hold. It’s so fucked. I take advantage of the only moment where I’m going to be able to see her this calm, ever.
Chapter 27
Julissa
Idon’tthinkI’veslept since my visit from the Mafia and before that I hadn’t slept for days. The exhaustion has taken such a toll on my body that I think I’ve just stopped working. I’m awakened by the feeling of an arm around my body and it takes my eyes a while to adjust to my location. Ew! Fuck. No, it’s got to be a fucking lie. There’s no fucking way I’m lying next to Snow with his arm around me. I shoot up off the sorry excuse for a bed and I shout. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I shudder, running my hands over my skin in disgust.
“It was just a hug, I swear!” He holds his hands up and my skin crawls with the knowledge that I’d allowed myself to fall asleep next to him. What the fuck was I thinking? I start pacing in the cell, looking for my belt before strapping it on and opening the door with anger. I wasn’t thinking, I was just too tired to leave. I’m such a fucking mess.
Ew! I slam the jail door behind me. I shouldn’t even have come here in the first place. What in the fucking hell was I thinking, sleeping with him?! The reality of what I’ve been doing runs into me like a fucking dump truck as I question whether I was really too tired to leave or if I actually enjoy the company of a PIMP! A slimy con artist with no fucking heart or soul who has used and abused people at his own will and pleasure, without their consent.
His words from one of our conversations echo inside of my head, “You’re like me, you’re doing the same thing as me.” No! I’m not like him and that was never my intention to become anything like him! What have I become? I refuse to believe that I’m anything like him. I can’t be here right now. I hurry out of the facility and jump in my car, rushing home to strip down at the door and run upstairs to my shower where I turn the fucking hot water on so that I can burn his essence off me. The fact that I actually enjoyed the warmth of his hug as well makes me feel so disgusting, so dirty, so worthless.
I punish myself as the heat of the water comes close to scorching my skin and when I reach for my rag and soap, I scrub the already sensitive and reddened skin in desperation to feel anything but his hands against me. What the fuck was I thinking? How did I get to this point where I’m out of control of myself, addicted to meth again and fucking a pimp, BY CHOICE?!
Nausea attacks me and I pull the shower door open to race to the toilet where I throw up a lot of stomach acid since I haven’t eaten well in a while either. I start crying as snot comes out of my nose as I gag, the bitterness of bile on my tongue from seconds before when now nothing will come up from my stomach.
My intentions were to do to him what he’s done to others, he wasn’t supposed to experience pleasure from it or have the privilege of falling asleep next to me. He was supposed to hate what I was doing to him, since when did I think talking to him about my problems was a good idea. I was softening to him and I hate it. I find myself imagining what would have happened if I’d have let it go further than this? Would I just have fallen for him too just because he has a dick?! Ugh! When did I go from hating dicks to being addicted to them? What the hell is wrong with me? It’s like the reverse has happened to the point where I can’t stop myself from becoming emotionally attached when sex is involved now.
I return to the shower to scrub him out of me, applying so much soap to my vagina and ass, filling them with water that’s no longer scalding, running it until the touch of my finger against my skin squeaks with how clean it is.
I leave the shower, wrapping my body in my robe and feeling sickened by the comfort it gives me. I don’t deserve comfort as the person I’ve become. No wonder my organization is falling apart. I’m such a shit show! I exit the bathroom and throw myself in bed, my wet hair against my pillow under the blasting air conditioning. I’m trembling as I hold myself tight, tears dripping from the corners of my eyes.
