Chapter 2

2: 2

2

The heavy door of the hospital room shut with a bang.

I shot upright in the bed, curled myself into a ball, shaking all over.

Jackson Gilbert stood outside the door, watching me through the glass, his eyes darker than anything.

Ever since I came back, I couldn't keep any food down.

In the brothel, before the madam sent me out to a client, she always forced strong aphrodisiac drugs down my throat.

My stomach had long since been wrecked, and now the sight of food alone turned everything inside me over.

The doctors couldn't do anything with me. They kept me going on IV nutrition.

One nurse sighed.

"It's a sin, really. A perforated stomach, malnutrition, wounds all over her body. These rich people think they can do whatever they want."

The other nurse quickly tugged at her sleeve.

"Shh, watch your mouth. This whole hospital belongs to Mr. Gilbert. You want to lose your job?"

The two of them exchanged a glance and said nothing more, dropping their eyes back to their work.

I lay in the bed as if I hadn't heard a word, staring blankly at the ceiling.

My sleeve had been pushed up, the scars on my arm crossing over one another, layer on layer.

The needle went into my flesh, and I felt nothing at all.

The day I was discharged, Jackson came to pick me up.

Once we were in the car, Meryl Pruitt turned around from the passenger seat and handed a bag back to me.

"Sophia, you haven't eaten well in the hospital lately. I lined up at Reuben's Deli at five this morning to get you a breakfast sandwich, your old favorite. Go on, try it!"

The greasy smell of meat drifted over.

My stomach heaved.

"I'm not hungry."

She pressed the sandwich into my hands anyway, giving me no say.

The next second, those terrible images came surging up.

My stomach cramped, and I threw up on the spot.

Jackson slammed on the brakes and turned around, snarling.

"Sophia Pruitt! You did that on purpose, didn't you!"

Meryl looked down at the filth on her clothes, and tears rolled down her face.

"Sophia, do I really disgust you that much?"

Once we were home, the anger was still on Jackson's face.

"Apologize to Meryl. Or you can forget about ever eating again!"

My knees buckled, and I dropped straight to the floor in front of Meryl, flattening myself down.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I was wrong."

Meryl stepped back half a pace as though frightened, then rushed to help me up.

"Sophia, what are you doing? You're scaring me."

I stayed kneeling, hunching my shoulders in as far as they would go.

Jackson's face was ugly.

"Sophia Pruitt! Stop the act! I don't think you'll be having dinner tonight either."

He took Meryl by the hand.

"Meryl, go change your clothes and clean up first."

I slipped quietly back to my room.

I pushed the door open and froze in the doorway.

The room was piled high with junk.

On the table where my mother's memorial plaque sat, there was a big bag of dog food.

Meryl came up behind me and stood in the doorway, speaking carefully.

"Sophia, I rescued a stray dog a while ago, and I had nowhere to put the things I bought for it, so I left them in here. You won't be mad, will you?"

I stared at that bag of dog food on the table, my fingers twitching, but I didn't dare touch it.

I only nudged it aside, clearing a little space.

I wiped my mother's plaque clean, then folded the cloth and set it back where it belonged.

Jackson came over and swept a glance around the room.

"Meryl, let's eat. Never mind her."

After they left, the clink of dishes and the sound of laughter drifted up from downstairs.

Then, out of nowhere, someone dropped a plate, and it shattered with a sharp crack.

My whole body went rigid.

The next instant I yanked the closet door open and hid inside.

Head down, bent low, arms around my knees, door pulled shut, all in one motion.

In those days at the brothel, every time someone smashed something, it meant someone was about to be beaten.

The closet was the only place I could hide.

Even if it was only a single broken plate, my body remembered the fear before my mind did.

After a while came a burst of urgent knocking at the door.

Jackson's voice was sharp.

"Sophia! Your sister cut her hand. Come out and take her to the hospital!"

I didn't move. I only curled myself tighter.

The knocking came a few more times, then a rush of furious footsteps.

Suddenly the closet door was wrenched open.

Jackson stood there, his expression turning ugly again.

"What are you doing hiding in the closet?"

I lifted my head, my eyes red, my hands over my head.

"You found me again. Don't hit me, don't hit me."

He stopped short, about to say something.

Then from downstairs came a cry of alarm.

"Miss Meryl! What happened to you!"