Page 3 of Dangers of Love

In school, I’d been so much younger than everyone else that we hadn’t shared interests until my junior and senior years, and by then, everyone had already chosen their friends. Then I’d gotten to college, and Freedom already had a group of people for us both to spend time with.

Aside from the fact that I hadn’t wanted to put anyone in a position where they’d feel as if they’d need to take sides, I honestly hadn’t been sure if any of them would’ve chosen me. I’d only been able to think of one person who’d take me in and not feel obligated to tell my family.

Martina Chavez and I had grown up next to each other and had actually attended kindergarten and first grade together. Even after I skipped two grades, we’d stayed friends. Her mom had been the live-in nanny for our next-door neighbors, so they’d moved after the kids had grown up, and I hadn’t been able to see her as often as I once had, but we still kept in touch.

Between my move to Stanford and her going from high school to cosmetology school, our visits had been less and less frequent, but we had a unique bond that, whenever we were able to speak or spend time together, we picked up wherever we left off. I’d last seen her in June when we’d taken a trip to Vegas, but Sunday morning, I hadn’t hesitated to take a bus to the high-end boutique where she worked. She’d simply given me her apartment key and said I could fill her in later.

I’d been grateful for her help, but I hadn’t told her anything more than I was tired of being treated like a child. Each day, she’d asked what’d happened to finally motivate me into action, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to form the words. Twenty minutes ago, she texted to say that she was picking up Thai on her way home, and I knew that meant she wasn’t going to accept my succinct answer this time. She wanted to hear the whole thing.

Some women had ice cream or chocolate – or both – as their comfort food, but with Martina and me, it’d always been Thai. It was what she’d brought me when I was fourteen, and I’d overheard two senior boys making fun of the outfit I’d worn to school that day. Or, rather, they’d been making fun of the fact that I hadn’t been able to fill it out any better than a fourteen-year-old boy would have.

I’d called Martina in tears, and she’d come over with sesame chicken. A few months later, I’d taken the same dish to her when her boyfriend had dumped her two days before the big spring dance.

I had to admit, she’d been beyond patient with me, letting me sleep in her guestroom and not giving an ultimatum about when I needed to either leave or start paying rent. Not that I intended to be a freeloader.

I’d gone to the bank on Monday to take money from my trust fund, and I had it in an envelope to give to her when I asked if I could stay a little longer. Just while I figured out what I wanted to do.

I’d barely had time to get my head together after everything that’d happened in the last few weeks. After her call, I decided that was the best time to ask, after I explained everything. With that plan in place, my nerves eased a bit.

She waited until we’d had a few minutes to eat before she said, “Spill.”

I swallowed a quick drink, ready to confide in my friend. “First, I have to thank you for letting me stay and not forcing me to talk.”

“You’re not getting out of it this time.” She pointed at me, her obsidian-colored eyes narrowing. “You need to deal with this stuff.”

I held up a hand. “You’re right, and I’m going to tell you what happened. I just wanted to thank you first for not trying to get it out of me sooner.”

She grinned. “Yeah, I’m an awesome friend like that.”

I rolled my eyes, but I appreciated the tease. I was going to tell her everything, and it wouldn’t be pleasant, but she was trying to make it as easy on me as possible.

“Did you see the story on the news the day before Thanksgiving about the hostages in Iraq who were rescued from being sold?” That seemed as good a place to start as any.

She went completely still. “Yeah.”

“Four of them had actually been taken in Iran weeks before.” I pressed my hands together to prevent them from shaking. “I know because I was held with them too.”

The color drained out of Martina’s face, her normally honey-colored skin as pale as I’d ever seen it.

“Freedom had to have an emergency appendectomy our last week in Iran, so she went straight from the hospital to the airport where I was supposed to meet her. On my way there, some men with guns stopped the taxi, grabbed me, threw me into a van, and then took me somewhere on the outskirts of the city.”

“How was this not national news? International? Hell, even local?” Martina looked like she was going to be sick.

“Freedom kept it quiet because she wasn’t sure what had happened to me at first. She was trying to get the police to search for me when she was sent a ransom video.” I still went cold every time I thought about what that must’ve been like for her. No matter how pissed I was at her, I knew that she loved me, and it must’ve been awful for her. “She knew our parents could afford the ransom, but she didn’t trust the kidnappers to honor the agreement, so she called an old boyfriend who has a security agency and hired him to find me and get me out.”

The story became easier to tell with each word, and soon, they were pouring out. I told Martina everything. From being certain I was going to be raped when I’d been dragged out of the cell to seeing the men die in that hallway. I told her about Eoin pretending that I was a prostitute and then how I’d kissed him. And more.

I filled her in on everything that’d happened after I’d gotten home too. All the way up until I walked out of my parents’ house and showed up at her work. By the time I was done, I felt surprisingly better, as if I’d purged myself of something that had been making me sick.

I reheated my food and ate it as Martina thought things over in silence. Finally, just as I was finishing up, she reached over and put her hand on mine.

“I’m so glad you’re safe.”

With a start, I realized that no one had said it to me like that. Their relief and joy at seeing me home safely had been genuine, but it’d always been tinged with a hint of exasperation as if I’d held some level of responsibility for the chain of events.

Maybe it’d been unconscious on the part of my family, and I sincerely hoped that was the case, but either way, it just proved that I’d made the right choice by leaving.

Things needed to change.

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