Page 65 of Love Her

I was nine.

I was falling.

I was trapped.

And then Freddie Sr. stopped talking to the man beside him, looked out, spotted me, and smiled.

I felt the wet heat spreading down my thighs before I consciously knew what was happening—and then I ran away, chased by my memories and shame, to the elevators, and when one didn’t come fast enough, into the stairwell, where I raced down five flights before throwing myself into a corner and bawling my eyes out, while keeping my legs open, trying to dry out my pee.

I was helpless.

I was hopeless.

And no one was ever going to save me.

Time passed,while I let the cold cement around me press in. The lights were nice and bright inside the stairwell, so that was good—and there were no moths here, just me, unable to escape again.

Again-again-again-again-again,I thought, and I let the word spiral around me, until it was imaginary, like everything else in my life.

Things had stopped having meaning, I didn’t even know how long ago.

They just didn’t.

Real life was a river that I stood on the banks of and felt wash around my feet, but anytime I tried to walk in, it spit me back out.

You’re not real.

You don’t matter.

You’re not here.

“Lia?” And then I heard a familiar voice, that pushed away the encroaching doubt, grounding me immediately. “Little girl?” it asked again, this time far more concerned, and a broad shadow flew over me as Rhaim rushed down.

35

RHAIM

I’d texted Lia in the morning before I came to work—and been surprised when I checked my phone again in the evening to find that she was not onlyinsideCorvo, but that apparently she hadn’t moved for several hours.

I’d almost ripped my desk in two trying to get to my door to find her, and now that I had—“What happened?” I begged her, at the same time as I scooped her up.

Her eyes took forever to focus on me. “Bad things,” she said quietly, and then after that, “I had an accident.”

I had no idea what she meant—but she was cold and shivering and she smelled like old sweat.

I didn’t even hesitate, taking the stairs up to my office two by two, bursting out onto my floor shamelessly—besides, even if someone saw us, they would hardly recognize her, it was like the spark that lit her from the inside had been entirely extinguished.

I set her on my office’s waiting room couch, and said, “Stay here,” before running to the nearest vending machine, so that I could buy her a Snickers and a bottle of water. I came back with that, and an extra uniform from the janitor station on the thirdfloor, then went back into my actual office for glasses so I could pour us both shots of whiskey.

I knelt in front of her, offering everything out, and she took things from me slowly, setting them beside herself. The Snickers she made a face at. “I might throw it up.”

“Are you bulimic?” She shook her head. “Then you’ll fucking keep it down because I said so.”

“Don’t get mad at me,” she said, giving me a mournful look.

“Why would I? What did you do?”

That made her give a harsh laugh, like she was a cat about to barf. “Nothing. I didnothing,” she hissed, and I didn’t know how to react.

---