Page 56 of The Boy I Loved
Mom said they married, but that Zori later found out she was unable to carry children … until a miracle happened, and they were blessed with a little girl. They named her Hope, and all lived happily ever after.
I never understood the meaning of the story. As a child, it was just that—a meaningless story with another happy ending. But now that I was here, with nothing to do other than reflect, it became so obvious it was a wonder I’d never pieced it together before.
Zori wasn’t simply a made-up character, conjured by a writer’s imagination. Zori was my mother, and the stranger was my father. Hope wasme.
I wished I could run to her and tell her I finally understood the meaning of the story she’d told me over and over again for the past several years. She’d laugh at me in that soft way she always did and tease me about how long it had taken for me to figure it out. Dad would shake his head, a mixture of pride and hesitation blooming over his features due to the nature of said story and what some of the details represented.
It all made sense now. Father saved her and gave her a new life and he cherished her, never faulting her for not being perfect, because that was how they were. They loved one another immensely, and it was because their relationship had such a strong foundation.
I wanted that.
I wanted it with Dominic.
A deep, pained breath expelled from my lungs at the reminder of him. What would he think when he realized I’d disappeared? Would he grumble about how stupid I was for not listening to him? The thought was a bitter pill to swallow. Dom wasn’t like that, but I couldn’t help but wonder.
A yawn crawled up my throat, coating the stale air around me. Slowly,veryslowly, sleep sank its claws into me and began pulling me under.
I awoke with a start,my heart slamming into my ribcage with a newfound ferocity. It took a moment for my mind to piece together why, but then I heard it. Shrill screams pierced the air, followed by shuffling, and muffled voices.
I pushed myself upwards, glancing around the cell. My eyes connected with Stacy’s and she offered me a subtle shake of her head, silently willing me not to draw any attention to myself.
I licked my dry lips, curling against the cold wall behind me and strained my eyes, needing to see what the source of the commotion was.
Through the wide bars, I saw the back of a guard, his steps taking him backwards, closer to me. Another guard was on the opposite side, both of them using their strength to guide a girl down the walkway. She fought them every step of the way, her long brown hair flying every which way as she struggled between them. Dried blood coated her thighs, tears streaming down her exhausted face.
“My baby!” she shouted, her voice carrying through the building, raising the hair on the back of my arms and neck. “They took my baby!”
“No,” I whispered, so lowly that only I could hear it.
Suddenly, the blood coating her body held an entirely new meaning. She’d just given birth and these guys … they were still forcing her into a cell. Was she new? Did they target a pregnant woman just to strip her of her child?
I thought back to my mom and how she was told she couldn’t conceive—how she would have done anything if it meant the opportunity to be a mother. And this woman … she was being stripped of that chance by a group of men who deemed us unworthy.
Anger sprouted within me, so potent that it threatened to consume me whole. I’d never been a violent person, but in this moment, I wanted to kill them all—to show them what it felt like to fall at the feet of the opposite sex and be used and discarded as if they were nothing more than trash.
Suddenly, I understood the appeal of dating the same gender. Men were absolutely awful. Maybe not all of them, but these ones were, and that was enough.
I couldn’t imagine what that woman must have been going through. My chest ached with the empathy I felt on her behalf, dread sprinkling through my system like a series of unrelenting cobwebs. The woman’s cries continued, long after they’d closed her behind the cell. Even during one of the most traumatic experiences of her life, the men still laughed and made horrid comments.
“Think her pussy is all sloppy and worn now?” one of them asked as they strode this direction.
The other one laughed in response. “I hear they snap right back after childbirth.”
“I hope so.”
Their voices faded as they neared the exit, my head spinning with their callous remarks. I’d always known there were vile people in this world, but somehow, I’d underestimated it.
The woman’s sobs rang through the room, echoing from cell to cell, almost like a quiet, distraught melody. My stomach curled with remorse, a deep pit opening wide within the depths of my abdomen. I wanted to go to her, to soothe her the only way I knew how—the only way Icould. Even if it wasn’t much, I wanted to rid her of a fraction of the pain she felt.
My head thumped against the wall behind me, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. It was all I could do not to sob along with her.
When dinner rolled around,surprisingly enough, I found myself at a table with Stacy and Lauren—the two girls who made school unbearable for me. They’d tossed a yellow, lacey corset at me with some matching cheeky panties and forced me to wear them. It was better than walking around naked before all of these predatory men, but still, I hated it.
Lauren’s hand trembled as she pushed her fork through the yellowing mashed potatoes, her nose scrunching with repulsion.
“That’s Tristan,” Stacy murmured, nodding her head toward the door a man had just entered from. I followed her gaze, my eyes taking him in.
He had dark blonde hair that swept across his forehead in a careless motion. Light stubble decorated his jaw, trickling toward his ears. And his eyes … they were so blue I could make them out from here. He wasn’t muscular, not like Dom or Vince. He was all lean and cut. From here, he didn’t look that bad, but I knew better than anyone how deceiving appearance could be. If Stacy said he was the worst, then I’d take her word for it.
