Chapter 21
Lucian
I’m resting on my sailboat that I have docked at The Detroit Yacht Club. Yeah, it’s in Detroit but the place is fucking gorgeous. It’s almost as if it’s a whole different city once you pass through the gates to get in.
I have been a member now for five years and that was difficult in itself to get. In order to get a membership with them, you have to know someone who knows someone big. How did I get my membership?
Ah! Like I would tell you fuckers!
Now this is a secret that I am keeping to myself forever, taking it straight to the grave with me.
My sailboat is a Mirabella that I was given as present from some important people. Well, actually, this was taken and I’m never giving it back. This is my boat, and no one is going to take it from me.
I’m lying on the bow of the boat and soaking up the last remaining month of the season. Michigan is known for its undependable weather and this year has definitely been that. Summer didn’t really come until about June and now that we are in August, it’s cooling down and then getting hotter. It’s very bipolar.
What the hell am I going to do about Mason?
That is the real reason why I am relaxing on my boat. I’m trying to figure out what the hell to do with him. There is no denying that I am attracted to him, but the problem is… I don’t know if I can be what he needs. On top of that, I don’t know if he can be what I need. I have very particular needs and wants, and I don’t want to waste any of our time.
I pick up the champagne bottle that is resting in the ice bucket next to me and top off my flute. I’m no closer to finding out what to do with Mason than I was when I woke up this morning. It’s been a few days since I last saw him, and he has consumed my thoughts.
***
The man with the 13 tattooed on his face is looking at me as if I’m a prize that he wants to win. Like a fat woman eyeing a Snickers bar. Without having any idea what is about to happen, I’m scared. I’m so scared and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Hell, I know that both of my parents are dead or very close to being dead and my brother is being an idiot by letting this man in here.
“Ghost, maybe we could work something out with this girl,” thirteen man says as he circles me.
I cry harder as I plead with Paul with my eyes. I dare not to speak because I know that if I do, I won’t make any sense.
“Come on, Miguel. Leave her alone. She’s too young.”
Miguel looks me over and then fingers the strap of my tank top. “She is, isn’t she? How old are you, my pet? Have you bled yet?”
I nod my head and fight the urge to push him off of me. I have heard several guys at school talking about if a girl bleeds that means she’s ready to breed. When I asked Paul what that meant, he told me to stay away from them. Something about them being jerks and not knowing how to treat women.
“I might have to keep her to myself.”
Paul shoves me away from Miguel and my back hits the window. “Get out! Don’t come back!”
With a wince, I go to grab my shoes but Paul yells at me. “No shoes! Get the fuck out! Right now.”
I jump out the window and land in a pricket bush. I scream out in pain as the needles pierce my skin. Despite the pain, I run. I run for what feels like hours and my chest is about to cave in from lack of oxygen that is filtering through. I can feel the bottom of my feet getting ripped up from the salted Detroit roads.
It’s so cold out here and the wind is biting my skin. My clothes are useless against the Michigan winter and they don’t provide any protection. I can feel the moisture on my face harden to ice and my cheeks feel as if they are going to break at any minute.
Those that dare drive on the roads, whip past me and don’t bother stopping to help the teenage girl who is running in barely any clothing. Part of me doesn’t know if I want someone to stop. They could be sickos that stop and want to sell me to slavery or something.
I’m an orphan girl now and I’m homeless for the foreseeable future- and I’m scared beyond belief. I sincerely don’t think that Paul is going to come looking for me and I doubt that anyone will even wonder where I am. I’m a Cuban American from the wrong side of the tracks. To the schools, I will probably be another statistic. Another young girl not graduating from the Detroit school system. I will be another homeless woman without anywhere to go.
***
Every once in a while, I feel a little melancholy and think about how I began. My crimes started out petty. Just a few crimes to get food or warmer clothing to fight against the winter chill.
Now, I’m on a multimillion-dollar sailboat and am getting a pedicure by someone who doesn’t speak English.
There are very few times that I will run into someone that I stole from during the years that I lived on the street. I didn’t do it by myself though. I had help knocking off stores and gas stations to gain food and water. It’s amazing how much you think about water when you don’t have any. I remember my parents fighting me to drink some damn water and I told them no.