Looking out the window, she wrings her fingers on her lap, probably trying to find the right words. “With you, it’s different… I-I don’t know, I…” she stumbles over her words and leans back in her seat. “I guess because I know you… and part of me knew you wouldn’t hurt me,” she mumbles the last part, but I heard her loud and clear in the truck’s small confines.
Before I can respond, she continues, “Also, if I just do it with you, it feels less like…”
“It feels less like you being a whore?” I see her wince out of the corner of my eye, and I actually feel a ping of regret saying it the way I did.
“You believe me?” she asks after a moment.
“Yeah, I won’t hand you off to my brothers at the club.” I see her shoulders sag, relaxing, and she sighs in relief.
A few minutes later, we pull up at the gynecologist I looked up earlier. Penny looks out of the window and reads the sign.
“Why are we here?”
“You’re going to get checked out and get the pill,” I tell her.
“I don’t have health insurance.”
“Yeah, I figured that much.” That’s why I have a wad of cash in my pocket.
* * *
“What do you mean,you can’t treat her? I’m paying cash,” I growl at the receptionist.
“It doesn’t matter how you pay the bill. We still need some kind of identification. Driver’s license, social security card, birth certificate, anything like that. We can’t just prescribe her the pill having nothing that proves she is who she says she is.”
“Well, this is bullshit,” I yell, slamming my fist on the counter. Not a head in the waiting area is unturned, and I know I’m making a bigger scene than necessary. Glancing down at Penny, I catch her enormous eyes glued to my face, looking at me apologetically.
“I could go get it,” she whispers, and I see the fear in her eyes when she says it. I’m sure her shit is at a place she’d rather not revisit, but not being able to take her to the doctor is not okay either. I wonder if the doc for the club can examine her and get her the pill, but then I imagine his meaty fingers between her legs and quickly shove that thought away.
“Fine, let’s go,” I say, nodding toward the exit.
Penny glances over to the receptionist and mouthssorrybefore we exit and head back to the truck.
“Where is all your shit?”
“At my ex-boyfriend’s house,” she says timidly. “He should be at work right now. I can get some more clothes while I’m there too.” I don’t miss the slight tremble in her voice. She is terrified of going back there, probably rightfully so. Still, I let her tell me the address and drive her there. If he is at work anyway, she won’t have to deal with him… and neither will I.