Prologue
BRIXLEY
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
My eyes sting, tiny crystals cutting over the curve of my cheek. I swallow the hard knot in my throat as I listen to the steady stream of the drips.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
My shaky, small hand tugs on the loose green dress. “Momma,” I whisper. There is an empty void in her open glassy eyes. As if looking but not seeing. The blood rolls off her forehead, dripping onto the white marble with a violent splash.
Momma hates messes. She likes her floors to be spotless with a glossy shine. She’s going to be so upset when she realizes she’s staining the floor. “Momma, you’re getting the floor messy,” I whisper again, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
I turn my head slowly to Daddy who is laying perfectly still beside Momma. His face is turned to the marble, red paint-like blood seeping around his body like an ebbing wave on the shore. He has one arm thrown over Momma’s waist. It’s how I find them each morning when I wake them up.
“Daddy.” I nudge on his shoulder lightly. He doesn’t move either.
I crawl in between them, wrapping an arm from each of them around me. They’re cold, but it’s okay. Because I know if I stay with them, I will be safe. My clothes soak with the red paint each of them drips. I know Momma won’t be happy when she sees my new dress is ruined, but I’ll take the punishment.
I scoot in closer, dragging Momma’s body to mine and Daddy’s while I cuddle into the side of his stiff body. I sing to them. Humming our favorite song until my eyes grow heavy and eventually, I drift.
1
Brixley
Some may findmy profession less than glamorous, but with the jewels and glitter dripping down my soft skin, I’d have to disagree. Some may find it dishonorable, how I sell my body, how I take my clothes off for a crowd. So maybe if I had a respectable profession, like say, a defense attorney who keeps molesters, rapists, and murderers on the streets because they have a degree, I’d be consideredhonorable. Morals are funny like that.
I sit on the bed in a high-class motel, pulling my copper hair into a long ponytail. I slide the silk robe up my milky, freckled shoulders. “Are you sure this is enough, sweetheart?”
My lips curl when I meet the kind eyes of Mr. Anderson. He’s an older man, late forties with light hair and kind mahogany eyes. “Yes, Mr. Anderson. I have a lot saved up.”
He frowns, his hand strong and gentle as it brushes my cheek. “I don’t love the idea of you moving away to some unfamiliar place.”
I laugh lightly. “We all have to start somewhere.”
He smiles. “You’re right. Just… you’ll call me if you get into trouble, yes?”
I wouldn’t, but I bat my eyelashes up at him anyway. “Of course.”
It’s not that I don’t trust Mr. Anderson, he’s never done anything for me not to, but when I leave, start my new life at Mount Crest University, I’m never looking back. I’ve been saving up for years to make this great escape. Luckily, I got a full ride, and my dorm will be paid for. All I need to pay for is my basic living expenses. I have an interview for a job as soon as I get there. I may have saved a lot, but the hustle is who I am. I’ll never get too comfortable.
Mr. Anderson kisses me on the cheek, waiting for me to get my things so he can walk me down to a cab. I pull the wad of cash out in the cab, careful not to let the driver see, counting the extra amount he gave me. Mr. Anderson is nice like that.
Stepping out of the cab and walking into my home, I look around the small run-down house Aunt Beth and I live in. The weathered floral wallpaper that holds photos of me growing up. The creaky floorboards that made it nearly impossible to sneak out. The old fluffy green coach that’s older than me but oh-so comfortable. “Is that you, honey?” Aunt Beth’s voice comes from the kitchen. She thinks I’ve been out with some friends to celebrate one last time before we all head off to college. One small problem: I don’t have friends. Not from school, anyway.
“Yes, Auntie. I’m just going to go shower and then maybe we can watch someGolden Girlsreruns.”
I hear her soft laugh. “I’ll make some tea.”
Aunt Beth is my father’s sister. I resemble her by the oval shape of our faces and the high arch of our cheekbones. Where my father and I embraced our natural copper locks, Aunt Beth has foiled in streaks of blonde. Giving her a beautiful strawberry tint to her hair.