Page 31 of Claiming Liberty
“Please,” she whispers. I turn my head her way to see her tears falling onto her lap. “I don’t want to have sex with you.”
Her eyes hesitantly peek up at me through a curtain of hair. Jesus, she’s young.
“I don’t want that either. I only want to know a few things about you, and once I do, I’ll leave you alone. Okay?”
She bites her lip and nods.
“How old are you?” I ask, bracing for the answer.
She lets go of her lip. “Eighteen.”
“Truthfully?”
She nods, and I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders. That’s one thing Sawyer didn’t lie about.
“Were you a whore before you came here?”
Her lips pinch into a scowl, and she wraps her arms around herself. I’m not sure what that means.
“I’m not judging you,” I go on. “It’s just a question.”
“I’ve only had sex with two guys.”
I open and close my mouth, looking away. After a few moments, it hits why her irritation suddenly appeared. She thought I was asking her if she was a slut.
She’s not a prostitute. She wasnevera prostitute.
“I don’t suppose you got paid by either of them?” I ask, not looking at her.
“No.”
I grip the bridge of my nose. “Were you addicted to drugs before coming here?”
“No.”
My bile in my throat creeps higher with each passing second. “Were you given drugs when you got here? Is that why you looked sick before?”
She doesn’t reply, just stares down at the carpet.
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
“I’m not even supposed to be talking to you.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
No response.
“Prudence.”
She sucks in a choked breath and covers her mouth, but it doesn’t suppress the sob that follows. I itch to scoot closer, the instinct to comfort overwhelming, but I stay put. I’m not the right person for this. She needs one of the other women, someone who truly understands what she’s going through. Hell, she needs Lib.
But I need answers… Right? It feels less and less necessary the more time goes on. I needed to know if I’d been betrayed. I have my answer.
Sawyer lied to me. This girl wasn’t a junkie whore before coming here. Being here isn’t ‘helping’ her, and it’s obvious she doesn’t want to be here. She doesn’tbelonghere. That should be enough information for me to kick Sawyer’s ass.
But I still want to know more.
“Did Sawyer ask you not to talk to me?” I ask, already knowing he must have.