I don’t want to hear the words “rape,” “sodomy,” and “penetration” coming from her beautiful lips. Nor do I want to see the pain in her eyes as she describes starvation, psychological manipulation, and mutilation.

Our relationship is slowly becoming sensual and physical, and I want to be able to touch her, tease her, make her feel what I want her to feel, without setting off some trigger that will ruin the beauty of every moment. To help her move past horrible memories, I have to understand what she went through.

Holly is a mirage. From a distance, she is so beautiful and sweet and, at times, adorable and silly. Just a normal girl, almost unaffected. But behind that vision is a little girl with dark, sorrow-filled eyes, forever lost, waiting for the next strike, living in expectation of fear and pain. She hides it well. Like a prey animal.

In many ways, Holly walked herself right into the arms of another, much less dangerous, predator.

The lost, tear-stained, melancholy girl is my biggest weakness, my truest fantasy. I can’t resist her. When I was younger, I hid those feelings by dating someone like Wendy, a bubbly, popular, perpetually smiling cheerleader. We all saw where that got me.

Holly’s mirage will always shimmer and fade and then surface again. No amount of time or therapy is going to fix the broken parts of her. Sad, but true. And even though I tried to brainwash myself into believing otherwise, most men won’t know how to love her.

I do, though. I’m going to love all of her—the good and the bad, the smiles and the fears, the pretty and the dirty.

My cell phone beeps with a text, and I pull it out of my pocket to read it:

Toren: I’m setting some meat in the food stations tonight. There’s a missing terrier last seen in your area yesterday. Brown and white, about 20 lbs. Can you check traps in the a.m.?

Tyler: Sure

Toren: Thanks. Text me with any sightings

Tyler: Always do

Toren: How’s the file?

Tyler: Depressing

Toren: I figured. I could stop by tonight after I fill the traps. If you want to talk.

Tyler: Nah, I’m good

Toren: You gonna be an asshole forever?

Tyler: Probably

Toren: Me and Asher are riding on Sunday. Come with us.

Tyler: I’ll think about it

Toren: Don’t be a dick. And make more bracelets, we sold out of the last ones.

Tyler: You got it.

Toren: Think about the ride. You owe me ;)

I knew the file wouldn’t come without a price, and it figures Tor would use it as leverage to try to get me to hang out with him. As much as I love to ride alone, I miss riding with my brothers every Sunday (weather permitting), which was a family ritual my dad started with us and I ended.

I go over the file more times than necessary, and by the time I’m ready to close it and burn it, I’m in a sick rage and all I want to do is dig that motherfucker up, take an axe to his rotting remains, piss on him, and set him on fire.

24

Holly

I’m giddy as I pull into my parents’ driveway. I have a driver’s license. And a car. I feel a strange sense of freedom and maturity.

I wonder if this is what my parents didn’t want me to feel.

I wouldn’t have any of it without Tyler’s help. He taught me to drive, set me up with a driver’s education instructor, and helped me get the paperwork I needed. Then he surprised me with an actual car. I couldn’t believe my eyes when he drove me to it and handed me the keys with that adorable grin on his face. Without even thinking, I threw my arms around his neck, and he spun me around in a circle and kissed me right there in the dark parking lot. Everything felt right and so very normal.

Zac’s car is also in the driveway. I haven’t seen him since the night we went to dinner, although we talk on the phone and text several times per week. I haven’t seen my parents in over a month, and when I call, they are hardly ever home. Today is Saturday and, as I recall from our talks, Zac stops by for breakfast on Saturdays occasionally.

My brother stands to give me a hug as I enter the kitchen. “You look great,” he says with a smile. “You want a bagel?”

I decline, too nervous to eat. My mother, who is sitting at the kitchen table with an elaborate spread of bagels, cream cheese, and butter, zeroes in on me and, without so much as a hello, she questions me. “Holly, how on earth did you get here? Please tell me those are not car keys in your hand?” It figures she would notice them before I have a chance to bring up this conversation on my own.