When the door closes behind him, I run to the bathroom, strip off my clothes, and talk myself out of throwing up. Visions of their filthy hands touching my skin keep coming back to me. It worsens by the minute, making me feel nasty and soiled, like the vile creature I am. Maybe I should forget about this ... go back to porn. Maybe that’s where I belong after all.

The scalding water stings my skin as I scrub away the reminders of what they did to me. Hazy images come into view, but no faces, only hands and fingers digging into my flesh. There is no pain or pleasure, only numbness. I should be happy there is an absence of sensation, but if I felt pain, at least there would be something. It’s the lack of anything that pushes me to the edge.

Grabbing chunks of my hair, I pull, trying to make myself feel. Only that produces memories of one of them having his hand wrapped in my hair. Hopeless ... that’s what my situation is. Harrison Kirkland is confident he has the answers, only I’m not so sure.

Finishing my shower, I scrub the water droplets off with the soft towel. I’m wrapping myself in the towel when I hear a soft knock on the door. I look through the peephole to find Misha standing there.

“Hi,” I say, waving her in.

“I’ve ordered you dinner.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“I have strict orders to make sure you eat,” she says with a smile.

“I’m sure you do.”

“Do you want me to leave so you can dress?”

“No. You probably think I’m obsessed with showering.”

“Not at all. I won’t pretend to imagine how you feel.”

Her sympathetic gaze gives me pause. I press my lips between my teeth because I don’t want to talk about this.

“Midnight, you barely know Harrison, but when he goes after something, he gets the job done.”

“I don’t doubt that. It’s just that it’s all built on lies.”

“But is it?”

The question looms before me. The foster care thing isn’t a lie. That’s a cold, hard fact. One I wanted buried forever.

A knock interrupts us. It must be room service.

“Go into the bathroom. I’ll handle this.”

I do as she says, closing the door behind me. I put on the oversized plush robe hanging on the door. It swallows me up, but it’s cozy and I love that it wraps me in a cocoon of comfort—something I currently crave.

I listen for the man to leave and then I join Misha. Everything is set up on the table.

“Have you eaten?” I ask.

“No, but I’m getting ready to.” She suddenly laughs and I see there are two places set.

“Good. I don’t like to eat alone.”

At first, my stomach rebels, so I take it slow, forcing each bite down.

“Having a hard time with that?” Misha asks.

It’s chicken soup and crackers. There’s a baked potato and bread too. You’d think I’d be able to inhale this since the last meal I ate was with Danny the night before.

“A little.”

“You’re doing the right thing. You know, eating slowly. But you need the food. It’ll make you feel better.”

A frustrated huff gusts out of me. “I just want to feel something. All I am is numb.”

Misha sets her fork down and leans back. “Have you stopped to think that maybe it’s for the best? Maybe your brain doesn’t want you to feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes the body only deals with what it can tolerate and throws out the rest. Maybe that’s what yours is doing now.”

Thinking back to the other traumatic points in my life—and there have been several—maybe she’s right. My brain doesn’t want to go there.

“But I want to remember their faces,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because I want to have someone to direct all this anger toward. Now it’s just a blank slate.”

“But then they’d haunt your dreams and who the hell wants that?”

She has no idea that my dreams have been haunted since I was fourteen. Tortured is more like it. That’s a subject that I don’t dare open with her. I’d rather take a dose of haunting. Anything’s better than what I lived through.

Her stare is intense before she says, “Maybe after a good night’s sleep, you’ll feel differently.”

Misha looks as though she’s never had to deal with anything difficult before. Her clothes are expensive, her nails are perfectly manicured, and even though she’s been eating and drinking, her lipstick still looks freshly applied. Her long, blond hair gleams in the dim light of my room and she probably spends lots of money on hair products. Just watching her throws me back to another time, a time when I could barely afford soap to take a bath.

“It’s going to be okay, Midnight.”

“Nothing about this is ever going to be okay. The fact that I was pumped full of heroin and felt like I was on cloud nine makes it worse. I can’t even explain that part. No, wait. How’s this? Imagine getting raped and knowing you’re being raped, but liking it and feeling cozy while it’s happening.”

I’ve hit the mark because she can’t make eye contact.

“Now I have to make up a story about being addicted to drugs, when I’m not, but was raped. Don’t you see how completely wrong this is in my brain and why I’m having a difficult time with it?”

She scratches her temple and then clears her throat. “Yeah, I do. I’m sorry. It’s awful. But you have to put your faith and trust in Harrison. He knows what he’s doing. It’s not right. But given that you didn’t want to go to the police, it’s the only way to salvage your career. If you don’t care about that, then it’s another matter entirely.”

“I just don’t understand why we have to lie and do this rehab thing.” Frustration bleeds from my voice.

Misha sits up straighter and suddenly appears a foot taller in her chair. Her soft tone is replaced by a commanding one. There is much more to this woman than I initially believed.

“Yes, you do, Midnight. Perception is everything, and you were seen online getting fucked, high as a kite. What will people automatically think?”

She’s as silent as I am.

She snaps her fingers. “Come on, I’m waiting.”

Anger pools in my gut. “That I deserved it.”

“And?”

“And wanted it. But—”

“I don’t give a damn about your buts. It’s what they think that counts. And even though you did nothing wrong, even though you are a victim, they’re not going to believe it. No police report was filed. That was your choice. And let’s not even talk about if they find out you were Lusty Rhoades in the past.”

“That’s unfair.”

“Not everything in life is fair. Get used to it.”

She’s right. I learned that long ago.

“Are you done whining?” she asks.

“What?” I ask, my anger returning.

“I’m not making light of what happened to you. I’m simply trying to get you to understand what Harrison is doing. You’re being hardheaded and making our jobs too difficult. We don’t like dealing with clients we have to beg. Stop making us beg, Midnight.”

She leans back and crosses her arms. Misha just threw down the gloves.

“Okay. I got it.”

“Good. Now eat. It’s the last time I’m telling you. We can’t have you passing out in front of the camera tomorrow. We need you looking strong.”

She’s right. Several more bites in and I begin feeling much better, only I don’t let her know. I’m going to give myself one more night of self-pity, and then it’s onto the next stage of life for Midnight. Rehab 101. I wonder if I’ll pass or fail.