Chapter Twenty
There are two things
a person should never
be angry at, what they
can help, and what
they cannot.
Plato
eighteen years old
As he trails sloppy kisses down my body, I wonder again if what I’m doing is the right thing to do.
But then I remember all the money he has and what tying myself to him can do for me and Mina. I think of last Saturday, when I saw Mina’s heartbroken face, her eyes streaming with tears when the time came that I had to leave her after seeing her for the first time since she was taken from me.
And with that shattering image freshly etched into my brain, I know without a doubt that I have to do this.
So, I steel myself, and I let out a convincing moan when he touches me in a way that would make me lose control if I was even a little physically or mentally attracted to him.
But since I’m not, I cringe in my head, struggling to keep the disgust at bay.
I’m not one of those girls that cares about her virginity, but it still kind of sucks that this is the way I’m losing it. With the life I lived and the people I grew up around, I never expected to have candles and rose petals scattered across the floor of some fancy hotel I’m staying in when a man enters me for the first time…
But I also didn’t expect to be underneath a man three times my age as I let him paw ravenously at my virgin flesh.
Yet, here I am, and that’s exactly what’s happening.
He takes his plump right hand and drags it slowly and firmly across the inside of my right thigh, and I whimper. I feel him grin against my neck, probably assuming that the sound was one of pleasure not anguish.
And for the rest of the night, that’s exactly how I feel.
Anguish at each touch.
Anguish at each lick.
Anguish at each thrust.
But somehow, in the midst of it all, that anguish turns into anger.
And I feel better.
I find refuge.
“Minka.”
“Huh?”
“Well?”
“Sorry. What did you say, Mina?”
Mina groans, her cheeks puffing out in a way that makes her look younger than her eight years. “Stop ignoring me!”
“I’m not ignoring you.” I hold up some fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“What’s scout’s honor?”
“Never mind,” I say, my mind already straying.
I eye the giant bottle of Costco Kirkland hand sanitizer, sitting next to the sink that’s behind Mina. I wonder what would happen if I steal it. Would they catch me? Would I even care if they catch me?
Last night, after losing my virginity and being told immediately after that I was no longer wanted, that I had been played, I went home and showered.
But when that one shower wasn’t enough, I showered again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
I showered thirteen times, and I still felt dirty.
No matter how many times I scrubbed my body raw or how many times I scoured shampoo through my hair, I didn’t feel clean. I could still feel the bruising touch of his hands on my skin and his breath against my neck. No amount of soap and water was going to wash the dirtiness of it off.
And finally, I had to stop.
After all, I couldn’t afford to take that many showers.
Thanks to the millions of showers I took yesterday, I’ll have to use less soap and take shorter showers for the next three months to make up for all the shampoo, body soap and water I wasted last night. Maybe I’ll even have to pick up a few extra shifts at the diner I work at full time to pay for the bump in the utilities bill.
But still, I have to do something.
My skin feels itchy and gross, even though I know in my head that it’s clean.
I eye the hand sanitizer yet again and wonder if I can fit it in my little bag. It’s a big bottle, probably the height of my forearm and double the width. So, I doubt it would fit… but man, do I want to take it home with me, pour it in the bathtub, and lay in it for days and days until I feel cleansed.
“MINKA!!!” Mina says again, shouting directly in my ear this time.
I wince and recoil from her. “Jesus! WHAT? What do you want?” I ask, sharply.
As soon as I say it, I regret the words, but I can’t take them back.
Mina—my beautiful, innocent, incredible baby sister—shatters before me, and I feel like the biggest monster on the entire planet for doing this to her. I’ve never been like this before. Ever. Sure, I have a short temper—the shortest. You would, too, if you had my sperm and egg donors as parents.
But I’ve never snapped at Mina.
Never.
Not even once.
Yet, here I am, watching my baby sister splinter before my eyes.
And I did this.
I’m breaking her.
I should have protected her better.
I should have dropped out of high school and gotten my GED years ago.
I’m smart enough to have done that. But I was delusional. I thought that maybe, if I finished high school, I could go to a community college for a couple of years while working and caring for Mina. Then, I’d transfer to a good school in the area, like NYU or Columbia or maybe even Wilton.
Then, I’d be able to get a good job, and we’d be able to live better.
It was a pipe dream, and I risked everything for it.
I risked Mina for it.
I should have gotten my GED. I should have spent the extra time out of school homeschooling Mina and taking extra shifts at the diner. It wouldn’t have been the life I wanted for myself, but I would still have Mina, and I would have made sure that she had a better future than me.
But I chose not to do that.
Instead, I chose to be selfish.
I decided that I deserved to finish high school and go to college when I should have been focusing on Mina and her future. I should have been making decisions that were best for her, not us. Not me.
And now, Mina is suffering because of my actions.
She’s here because of me. Because I didn’t hide our situation well enough.
She doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need to bear the brunt of my anger and heartbreak and despondency from last night. Not now, when she’s staying here, at a strange place, under the care of total strangers.
I shouldn’t be taking what happened out on her.
“Hey,” I say gently to Mina, grateful when her tears slow and she turns to face me again. “I’m sorry, Mina. I didn’t mean that. I’m just tired. I love you, okay?”
She nods her head, and despite her tears, a tiny smile lifts at the corner of her lips. “I love you, too.” And then, her lower lip trembles, and she says, her voice so full of vehemence for such an innocent, little thing, “I hate it here. I hate it here so much! I wish I could go home with you, Minka.”
I reach forward and cradle her head against my chest. “I know, Mina. I wish you could, too.” And then I whisper, my lips pressed against the crown of her head, “We’ll be together again. I promise.”
And when the time comes to leave her again, I no longer feel dirty. I let the pain inside me darken to anger, embracing the familiarity of it. And I let that fury fuel my resolve.
I can do this.
I have to.
For Mina.
I just hope I don’t lose myself along the way.