Part 7 (1/2)

And for the first time since she could remember, she was being touched by someone who didn't want s.e.x from her. At least she hoped that was true. She found herself praying she wasn't wrong, that this wasn't some kind of trap. That she would go with him and...”You smell like oranges.”

”Yeah,” Ben said. ”I know.”

CHAPTER FIVE.

Ben sat on the floor of the little hallway between Eden's bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, and living room as Neesha cleaned his puke out of the bathtub.

”You really don't have to do that,” he said.

”The sooner it's gone, the sooner it'll stop smelling so bad,” she said.

”You could just leave,” he pointed out.

She stopped swis.h.i.+ng the water down the drain and looked at him, her little-girl face wary and alert. ”Do you wish me to leave? Now that you're all right...?”

”No, I'm just saying,” he said. ”You're going above and beyond. I'm just...Thank you. That's what I'm trying to say. Most people find a reason to leave when I puke like that. They get grossed out.”

”You didn't do it on purpose,” she pointed out. ”Some people stick their finger down their throat and do it on purpose.”

”You mean, like being bulimic?”

She shook her head. ”I don't know what that is.”

”It's when you make yourself throw up after you eat so you don't gain weight.”

She was amazed. ”You would do this?”

Ben laughed. ”Ew. No. What planet are you from, anyway? And what other reason would someone have to make themselves throw up, besides not wanting to get fat? I mean, I guess maybe if they accidentally swallowed poison, or too many sleeping pills...”

Neesha turned off the water and dried her hands on one of the towels hanging on the wall rack. ”For some,” she told him, ”it brings s.e.xual pleasure.”

And now it was Ben's turn to gape. ”Seriously? To make themselves puke? While they're...?”

”Or to be...puked on,” she said. ”Is that right, puked puked?”

She was asking about the verb tense and he nodded. ”That's just wrong.” He stopped himself. ”And okay, just because I'm I'm not...I mean, there are people who would say that being gay is wrong. So maybe I shouldn't judge. I mean, if everyone involved wants to be involved...Although please note I'm not volunteering anytime soon.” not...I mean, there are people who would say that being gay is wrong. So maybe I shouldn't judge. I mean, if everyone involved wants to be involved...Although please note I'm not volunteering anytime soon.”

”But if not?” she asked. ”What if someone doesn't want to...be involved?”

Ben sat up. ”Neesha, do you have some kind of weird boyfriend, or maybe it's your mother's boyfriend...?”

”My mother's dead,” she told him. ”She died a long time ago, when I was eight.” She took a deep breath, and let it out in a rush before she went on. ”And after she died, I was sold to a man who brought me here and...I was kept...locked up and...It was bad.”

Ben stared at her, his heart in his throat, praying that she would laugh or at least smile and say something like, Wow, look at your face. You actually believed me, Mr. Naive... Wow, look at your face. You actually believed me, Mr. Naive...

But she didn't. Instead she said, ”A few weeks ago, I ran away. I escaped. But I didn't know where to go for help and...I'm certain they're looking for me.”

”Wow,” Ben said. ”Okay. Wow. Neesha, if this is a joke-”

She looked at him. ”You think I'm trying to be funny?”

”I don't know,” Ben said. ”Are you? I mean, it's the twenty-first century. People don't sell other people anymore.”

She just looked steadily back at him.

”You said you're sixteen,” he started.

”Eight years,” she said. ”Three months. And thirteen days. That's how long I was there. It got easier keeping track after I learned to count in English.”

Ben still couldn't wrap his brain around any of it. ”So you were, what? Some guy's slave? Did you have to, like, clean his house and, I don't know, pick his cotton?” Even as he asked the question, he knew he was way off base.

And even though she didn't speak, he saw the answer in her eyes, and in an echo of her earlier words that now rang in his head. For some, it brings s.e.xual pleasure For some, it brings s.e.xual pleasure.

She turned away abruptly.

”Wait,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet and followed. ”Neesha, if this is true, you have to go to the police.”

”I can't.”

”Why not?”

”They'll send me away,” she said fiercely. ”I'm illegal, okay?”

”Oh, s.h.i.+t,” Ben said.

”I shouldn't have told you anything,” she said. ”Promise me you won't tell anyone!”

”Neesha, I don't think-”

She picked up her bag and started for the door.

”Wait, okay?” he said again. ”I promise I won't tell, if you don't want me to. I just don't know how I can help, without at least talking to my sister.”

Or to Danny, who would definitely know what to do. Except he could well be dead. Please, powers of the universe, don't let Danny be dead...

”Why don't you stay, for a little while?” Ben asked, looking up from where he'd crouched with his head between his legs, to counter the wave of dizziness. ”My sister'll come home eventually. You can meet her. And if you want to...We can tell her. But only if you want to.”

Neesha stood there, uncertain.

”Okay,” Ben said. ”I'm not going to tackle you to the ground and make you stay. So...If you want to go, go. If you want to stay. Great. I've got to check my blood again, and maybe have a snack. You're welcome to have something, too. Or you could take a shower if you want. Wash your hair. But only if you want to, okay?”

Neesha nodded. And put the bag down. She was going to stay.

When the bigger conventions came to town, headliners came in from out of town to take the main stage, even on a Monday, leaving the newer girls like Eden working the poles on the edges of the room.

Still, the club was in a good location, and when those predominantly male-populated conventions arrived, it stayed packed pretty much 24/7, with the biggest lull being the hangover hours between 4 and 7 a.m.