I spent the next two days having a complete mental breakdown. I tried to make sense of it in my head, tried to make excuses, tried to convince myself the tests I took were wrong, that I couldn’t possibly be pregnant. I couldn’t recall a time Ezekiel and I had slept together when protection wasn’t used. At first we used condoms, as Ezekiel was both very clean and very anal. But condoms were also inefficient and hindered his pleasure by a fraction, so he’d ordered a complete doctor check-up. They tested me for every STD in the book, including ones that hadn’t been seen in years. We waited for the tests to come back. I was clean. Then, Ezekiel had them all done again, at another doctor. Clean again. Only then did he give me birth control pills. I recalled him handing the box to me, giving me a very serious look.
“You must be diligent and keep track of when you take these,” he’d said in the same voice he used when threatening the lives of men who owed him money.
I had been diligent. If there was one person who wanted pregnancy less than he did, it was me. I always took birth control with the utmost seriousness, considering the alternative. I never took a customer unwilling to wear a condom. I didn’t even give blowjobs these days without insisting upon a condom. So I took the pills exactly when the packaging told me to, without fail.
Victor took me to the doctor’s office when I told him I was feeling under the weather. It was just a small physical, nothing invasive. I wasn’t showing yet, so there was nothing to clue him in. When the doctor asked me about the regularity of my period, I lied.
“Are you sexually active?” he asked, looking down at his chart. He was one of those expensive doctors, the kind that wore designer slacks under his white coat.
He barely glanced at me when I said, “Yes.”
“And you’re on birth control?”
“Yes.” I pressed my lips together tightly.
“Condoms? Pills? Diaph—”
“Pills.” Before he could move on to another question, I blurted, “What’s the failure rate for those? I’m taking Uvenda, if the brand matters at all.”
The doctor glanced at me. “I wouldn’t worry much. Of course, we always advise two forms of birth control because just one isn’t fool proof.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Generally, the birth control pills are very successful. There is a one percent chance of failure, if administered correctly.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s just—I had an aunt who ended up—uh, getting pregnant on pills.”
“Yes, it can happen. Very rare, of course. If you’re really worried, you can always use two forms of birth control.” He eyed me carefully. “Right?”
“Right. Of course. Only wondering.”
My gut didn’t untwist for the rest of the exam.
* * *
One percent chance. One percent chance something I’d assumed was foolproof failed. One percent chance my life would be put in this sort of danger.
One percent chance Ezekiel would kill me.
A less astute woman wouldn’t have come to the conclusions I did. Luckily, I knew Ezekiel, and I didn’t believe in coincidences—especially when Ezekiel was involved. Tanya didn’t just happen to be pregnant when Ezekiel offed her.
Ezekiel killed her because she was pregnant.
“Tanya did something she knew was wrong in a deliberate attempt to control me. She knew I wouldn’t approve, and yet she did it anyway.” How could that not be Tanya’s pregnancy? Maybe she did do it to control Ezekiel. Maybe she felt so powerless that she saw the need to take drastic measures. Or maybe…maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was just an innocent mistake, like mine. But Ezekiel left no loose threads. He aimed for perfection—complete control. This was not something he planned for. He would be forced to do the only thing he knew how to do—get the control back. Sadly, my life wasn’t more important than that goal.
I knew what I had to do to save my own life.
I knocked on Victor’s door. He had taken Roger’s room, and the walls were just as blank as they’d been before Roger left. Victor sat on the bed with a laptop in his lap.
He glanced up at me. “Yes?”
“I want to go to my sister’s. Maybe spend the night. Ezekiel just called and said he’s going to be at least another two days.”
Victor eyed me. “And he approved this visit?”
He had, in fact. I didn’t want to deceive Ezekiel any more than I had to.
“Yes.” I held up my phone. “Do you want to call and make sure?”
“I can call him.” He pulled his phone from his slacks pocket. “While I do, get your things together.”
I nodded and headed back to the master bedroom.
* * *
“You don’t look so great, Melissa. Have you been eating?”
“I’m fine,” I told Mimi. We sat on the couch, sipping tea Victor made. I had no clue Victor cooked, but after he spent twenty minutes pushing the microwaved macaroni around his plate disdainfully, he informed us he would make something better. So we took a quick trip to the grocery store and grabbed a few vegetables and spices that Victor used to make a stir-fry. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was pretty delicious. Mimi was beginning to relax around him, though she still kept our conversations hushed.
“There are dark circles under your eyes. And your hands are shaking.” Mimi reached over and put her hand over mine, which clutched the mug tightly. “Is it something Ezekiel did to you?”
“Ezekiel’s been gone a lot,” I whispered, staring into the dark depths of my tea. “I’ve been cutting back on the dust a little. Not cold turkey or anything, but I’m hoping to wean myself off of it.”
“You mean…”
I closed my eyes. When I opened them, Mimi was watching me.
“What?” I asked.
“Why are you cutting back on the dust? Don’t you have all you ever wanted?”
My new dust regimen had started just a few days ago. As much as I wanted to flush it all down the toilet, I knew extreme withdrawal would be too obvious. My sleep cycle was uneasy, I thought of dust often, and every now and then my hands would shake, but I was keeping it together. I had no other choice—my self-preservation relied upon it.
“It’s keeping me trapped,” I said, glancing toward the kitchen. Mimi had somehow convinced Victor to do her dishes. He’d grumbled about not signing up to be a maid, but when I asked him nicely, he agreed to do it. He wasn’t the sweet man Roger was, but he didn’t terrify me like Bruce and Garrett did. “It’s just one more thing Ezekiel can use to control me.”
“I’m glad you’re cutting back but…you don’t look good at all. I’m worried.”
“I get it, Mimi. You’re always worried.” I rolled my eyes and changed the subject. “I talked to Yogi.”
“Oh?”
“She’s doing well. Thomas has a very nice house in a good neighborhood.”
“Yes, I visited a few weeks ago. She’s happy. I was surprised. I never expected that sort of business arrangement to work. And maybe I should give it a few more years before I applaud its success, but for the moment, it’s what Yogi needs. She always wanted those hormones. She just couldn’t afford them.”
“Never thought someone would be so happy over boobs,” I chuckled. “I always thought mine were kind of a pain.”
“Yeah, shoulda just given her mine,” Mimi said with a smile. “She can have my periods, too.”
We both giggled over that. Victor emerged from the kitchen and sat down in an armchair, putting his feet up on the footrest.
“That TV work?” he asked, pointing to the TV.
“Yeah.” Mimi turned it on with the remote. “Anything you wanna watch?”
“The game would be great.”
I decided to slip into my PJs. I had to act like this was just a night like any other. But this was going to be the most dangerous night of my life.
* * *
It was around one in the morning when I slipped out of my room. Mimi’s bedroom door was closed. I could see Victor’s form snoozing in the armchair. The TV still flickered, this time with an infomercial selling cookware. I pulled my winter coat tight around me and walked softly toward the front door. I was wearing some clothes borrowed from Mimi, worn-in old jeans and a sweatshirt she’d kept from her high school days. The coat was hers. So were the shoes. I couldn’t be positive none of them were bugged, but I didn’t think Ezekiel was that obsessed with spying on me. And if they were bugged, well…it wasn’t like he wouldn’t kill me later if this plan failed.
I took the two twenties from Mimi’s wallet for taxi fare. She’d probably notice later, but by that time, I’d be gone and she’d assume it was a pickpocket. I’d buy her something to make up for it later.
I called a taxi from the pay phone on the street corner outside. Few taxis came to Metro at this time of night. The driver was tattooed and smoking a cigar, seemingly unfazed by the time and the neighborhood. He ignored me except to accept the money at the end of the ride, and then he drove away with a squeal.
I glanced both ways down the empty, dark street, jumping when I heard two cats dart out of an alley, yowling and leaping mid-fight. Taking a deep breath, I ascended the front steps and pressed the button I knew from memory. I hoped he hadn’t moved.
When there was no response, I pushed the button a few more times. It was cold out, and this wasn’t the best street to be on at one o’clock in the morning. This was gang country. I was staring at the way my breath curled like smoke in the chilly night air when the speaker crackled. I started, grabbing on to the railing in shock.
“What do you want?” the voice snapped.
“Um, hi.” I paused. That voice sent shudders of revulsion down my spine. I reminded myself this was necessary for my survival. I took a deep breath. “It’s Melissa.”
There was a long silence. Then, “Come up.”
The door unclicked.
I stepped inside, and a wave of heat hit me, though it didn’t stop my shivering. I slowly walked up the stairs, putting each foot carefully on each step, as if waiting for the wood to crack and buckle under my weight. I wished it would. Each step was harder than the last, and by the time I reached the third floor, I was convinced the nausea in my stomach had nothing to do with the fact that I was pregnant.
His door looked the same as it always had. I lifted a fist to knock. It opened before I could.
Blade stood there in all his glory. Well, actually not. He was only wearing boxers, baring the scars from fights and the tattoos that paid tribute to them all. His hair was cut short, his ears rimmed by a collection of gold and silver earrings. He was smoking a cigarette. His eyelids lowered as he looked at me with a practiced expression of indifference. He hadn’t shaved, leaving a dark bristle around his jaw. The whites of his eyes weren’t white, but a sick mixture of pink and yellow.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Miss Prissy Princess.” He lowered the cigarette and blew a plume of smoke that didn’t quite reach me. There were more tattoos than I remembered, more scars. He’d found more trouble without me, it seemed. “Run away from your little yuppie boyfriend? I notice you aren’t wearin’ all that jazzy shit.” He motioned toward my jeans and sweatshirt.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Aren’t you doin’ that right now?”
I took a deep breath. It was now or never. “I need money.”
He started laughing. I tried not to show how upset that made me. Attempting to keep my expression flat, I hid my shaking hands in the pockets of my jacket.
“Well, shit! Melissa Almighty needs money. Why don’t you ask your rich boyfriend for it, huh? Or you could just get a real job, ‘stead of openin’ your legs up for rich fucks.”
“I can’t ask my boyfriend,” I said calmly. “I need to pay for something off-the-record, something he can’t know about.”
“Like what?”
“None of your business.”
Blade leaned out of the apartment, one arm on the threshold, looking every inch the smug asshole he was. “If I’m gonna give you money, I need to know where it’s goin’.”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
“I think it has everything to do with me.” He took another drag from his cigarette. “How much?”
“Two hundred.”
“And how exactly do you plan on paying me back?”
“I’ll find a way.” When Blade simply lifted his eyebrows, I let desperation slip into my voice. I knew Blade was an asshole, but I held onto a sliver of hope that he cared about me enough at some point to do me a favor. He’d treated me better than a lot of the girls he threw away, like Cordelia. If he’d been willing to keep me around for longer than a few weeks, surely he held some affection for me, right? “You know I’m good on my word, Blade. Haven’t I always been good on my word?”
“You were more dependable than most of the bitches in this town. ‘Specially for a whore. But”—he took a step toward me—“I’ll need collateral so that I know you’re good on your word.”
“I don’t have anything. Blade, please. You know me.”
“I know a lotta people.”
“Blade…”
“You tell me what this is for, and I’ll think about it.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “My sister’s pregnant.”
His eyes widened only slightly. “She a whore, too?”
“It was an honest mistake.”
“Mistake?” he smirked.
“So now you know why I need that money.”
Blade sucked on his cigarette, staring into the space above my head. “So she’s gonna get the ole hanger treatment, huh? Pretty pricey if you want a guy who’s semi-professional and discrete.”
“I think two hundred will cover it.”
“Oh, I hope so. For your sister’s sake. But why are you here asking for money? Shouldn’t your sister be the one over here beggin’?”
“You don’t know my sister.”
Blade gave me a knowing look. He probably knew it wasn’t my sister who was pregnant, but I wasn’t going to say anything. I guess he figured there was no point squabbling over details.
“Come inside. I’ll see what I can get for you.”
Blade had a new TV, but the rest of the apartment hadn’t changed much. He wasn’t much into living comforts. His main weakness was cars, so he spent most of his money on those. He must have gotten a maid, too, because his place was cleaner than I remembered. I came to a stop in the middle of the living room, feeling awkward. The chills up my spine hadn’t stopped, and now I felt the sudden desire to wash my hands. I wanted to grab the money and get out. I didn’t know how I was going to pay Blade back without Ezekiel noticing. Even if I bought a necklace worth that and gave it to Blade to pawn, Ezekiel might ask about it. For someone who never went shopping with me, Ezekiel seemed to know a lot about the things I bought. However, I had no other choice. Blade was the only one who had two hundred bucks to loan to me, and he didn’t know about Ezekiel. If he did, he’d never give me a cent. In fact, he’d probably never talk to me again.
Blade came back from his bedroom, hands still empty.
“So?” I asked. “Are you going to give me the money?”
Blade sat down in his favorite recliner, legs spread, head tilted back, looking me over. I crossed my arms and faced him.
“First, we need to talk about deadlines,” He stabbed out his cigarette in the ashtray by his chair. “I need to know when I’m getting paid back.”
“I-I don’t know. It depends on when I can get it together. My boyfriend keeps pretty close tabs on me.”
Blade clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “That just won’t do, will it? If I’m going to give you two hundred, I need to know when I’m getting it back. Or else—no money.”
“I used to be your girlfriend, Blade. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Weren’t that great at it,” he muttered.
“I was always good on my word!”
He sighed. “You don’t want a deadline, and you don’t want to show me collateral. No compromise, no money.”
“Blade!” By now, desperation had my heart in its clutches, spreading its icy tentacles throughout my body. If I couldn’t get this money, I couldn’t get the…operation. If I couldn’t get the operation, I’d be killed. I’d always been good at keeping myself alive, despite all the men who pulled guns and knives on me. Somehow, I always lived to see the next day, though, search me for the reason why I wanted to live to the next day. Now that my life wasn’t so horrid, something stupid like two hundred dollars was going to get me murdered. “Blade, please. I’ll—I’ll try to compromise, but I’m in a really tight spot, and I need this.”
Blade watched me as I struggled to hold back tears. He wasn’t the sort of guy to be swayed by emotion. I’d seen him face down plenty of weeping women with a pistol and an expression of steel.
Maybe he liked me more than the others, or maybe he was still half-asleep, because he sighed and waved me over.
“There is something you can do,” he said. “Some form of collateral you can give me.”
“I don’t have any money.” I didn’t even have any jewelry, afraid that there were tracking devices in them.
“I’m not asking for money.”
For a moment, I’d thought Blade had some scrap of a heart, some remote speck of morality. He quickly proved to me this wasn’t true, because his voice went from soft to cruel.
“Get on your knees,” he ordered. “And suck me off.”
I blinked. “Ex—excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I—but—”
“Make it good, and I’ll think about it counting as collateral.”
“But—”
“I’m not gonna tell you how much ‘til you’re done.” His mouth stretched into a greasy leer. “It’ll give you some incentive to do your best.”
I froze. Perhaps I shouldn’t have hesitated, because I had done this for a living not too long ago. But while being with Ezekiel was a paid gig, it didn’t feel like prostitution. I’d forgotten that initial disgust, that wave of self-hatred that rose up and grabbed me, and then the separation from myself that occurred shortly after. I’d almost felt like a person with Ezekiel. How foolish of me to believe that.
Blade was already opening the fly of his boxers and pulling himself out. For a moment, I was sure I was going to vomit. Then resolution settled in, and I knew what I had to do. Give him this, and I wouldn’t be expected to repay him the two hundred bucks in full. Not that he could do anything to me if I didn’t pay him back, but he could certainly hurt Mimi, or the women I used to work with. What was a blowjob anyway? It wasn’t like I hadn’t sucked him off before. At least he was bathed. A small blessing.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself out of my body. I could argue that it wasn’t me that slowly descended onto her knees. It wasn’t me that reached forward and dropped her head, and it wasn’t my hair that Blade grabbed with two fists. No, I was hovering around the ceiling, watching it all like it was a movie. I didn’t know that girl, but I could feel sorry for her. Even when she tried to touch a life of luxury, she was still forced onto her knees for some creep she despised. Even when she wore designer dresses, even when she was driven around by a chauffeur, even when she had a credit card with no limit—here she was, mouth around the dick of a gangster who called the majority of women sluts.
It was a sad thing, really.
Good thing I wasn’t that girl.
* * *
“Do you want to get breakfast or anything?” Victor asked me. We were stuck in downtown traffic on our way to Ralston.
“I’m not really hungry,” I said, staring out the window at all the pedestrians in suits heading for work. “But you can get something if you want.”
“I think I’m going to get a bagel.” Victor flicked on his turn signal and slipped into the closest parking garage. “That okay with you? Maybe we can walk around and shop, if you like.”
“I’m fine with whatever you want.”
Victor insisted on getting me a bagel, too, but I declined. I wasn’t feeling so great. I think the nausea was pregnancy related. I hoped it was, at least.
We went shopping afterward, but my heart really wasn’t in it. I just wanted to go home and sleep. After purchasing one dress, Victor took me home, and I collapsed onto Ezekiel’s bed. I felt like I needed to cry, but I couldn’t. I reached into my purse and pulled out the money Blade had given me early that morning. I snuck it under the mattress, then pulled it back out. Under the mattress was too easy. He could find it there.
I spent two hours thinking of hiding places, putting the money there, and then changing my mind. I thought of everything: the hamper, the rug, the curtains. For each one, I came up with a scenario in which Ezekiel would find it. At last, I found a small sliver of room underneath the mirror, where it was coming apart from its wooden frame. I couldn’t think of a reason Ezekiel might be looking around the mirror, outside of looking in it.
I fell asleep afterward and woke up around dinnertime. When I slipped downstairs in search of food, I was startled by Ezekiel. He had just come in.
“You said—you said two days,” I blurted stupidly. I realized I was hardly in a presentable state, my feet bare, my makeup smudged, and my hair uncombed.
“By now, you should know that not everything goes according to plan.” Ezekiel looked me over in disdain. “And by now, you should know not to wander about the apartment looking like that.”
“I-I’m sorry. I thought…”
“It doesn’t matter if I’m here or not. You must look presentable for my entire staff. Do you understand?”
He seemed to be in a foul mood, so I quickly nodded, blushing. “O-of course, Ezekiel. I-I’ll go up and—”
“And what have I said about the stuttering? If you aren’t going to take the time to say it right, don’t say anything at all.”
I had just woken up, and after the emotional trauma of the past few days, I was not in the condition to take his criticism lightly. I felt tears gather in the corners of my eyes. I didn’t know why. Maybe this pregnancy was making me weepier than usual. I hated it. Crying because Ezekiel said a few less-than-kind words was hardly enough to set me off.
I bowed my head. “Yes, Ezekiel.”
“Go upstairs and put yourself together. Don’t come down until you’re properly groomed. Then you may eat dinner.”
I went back upstairs, feeling a concoction of negative emotions I couldn’t describe. I wanted to throw something and hug something at the same time. I missed my sister. I wished I’d been able to stay there another night.
The tears subsided, though. I was able to sit and put on my makeup calmly, like a robot might. I straightened my unruly curls, powdered my freckles, and put on all the trappings of a well-paid courtesan, from the diamond earrings to the designer six-inch heels. After forty-five minutes of grooming, I finally went downstairs, determined to remain as composed as possible. Like Blade, Ezekiel didn’t care whether or not I was feeling emotional. Tears only served to annoy him.
Ezekiel was seated at the dining table, looking at his tablet and frowning. Knowing all the rules I’d broken in the past twenty-four hours, I had a sudden desire to prove myself. Instead of simply sitting down and eating the salad that had already been placed at my usual chair, I went straight to Ezekiel. I stood behind him, slipping my hands along his shoulders. For a moment, I wondered if he’d strike out or yell at me for it—he wasn’t used to outward affection, after all—but he just reached up and ran a thumb lightly along my hand.
“I apologize for earlier,” I whispered, working my fingers along the hard knots in his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you.”
Ezekiel didn’t reply for a long time, only stared at his tablet in silence. Finally, he took a bite from his salad and muttered, “You know better.”
“I do.” I kept my voice soft and meek. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not a trophy wife,” he said. “You can’t just lie around as you please and expect me to dote on you.”
“I know.”
“You may sit down now.”
Cowed, I went to my place at the table and sat. I looked up at Ezekiel occasionally between bites of salad, but he appeared utterly uninterested in me. I don’t know why, but I felt a deep sense of shame. I was once happy when Ezekiel ignored me. But with time, I began to crave his approval. I thought a lot about why I needed his attention when I never needed such from a man before.
Perhaps it was because he’d become the first man I lived with—at least the first one who didn’t come home drunk and violent like my mother’s past boyfriends. Perhaps I was beginning to see him as some twisted kind of father figure. A father figure I slept with. I knew it didn’t make any sense, but there it was. No one said the human psyche made much sense. My whole life, I wanted a man who was predictable, who treated me with some sense of dignity, who valued me more than the fee I charged. I knew Ezekiel didn’t consider me equal to him. But he did see me as an employee, not a dog on a chain. Even being valued as an employee was something new. No matter how little Ezekiel valued my life, he still saw me as…what? More than a woman? That’s all Blade saw when he looked at me. Ezekiel saw me as something else, though I still wasn’t quite sure what.
I shook my head. No matter what Ezekiel saw me as, he’d still kill me if I inconvenienced him. My life had no value—only my services. Just because he saw me no differently than his bodyguards and his other henchmen didn’t mean that I was an equal.