If You Fall

Five

He heaved a huge sigh and sat up on my right, his movements fluid. He was definitely loaded. He reached for a bottle of water on the table and then examined it for a long moment before finally taking a drink. 

"So," he began. "So indeed, just what it says. What more do you want to know, chérie?"

I eyed him skeptically. "You can do better than that."

"I'd rather not," he allowed, looking at the water with distaste. "I hate water. I know, I shouldn't, but I do."

"Reed."

He sighed again dramatically but I was used to his theatrics. "So that day I came to get you. It wasn't because of the perverted kid, or the psycho mom, though of course they were concerning factors."

I barely remembered that day.

"It was, they had . . . " he faltered, and I saw how difficult this was for him to tell me. It didn't stop me from making him do it, but still. "I knew a guy, I thought he was a friend of mine. He had some pictures one night, he was showing around, and one was of you." He leaned over with his elbows on his knees, bringing both hands down his face and then clasping them, not looking at me. His jaw was clenched. 

"What do you mean?" Acid burned my throat.

"He was advertising you, and these other girls." He was angry now, but keeping calm. "Like, for this . . . he was involved in this whole sex trafficking thing. Spicer was part of it. They just targeted girls in the system and called them runaways. Especially, especially . . . " he gestured, unable to finish.

"Especially someone like me, because of my face," I finished for him. "No one cares about us even if we aren't disfigured, right?"

"You're not disfigured, Addy," he said firmly, looking at me now. I was glad he was sitting on my good side.

"I was then," I said, somewhat truthfully, thinking of how I'd looked before the reconstructive surgeries. My mind was trying to process all of this. "So, wow. This is crazy." I thought of the way the father was always watching me, licking his lips. Sick fuck.

He took my hand. "When you opened the door that day . . . " he shivered. "Your eyes were dead, Addy. I was afraid we were too late."

"Yeah, well, the situation was dire," I said, not without bitterness.

He let go and lay back down, worn out by the telling. "They were going to take you that night." He swallowed and closed his eyes, his jaw set again. "Over my dead body."

I had a lump in my throat, and ran my hand over his hair again automatically. "Damn," I said. "That's, I mean, what if you hadn't found out?"

He laughed without humor. "You cannot think that way. You can however think that they did not and will not get away with what they've done." His accent got more pronounced when he was emotional and it was pretty endearing.

"You sound so French right now," I teased him gently. I wasn't taking the situation lightly, which he knew.

"It was very upsetting," he said. "Oui, it's a wonder I didn't kill that kid on the spot when he showed me your picture. You have no idea the restraint I was forced to show in order to get more information, and not blow my chance to move you." He smiled up at me, and it was crooked and sad. 

"I'm okay," I reminded him. My free hand rested on his shoulder and I squeezed. 

"Yes. You're safe today, and for tomorrow. And for all the tomorrows, chérie." His voice was fading. "I don't even want to talk about it anymore. Which is tres bien, considering I'm not supposed to."