Ivy shrugs. “It could be worse, right? You could have been raped last night by Crack Joe.”

Against my will, my frown lessens. “Yes. There’s that.”

“Other people will always beat you down, but they don’t win unless you give up, and quit fighting. My dad used to tell me that. He’d also say, ‘It can’t rain all the time.’ He wasn’t a poet though, just thought he was. That was a line from his favorite movie, The Crow.”

The Crow. Dark thoughts immediately enter my mind, but I beat them back.

“He was always spouting off something like that. Always yapping my ear off.” She laughs almost silently.

I watch her and notice how her mouth twists into a small smirk.

“You know what the last thing he told me before he . . .” She shakes her head. When she tells me, her voice has a fake, cheery quality to it, as if she’s trying hard to mask her feelings. “He said, ‘Find your perfect, and hold on to it.’”

I raise an eyebrow. “Your perfect?”

“Yeah, you know, it’s different for everyone. Could be a family, a home with a picket fence. A guy or a girl, if that’s what you’re into. A job. School. Whatever it is that’s going to make you happy.”

My thoughts immediately go where they shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

“How old are you?”

The corner of her mouth kicks up higher. “Old enough.” Then her hand bumps mine and I look down. In her palm rests a five-dollar bill.

A spark of hope flutters through my chest.

“It’s not much, but it’s what I can do. I should’ve warned you better about what she was gonna do. I just . . . don’t sleep very good when I stay here and well, I guess I woke up in a bitchy mood this morning.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Yeah, I do. My father taught me to look out for those in need and girls like us don’t have a lot of options. I mean, not that you’re a girl, because you’re a bit older than me, but . . . here . . . take it.” She turns her face away and plays with the bracelets on her wrist. “Find a way to earn money, Red, before a way finds you. Buy yourself some protection. The last thing you need is to pick up some nasty, or get pregnant by some Joe.”

“Ivy, I can’t do that.”

She lowers her head and smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “Yeah, and I hope you don’t have to. But out here, you won’t find a lot of ways to earn money fast without using your body. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

I try to hand it back to her.

“No, you need it more than I do. Plus, I know where I can get more.” Her words sound loaded with meaning. She stands and takes two steps, then says, “I’ll tell you what, though. One day, when you win the lottery, you come find me, huh? Repay the favor. Consider this an IOU.”

“Ivy—”

“Keep breathing, Red, and watch your back because nobody is gonna watch it for you. Even if they say they will, watch it anyway because people lie.” With that said, she strolls away.

I watch her go until she’s gone and close my fist around the money.

Ivy’s right about there being something in life worth fighting for. There’s a reason I didn’t stay with Warner and wait for the next punishment he was sure to deliver.

I wanted more. Needed more. Deserved more.

I have a future pictured in my mind. It’s not anything spectacular, but it’s normal, secure, good, and something I’ve never had.

Ivy called it, my perfect. But after fighting through what feels like a maze of thorns for the last few years, it might be more appropriate to call it my secret garden.

The one thing in life I’d do just about anything to find.

Sometimes all that’s left to choose from are bad choices. The variance of how bad determines how far we’ll fall . . .

My eyes travel back and forth from the pumpkin necklace in my left hand to the box of condoms in my right.

The necklace caught my eye, reminding me I have one other option. I can call Sundown, my sister, for money. But as I stare down at the small jack-o-lantern with a happy face instead of a scary one hanging from a silver chain, I know I can’t.

Won’t.

Taking some of the little money Sunny earns waitressing and receives from the state to support Willow, my niece, isn’t an option, no matter how desperate I become. Plus, no way do I want to put them in danger by contacting them.

Will is the only person in the world I love wholeheartedly, absolutely. I could never take from her or put her in harm’s way.

It’s mid-August, which means she’ll be starting school any day now. Her first day of kindergarten . . . I bet she’s nervous, but also excited. I picture her strutting around wearing this necklace like a badge of honor, proudly telling her little friends her aunty gave it to her. I would have done it if I were home.

My stomach turns when I think of all the days of her life I’ve missed.

And will miss.

But I have to push those thoughts aside. They’re not helping me right now. I can’t keep focusing on the past when I need to be worried about my immediate future.

I have five dollars to my name. That’s food for two, maybe three days tops. But then what?

My gaze swings back to the condoms.

Can I really do what Ivy suggested? Sell myself? Pleasure some stranger for money?

I don’t want to. After everything I’ve been through, I don’t even know if I can.

I’ve walked the entire day from store to store. I’ve tried for weeks to find a job, practically begging for one. But without ID and looking the way I do, no one will hire me. And I can’t work just anywhere, since I have to keep a low profile.

Warner’s father, his contacts, and half the world are undoubtedly looking for me by now because of the media coverage about the fire and my disappearance. I knew with Warner’s father being a state senator, it probably would make the local news, but I didn’t know it would spread further than California.

Three weeks ago, while I was hiding out from a hot day inside a super store, I froze in my tracks. Warner’s face was on one of the large high-definition TV’s. He stood behind a podium and pleaded with the public to call the eight hundred number on the bottom of the screen if they had any information about my whereabouts. I watched horrified as a picture of us popped up. I was smiling in the photo, so it must have been taken a few months ago when we first started dating. Back when I was blissfully unaware of who he truly was. The camera zeroed in on his face showing red earnest eyes, and his frown. All fake of course. Then, in a shaking voice that made chills rush over my arms, he said, “Em, I love you. If you can hear me, come home.” He shook his head, acting as if he was suddenly too choked up to talk and leaned forward. In a whisper soft voice, he said, “Please help me bring my girlfriend home. Thank you.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised he’s free and not being treated as a suspect in my disappearance since blood was all over the crime scene. And nothing’s been mentioned about his twisted and demented proclivities either. His father must have thrown his money around and paid everyone to keep quiet like I feared he would. It was the reason I didn’t go to the authorities in the first place. Warner always bragged how his father was untouchable; he had cops, lawyers, and even a judge in his pocket.

The last thing I need is someone recognizing me and calling the cops.

There’s not a warrant out for my arrest. But I am wanted for questioning regarding the fire. Although that may be just a ruse to get me to turn myself in so they can turn around and lock me away or hand me back to Warner. And if Warner gets a hold of me, there’s no doubt in my mind, I’ll pay dearly for burning down his house, and putting a spotlight on him and his father.

I exhale and tuck my hair behind my ear.

Ironically, selling myself isn’t a far cry from what he put me through. One big difference is I’ll walk away with money for being used instead of sore limbs, marks, and bruises.