There’s a ruckus downstairs just a few hours later, and it’s the most blessed sound I’ve ever heard. The proverbial music to my ears.
“Get the hell out of my way or I’m calling the cops and every news station I can get here. You want shit at your front door? ’Cause I can bring shit to your front door.”
“This is private property,” Ramone’s deep voice rumbles up to me.
“Yeah, and my cousin lives on this private property,” Lotus fires back. “If I don’t see her in the next thirty seconds, whatever is going on here will be on every major broadcast tonight. Test me.”
I don’t give him a chance to test her. That kind of exposure would work against my plan. I open the bedroom door and step onto the landing. Two pairs of eyes climb the stairs until they reach me with Sarai on my hip.
“Oh, my God, Iris.” Outrage, incredulity, and fury war in Lotus’s voice and on her face.
By now I’ve looked in the mirror and know what she sees. I’m not so much Iris as a black-eyed Susan. My face is the canvas of an abstract painting with eyes distorted and mismatched, one bigger than the other. I’m splashed with wild streaks of black and magenta and scarlet. My lips are split and triple-sized. A many-colored bruise blossoms on my forehead and flowers into my hairline. My other parts haven’t fared much better. My body is a patchwork of violence.
And it’s all the evidence I need.
“Lotus.” Her name releases from me like a held breath. There is still so much ahead, and my plan must be perfectly executed to the last detail for me to truly escape, not just today, but for good.
I look to Ramone standing beside her. Panic widens his eyes, and he immediately starts dialing.
“Call him, please,” I say, starting down the steps, holding Sarai close and carrying a small bag with only our most essential things. “Tell him I’m gone.”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Ramon snaps, his brows jerked together.
“Try and stop us.” Lotus climbs the last few steps to meet me halfway. She takes Sarai and buries her face in the baby-scented curls for a second before grabbing my hand. Linked at our hands, linked at our hearts again, we rush down the staircase and across the foyer.
When we reach the door, Ramone’s hand snakes out to grab my arm, but I force myself to stand straight.
“Get your hands off me.” I meet his eyes with no hesitation. “Or we call the cops right now, and I tell them everything. Think you’re the only one who can lie to the authorities? I’ll say you’ve been beating and raping me, too. You want to go down with Caleb? Does your loyalty really stretch that far?”
His hand drops, and his throat bobs with a gulp.
Lotus and I open the door and walk swiftly through. A green Volkswagen Beetle sits out front, parked haphazardly in the circular driveway.
“You got a new car?” I ask. This banal question is all I can manage. Let’s talk about the easy things we’ve missed, not about the purgatory I’ve been trapped in.
“No, I don’t even own a car. I borrowed a friend’s as soon as I got your message.” Tears flood Lotus’s eyes and she sniffs, swiping under her running nose, even as she climbs in. “What the hell, Bo? How did this even . . . happen? What’s going on?”
I ignore her questions, my heart battering my chest cavity with the promise of escape so close. I climb in the back, because I don’t even have a car seat for Sarai. I’m leaving it behind with all the other things Caleb bought. A small portion of our possessions is in the duffle bag, along with a little fistful of cash Andrew gave me and the little I’ve been able to hide and hoard over time. I pull the seat belt across us both and spend a few seconds hating myself for not trusting Lo sooner—for letting my shame and resentment and our petty disagreement come between us. I hate myself for not taking the risk and reaching out. Letting that minutiae stand between her and me, and between me and freedom, for too long.
I’ll make up for it now. I’ll pull back the curtain and show her my scars. “Just drive, Lo, and I’ll tell you everything.”
