She swallowed.
“I ask.”
The word made my stomach twist.
“You ask him?”
She nodded.
“For money?”
Another nod.
“How much does he give you?”
“Usually $50 at a time.”
I actually laughed.
It wasn’t because anything was funny.
It was disbelief.
“Rachel, you’re an adult.”
“I know.”
“You work.”
“I know.”
“You earn your own money.”
“I know, Marissa.”
Her voice rose.
Then she covered her mouth.
For a second, we just stared at each other.
Her eyes were wet.
Mine probably were too.
“I know,” she whispered again. “That’s the worst part.”
I softened.
“Okay.”
She wiped her cheek.
“I kept thinking it would get better.”
“Has it?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
She looked toward the door.
“If I’m late, he’ll come looking for me.”
That sentence made something inside me go cold.
“Does he check where you are?”
Rachel hesitated.
“My phone.”
“What about it?”
“He can see my location.”
I took a slow breath.
“Does he read your messages?”
“Sometimes.”
I felt anger rise so quickly that I had to control my voice.
“Does he ever hurt you?”
Rachel looked at me.
“No.”
