Tainted Innocence

Chapter 4

Lila's POV

It had been two weeks since I got off that night bus and gave my skin to a stranger. The motel I found is behind a laundry shop that smells like onions and chlorine. The word “Vacancy” on the sign outside seems to breathe because it flickers so often. The refrigerator, the fluorescent light, and the air conditioner all hum as they combat the heat of the desert.

I tell the manager my name is Lila Quinn, and she doesn’t blink. She just asks for money and a signature.

I stroll to the diner down the block every morning. No matter how often I wash my hair, the grease from the griddle sticks to it. But the work keeps me hidden. The yellow cotton in my outfit has faded from the sun and bleach. People who come in often nickname me “Sunshine” because I smile when I give them coffee, even when my legs are shaking after working twelve hours straight.

The scent of bacon and old coffee makes me sick today. While I’m cleaning the counter, the room tilts. The floor looks like it’s going up to my face.

“Hey, sweetie, are you okay?”

Mara, the line cook, grabs my elbow. She’s fifty, with a lot of freckles and friendliness.

“Didn’t get much sleep.”

My voice sounds weak. She gives me a drink of water.

“Maybe eat something that doesn’t have caffeine in it.”

I nod and drink, but the borders of the world are still shaky. Even though the air conditioner is blowing cold, a trickle of sweat runs down my back.

When the lunch crowd dies down, I lean against the counter and look at the wall calendar. There is a red circle around “Father’s Day” on June 22nd.

I grip the rag harder.

Two weeks. Not a cycle.

The glass slips out of my hand and shatters on the tile. My shoes become wet from the water. Everyone turns.

I make myself chuckle and bend down to pick up the pieces, but my heart beats so loudly that I can’t hear the radio.

Mara is squatting next to me.

“Go home, Sunshine.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

I nod, thankful, but the term “home” doesn’t sound right.

The light shines white across the parking lot outside. I hold my luggage close to my chest and start to walk. Every step reminds me of a fact I don’t want to face.

There is a fragrance of paper and air freshener in the pharmacy. I keep my hood up and my eyes down, pretending to read the labels on painkillers while my palm shakes toward the aisle marked “Family Planning.” The shelves get blurry. Every brand promises “clarity” with blue and pink boxes.

I pick the one in the middle and bring it to the counter. The cashier, who is only twenty, scans it without looking up.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

My voice is almost gone.

I lock the door and slip the bolt when I get back to the motel. In the bathroom mirror, I see a ghost with pale skin, chapped lips, and eyes that are dark from lack of sleep.

I rip open the box with my fumbling hands. I close my eyes and lean against the sink while my phone’s timer counts down.

The rain comes back to me in memory, the bar’s dim light, the smell of bourbon, and the sound of a stranger’s voice like smoke against my ear. I can feel the warmth of his palm on my back again, the promise I never asked for.

I can’t remember his name, but I remember how he stared at me like I was already lost.

The timer goes off. Two lines of pink.

I fall to the floor, my knees on the chilly tile. The world holds its breath with me for a heartbeat. Tears come, but they don’t mean I’m hopeless. They are something heavier and deeper, a love that scares.

I touch my stomach and speak to the quiet.

“It’s just you and me now.”

The pipes above make a sound like thunder in the distance. Someone is playing with a hose outside in the heat, and you can hear kids laughing from the street.

I picture the little hand that will one day find mine and the eyes that might be stormy gray.

“I’ll protect you,” I whisper again, this time with a steadier voice. “Always.”

The neon sign outside the motel flickers through the thin curtain, making the room pink for a second, then dark for the next, like a heartbeat against the wall. Thunder makes the night feel bigger. Rain hits the glass hard, attempting to get in.

I sit on the side of the bed with my journal open on my knees. The dampness makes the paper curl.

Call him.

The name Bernard is at the top of the page.

I look back, my pen frozen above the word. If I reach for him, I’ll pull him into the storm I made. He should be in the sun, not the dark.

Lightning splits the room in half and sends my reflection across the mirror. It’s a woman in a diner uniform, with hair stuck to her cheeks and one hand over the curvature of her tummy.

I start to write.

No names. No past. Only this kid.

The ink collects at the period and spreads like blood through the fiber.

A knock comes from next door, and voices from the TV spill out. Someone chuckles, and the sound is as sharp as glass.

I put the journal away, slide it beneath the thin pillow, and go to the window. A single humming lamp lights up the parking lot. The potholes fill with water that looks like dark mirrors.

I say the vow out loud so the rain can hear it.

“Not any more cages.”

Another burst of lightning shows me my reflection in the glass. I’m alone, but I’m not broken. The fear that used to live in my ribcage lets go of its grip.

I have a reason to live now.

I turn on the radio to make noise. There’s static, and suddenly, a newscaster’s voice bursts through.

“Breaking business update, Whitmore Enterprises ends merger talks with Carter Holdings after heiress Lila Carter goes missing.”

The coffee cup slides out of my hand and shatters on th

e tile. The storm outside drowns out the sound, but I can still hear my heartbeat counting down in the dark.