Athena

11. Unlike Them, Unlike Him

Uncertainty flits across his handsome face.

Cruz hesitates before answering, "To be honest, Alison looked pretty fried when she was talking to me."

Fried?

Oh, yes.

From the dub I sold her.

He offers, "I doubt she picked up on what Chrissa and Brody were trying to do until we found you in that room. At least, I hope that's the case."

"Jesus," I mutter.

Speaking of money and weed—

Where's my money?

Where's my leftover weed?

Right then, another kind of panic overtakes me. My eyes go round. I spaz out like a crackhead seeking her next hit, looking this way, that way, everywhere in the car for my missing purse.

Did I leave it behind at Sam's house?

Shit!

Shit!

Shit!

My voice sounds shrill when I demand, "Have you seen my purse?"

"In the backseat," he replies with a cocked eyebrow. "Don't worry, I think most of your shit is still there."

I squeak, "You looked in my purse?"

"Yes."

Damn it!

Now the spawn knows way too many of my dirty, little secrets. If he ever turns on me, my ass is so fucked.

Cruz seems to read my mind. "Relax. I promise I won't tell anyone about your shady side hustle."

"Really?"

"Really."

I don't trust him. "I thought you hated me?"

He doesn't address my pointed remark. I don't even know if he heard me. His eyes dart away for a second as though he's distracted. Cruz looks like he's deep in thought. "I've been meaning to ask you something..."

His tone sounds serious.

I sit up a little straighter. "What's up?"

"When Alison and I found you in the room with Chrissa and Brody," Cruz stammers in a halting manner, "your, ah... underwear... was still... on, so I'm hoping that nothing bad happened, but I wanna be sure. Do you remember if Brody... or anyone else... did anything... inappropriate... to you?"

There's a light flush on his cheeks. I can tell this conversation is making him uncomfortable. Hell, it's making me extremely uncomfortable. My neck burns with mortification because, the truth of the matter is—

I don't know.

I simply don't remember enough to answer his question properly, and the not-knowing is starting to mess with my head.

I reply honestly, "I wish I knew, but my memory's kinda fucked."

"Shit," he murmurs, "I'm so sorry this happened to you, Athena, I wish—"

I know he's trying to be nice, but I don't want to hear it. I'm over it. I don't have the brain cells to deal with this nightmare. I already feel too drained to give a shit.

"It's fine," I interject, "everything's fine."

"Agree to disagree," he declares as his eyes drift towards the hospital. "This is why we should go inside. They can help you answer all of the unknowns with a physical."