Free Saving Charlie (Stories of Serendipity Book 9) by Anne Conley

he watched, some awful part of his heart waiting for her to cry legitimate tears so he could gather her in his arms.
    But they never came.

Chapter 8
    From Carla May’s journal —1995—Aged fifteen
    He came into my room, shirtless already, ripping his belt through the loops on his jeans.
    “Get on your knees,” he yelled at me, and I did it without arguing. I knew it was coming. I’d only brought home $300 tonight, and I was supposed to have $350. I was fifty dollars shy.
    As his belt screamed though the air to meet the skin on my back with a loud slapping sound, I withdrew inside my head. I didn’t mind the beatings. It had gotten to where I expected them, almost welcomed the pain. It was a refreshing change from the constant numbness. Numbness I forced myself into. The Man didn’t tell me he loved me as much anymore. Only that I’d disappointed him. I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I submitted to his beatings.
    “I’ve got a special job for you tonight.” We were finishing our food from McDonald’s, and The Man was rolling a jay for us to smoke. After we got high, he rubbed my back. It had been so long since he’d shown me affection like this, and I was really liking it. It made me feel like I had when I first started living with The Man. “I don’t trust my other girls to go into someone else’s home and do a gang-bang. You’re the only one who will do a good job.” His praise gave me a warm feeling inside, even if his words didn’t. I didn’t mind the gang-bangs. The Man usually gave me some good stuff before to prepare me, and a good reward afterward. Last time, he’d given me some smack, and it had made the entire experience feel really good. All those different guys going at me, and the whole time I was floating on some sort of cloud, like nothing really mattered except the feelings of their hands on me. As we cleaned up from our afternoon, he told me to get ready, I was about to have the night of my life.
    “Make me proud, Baby.”

    “Let me buy you something. You don’t need to go spending money on my event.” They’d arrived at Santa Barbara, and since Les’s friend had put him up in a swanky hotel for the wedding party, they were standing in the room, separated by one of the full-sized beds Charlie had spread her clothes out on.
    “No, Les. I can just dress up something I brought. It’s no big deal.” She was planning on going to a thrift shop she’d seen a couple of blocks away and finding something. It was a pride thing.
    “You’re going to dress up jeans for a wedding? Really, I don’t mind.” He gestured in a placating manner, and she knew he didn’t mind, but it was the principle. He’d been so nice to her all day today, it was unnerving her. She got up at her normal time this morning, four thirty, and was on her laptop, catching up on emails and looking over her spreadsheets when he’d woken. Immediately, his face showed concern, asking how she’d slept, not seeming to believe that she’d slept fine.
    Which made her wonder if she’d talked in her sleep.
    She had issues, issues that were heavily medicated. One of them was a sleep issue, caused by depression, which was a symptom of her more alarming diagnosis—a borderline personality disorder. And she took medication for all of it. The sleeping pills put her to sleep, but she could only sleep so much, so she was a habitual early riser.
    In the truck, he’d chatted amicably, staying on safe topics. He hadn’t asked again about her reaction to the motel, nor did he say anything at her relief to be staying in the nice hotel tonight.
    “No one’s going to be looking at me, Les. They’re going to be watching you play. I can dress up a pair of jeans, or buy something myself. Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you.” She worked hard for her money, was frugal and pinched pennies where she could. It enabled her to make contributions to the Refuge monthly and occasionally splurge on nice things.
    “I’m not worried