Prisoned - Marni Mann Page 0,5

skin. Those were the only months my body didn’t shake. There was barely enough meat on me to keep me healthy and definitely not enough to keep me warm.

My phone rang from inside my purse. I kept my eyes on the ocean as I reached for it, trying to shake the memories away. “Hello?”

“Have you checked in?” Anthony asked.

“Yes.”

I’d told him not to worry about picking me up from the airport. I didn’t want to have to talk during the ride to the hotel. I just wanted a second alone with my thoughts. Anthony wouldn’t have given me that. It would have been order after order, and I didn’t want to hear it.

“I’m on my way,” he said. “We’ll get something to eat and then go to the funeral. I figured we could hit up the diner. I know you liked that place, so—”

“No diner.”

That was where I’d always gone with the guys. I didn’t need to open those memories, too.

“Then, we’ll eat at your hotel.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll see you in the lobby in twenty.”

“Anthony, wait.” I hadn’t thought of it when I talked to him a few days ago. But now that I was here and the service was in a few hours, I had to know. “You’re coming with me? To the funeral?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. Maybe I should have just let it play out, like the rest of today would.

“Yes.” His tone was so sharp. “Meet me downstairs in twenty.”

The phone then went dead.

I wished the window had a frame or a sill, so I had something to hold on to. Just a small ledge, wide enough for my fingers, so I could grip it tightly. So I could squeeze. Something that could bear my weight. Because, suddenly, everything felt so heavy. So thick. So foggy. Even more than when I’d stepped off the plane. Heavier than when I’d walked into the suite. Heavier than before I’d answered the phone.

But there was nothing to grip. Nothing to hold me. Only a warm pane of glass and a full view of my ugly past. So, I tilted forward and rested my head against it, hoping it would keep me from falling.

I checked my suitcase to see what I had packed. I didn’t remember throwing in clothes or shoes or cosmetics. It had been another autopilot moment, my brain in a much different place than my body. But as I dug around, I found everything I needed. I pulled out a pair of black pants and felt myself putting them on. My arms slipped through the holes of a black tank top and then through the sleeves of a matching blazer. I placed a long necklace over my head, bracelets on my wrists, heels on my feet.

In the bathroom, with my makeup bag open and my cosmetics spread over the counter, my hand shook as I drew a strip of liner over my lids. I didn’t know why I was making such an effort. This was a funeral, not a reunion. Anyone who recognized me had seen me at my worst. I’d been twenty pounds thinner back then, my skin gray, my hair ratted. But still, I added more makeup to my face, curls to my long strands of dark hair. Perfume to my skin.

When I ran out of things to put on, I finally paused and took the time to really blink, to take in the face that stared back at me in the mirror.

I could dress her up. I could cover her face in makeup. I could brush her hair and make her skin smell clean. I could fix her teeth and add twenty pounds to her frame. I could fly her first-class and book her in a hotel suite.

I’d done all of that already.

But, under this cosmetic blanket, I was just a girl from the projects.

A girl who had been holding in the biggest secret. A secret I had never spoken to anyone.

The secret lived in this state, so why would I ever come back here?

If I were smart, I would grab my purse and rush off to the airport, catching the first flight out of here and pretending the last hour hadn’t happened.

I was smart. I just wasn’t as strong.

Anthony and I stood against the back wall of the chapel. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone in attendance. They were at least thirty short, maybe more. And no one here was dressed up…but me. I was