I stare blankly at the slow dripping of coffee brewing out of my cheap, thift store coffee maker. My eyes dry from lack of sleep, I haven't slept a full night for  as long as I can remember. Sleep, now, that Chloe has gone is even harder to grasp. I fight for it every night. Tossing, turning, kicking one foot out from under the covers then pushing it back in. Letting out an annoyed gust of breath when I finally get out of bed and give up when sunlight shines through the window. Head to the coffee pot and go another day without any sleep. I pour a thin stream of coffee into a white mug that's chipped on the rim. It's the only coffee mug I own. That's what they don't tell you when you move out on your own for the first time. You imagine that you'll have a nice place in the city, pretty and trendy furnishings that you leave behind on Friday nights while you roam the streets and clubs with even trendier friends in shining high heels and bouncy dresses. But, no, you have a tiny apartment, and one of everything you can find from various thrift stores. One pillow, one cup, one couch. Only one, and no cheerful Friday nights.

The chip in the cup's rim, tiny and V shaped presses into my lips. I can feel my top and bottom lips touch a little through the triangle notch as the brew fills my mouth. I set the the cup down and glance to the stack of money beside me on the counter. Fresh printed money. I stare at it through exhausted eyes. My apartment quite, only the sound of people outside my only window walking on the the sidewalk underneath the fire escape. Guilt and anger flood into me as usual when I look at my hush money. I didn't want to take it the first time three months ago. My mother had called, she always calls on Sunday. I tried to sound happy as I always do. Taking my voice up a few octaves, turning my clock radio on a happy music station to appear as if I dance around my happy little apartment in my socks and a baggy tee shirt when I'm not studying.

She had sounded worried that day during our phone call. She explained in a hushed voice that the house was going into foreclosure. I cut the radio off and sat on the edge of the bed. My face fell. Through the phone I could hear her close the hall closet door as she whispered. She didn't want my younger sister to hear. "The bank says we can stay as long as we bring them three thousand dollars by Friday. I don't have that kind of money." Her voice started to crack and I knew then what I had to do. I swatted a tear from my cheek. "It's okay, Mom." I stood and searched the floor for the least dirty jeans I could find. "I have some money saved up, I'll send it to you." I stuffed each leg into a wrinkled pair of jeans, and threw on a faded black tee shirt. My mother, as I knew she would, refused my help.

Since my father died of a massive heart attack three years ago, my mother hates the idea of anyone helping her do anything. "No, Ava. I will figure this out." She promised, but I knew she was in trouble. The home I grew up in, the only place I could ever possibly go back to was about to be taken back by the bank if I didn't do something. "I'll talk to you soon." I hung up the phone before she could reject again. I took a look in the mirror and tied Avery's scarf around my yellowing neck. The bruises were starting to fade and I knew he'd put them back as soon as he seen them. I left my apartment determined and nervous. My stomach as tight as a knot I walked the long way around campus to Omega House. I hadn't been back in months, not since the last party. I looked over my shoulder to the house across the street, to the basement windows and my shoulders turned to stone.
"Ava." The voice. I will always know that voice. "I was just coming to find you." Avery stepped slowly down to the sidewalk where I stood wide eyed and ready to bolt. His face was smiling, his mouth too wide. But the smile changed as the wind picked up and blew the airy scarf around. He could tell by the width of the wrapping around my neck, thinner than usual, that his brand was starting to fade. His tongue touched his top lip as he peered over his shoulder at Omega house. Nobody was watching. How did nobody ever notice the guy that everyone always notices? How did they never see the way he looked at me? Like I was prey. I am prey.

He stepped closer, his eyes burning as I took a single step back. My hands clenched at my sides as he tipped my chin up, forcing me to look at him. To a passing stranger you would have thought he was my boyfriend. Just a sweet guy holding his girlfriends chin with his findertips about to gently kiss her. He's always been a master of hiding who he is, using basic flirtation to hide his words. Coming up from behind and wrapping his arms around me, laughing and smiling always too big with his chin on my shoulder at parties. "Basement in ten minutes." He would tell me, holding his smile in place so the words would growl through closed teeth. I hated the way it made me feel. I never had boyfriends in high school. I always wanted to know what it would feel like for a boy to wrap me from behind the way the footbal players did their girlfriends. The way they held them in place with their hands held together at the girls waist, laughing to their friends about long ago stories. How they'd remove their embrace to emphasize the story but they always found their way back to the girls waist. It said "This is my girl" like constantly holding a trophy.

With, Avery I know I am a trophy but I'm the worst kind of trophy. Sometimes I'd imagine what it would be like if he was just a normal guy, and I was his girlfriend. That he loved me the way a football player loves a cheerleader. "Ten minutes." He released my chin and went back into the house. I turned to the house across the street as my lips trembled. I didn't want to. I never want to, but I did. I went to the basement that day with a purpose. I left the basement that day with fresh bruises, a limp, and a wider scarf. But I didn't go to class that day. Instead I headed up town and into his fathers office. I sat in a chair for an hour avoiding his desk clerk who kept assuring me he'd be out of his meeting any minute now. Finally, half a dozen stiff suite men filed out of Avery's fathers office. "Thank you, Mr. Duncan." One of the old men shook his hand hard as he left. I stood and winced as I limped toward him.

"Mr. Duncan?" I said nervously. He looked at me confused. "My name is, Ava. Can I speak with you for a moment?" I tried to sound sweet, hoping he'd feel sorry for me but he didn't. My wrinkled clothes looked out of place inside his office, next to him, and it made him uncomfortable. "The internship is down the hall." He said as he started to close the door in my face. Something inside me exploded. Maybe it was the way he smiled a fake smile just like his son, maybe it was the pain radiating between my legs. My hand hit the door hard, stopping it from closing. His eyes widened. "You will speak to me." I hissed. "Unless you want the world to know what your son does in his free time." My lips pressed together and he knew I wasn't bluffing. His face twitched as he held the door open for me to enter. It wasn't hard. No parent wants their son's face all over the news, no father wants to admit that their son is a monster. But he knew. Of course, he knew when he seen the scarf around my neck.

I left his office and went straight home to call my mother. She answered on the second ring. I told her to go to the the bank in the morning, that the money would be there and extra to catch up on more bills. I didn't give her time to reply before I hung up and fell to my side on the bed. I hugged my knees and rocked myself while I sobbed, hating myself and wanting to die.

I take another sip of coffee, now cold and bitter after staring into the money for too long and turn on the TV. Ignoring the mess on the coffee table I flip through channels. My thumb dead stops, and I see her face for the first time in days. Suddenly I miss her more than I thought I would. Chloe sits on her living room couch between her parents. A young news woman sits across from her in a lavender dress and thin red hair, her legs crossed and trying too hard to look professional. I turn the volume up.
"Chloe, can you tell us a little bit about the night you were kidnapped?" The woman prys. Chloe shifts in her seat and stares into her hands. "I can't comment on details until after the trial." She replies. The woman looks as if she doesn't know what to say next. "That's alright, I understand." She finally says, "What are you feeling right now, Chloe? If you could say anything to anyone out there, what would you say?" Her voice is low and nurturing. Chloe's face turns to the camera as her father plants a tiny kiss on her left temple, "It's okay baby." He whispers to her.

I sit up straight, nervous of what she might say. Chloe stares dead into the camera, it feels like she's looking me right in the eye. Her jaw muscles tighten and I notice that she isn't wearing her scarf. You can see a hint of yellow around her neck. Her hair tickles at her chin as her face hardens. She looks to the news woman, "To, Avery, I would tell him it's over. You're done hurting me." She sniffs. "And to the others" she adds, looking back into my eyes through the camera. "Take it off and come forward." The words bounce off the walls of my apartment and leave the city silent. I imagine girls all over campus, some in their dorms, maybe one at Lava's or in the library. Dozens of girls stopping whatever they're doing to touch their hand to their necks and tug at the silk tied around it. Dozens of girls knowing exactly what her message means while the rest of the world watching sits confused. Dozens of girls threatening my only way of keeping my family back home from going under. I make myself sick.