My friends tried to connect with me, when they saw me along the way but…
They caught me out of nowhere. Rushing up to me. Gabby was on her bike, Mercedes on foot as she ran up to me. Her face more worried than I'd ever seen before. I was dirty, sweaty a mess. Dazed.
"Girl, where have you been? What the fuck has been going on?" She grabbed my shoulders, shaking them. Gabby tried to get my attention as well.
"We've been trying to call you. Your mom asked us where you are, and we haven't seen you."
"Talk to us. We're your friends." Mercedes pleaded.
And in that moment, I didn't even recognize those girls.
I don't know what it was.
Maybe the lack of sleep.
The numbing pain.
The high of the men and the nightlife.
But when Mercedes reached for my face, I said, "Don't touch me," and brushed her away, pushing past her.
"Rhea! Rhea—wait!"
She rushed after me, and I—I shoved her back. I heard her hit the ground with a grunt.
"Don't touch me, bitch!" I snapped, looking back at her with a glare.
She just looked shocked. Hurt. As she slowly got up, she stammered, breathless.
"Rhe—you… what's—"
She couldn't find the words. She just stood there, shaking her head, like she didn't know whether to step forward or step back. Her voice trembled. Gabby was already moving, wrapping her arms around her, trying to console her. They looked at me like they didn't know who I was anymore.
And I just walked away.
Lynn tried any way she could to make me stay home. She kept trying. No matter how much I turned her down, you almost had to admire the tenacity a little bit.
But it was too late.
And still too damn little.
I got a message one evening—not really a text, but a DM.
From a man claiming to be my father.
He told me to go home. That he was worried. That my mom was worried. That he "loved" me.
That he loved me.
Can you believe it?
I…
What can I say? Is it really that important to the story? I can't decide. A part of me wants to pour it all out—the excitement, the rage, the fear, the regret, the hate—but then another part—
Then… another…
Well, I guess, It's not important.
Just know that I didn't believe that shit. It's exhausting to even think about. Let's just move on.
Too many welfare calls and CPS visits happened, so they moved me into a long-term treatment program to "get help."
I didn't feel helped. I felt trapped. The staff seemed just as fucked up as the kids there. What I learned was that fighting got me nowhere. Being aggressive and combative got me nowhere. I needed to play the role. Get back outside. Go back home.
And that's what I did.
Ten months in that place before I was free.
Once I was out and back on the streets, I headed right back to my old habits—just a bit more discreet. That's about the extent of how much the place changed me. I knew that if I went to school and participated, I could still go out and do the things I wanted without being contained.
One evening, I was checking my social media when I saw that, a few months prior, Terrance had reached out to me.
My heart started blazing. The way it was beating, you'd think it was about to burst out of my chest—like a track star's foot hitting the ground faster and faster as it picked up speed. I opened the message immediately.
He said he wanted to see me.
That he missed me.
That he'd broken it off with his fiancée.
I responded instantly.
Every thought I'd had about playing hard to get, about cursing him out, yelling at him, ignoring him—every plan I'd built in my head—vanished with one smiley emoji. I sent DMs telling him I was available now if he wanted, and I even tried to call him.
He responded within the hour.
He told me to meet him at the usual place—and that he'd be bringing a friend.
My heart sank for just a moment. A friend? Would it go back to me taking care of them? Did he really miss me like he said? Did he break it off with her—or did she break it off with him?
I pushed the questions aside.
All I cared about was that he wanted me.
I cleaned up and rushed outside to meet him.
My hands rubbed at my pants nervously, like I was going to wear holes through the fabric. I looked around, and then I smelled his cigarettes. I followed the thin gray trail of smoke as it drifted through the night like fog.
He saw me and smiled.
"Hey, prairie g—"
"No."
I cut him off, forcing myself to hold onto what little conviction I had left. I glared at him.
"What happened to Tanya?" I demanded. "What happened to leave me alone? Why are you calling me out here knowing what you said to me?"
I scoffed, staring at him with hard eyes as his smile slowly fell.
"What happened to all of that?" I continued. "Mercedes was right. You are a fuckboy."
My gaze dragged over him—from his face down to his shoes—full of disgust.
He opened his arms like he was going to hug me, then sighed.
"Come on, don't be like that. I made a mistake. Tanya and I were a—"
"Bullshit!" I croaked, swallowing down the emotion threatening to spill out of my mouth. "You think I'm stupid? That I'm naïve? Fuck you, TJ."
I yelled it, and he quickly grabbed my arm, pressing a finger to his lips.
"No, no, no—"
I shook my head, sniffling.
"I hate you. I do."
I whispered it over and over like a mantra.
But with every insult, every shove against his chest, there was another voice in my head saying stop.
You don't mean it.
You don't mean it.
Stop—you're going to ruin it.
He's going to hate you forever.
Just let it be.
He pulled me into a tight hug and apologized so earnestly as I cried.
"Rhea… I'm— I'm sorry," he whispered.
I wasn't naïve.
I wasn't stupid.
I was just desperate.
Desperate for his love.
And just like that, the whole cycle continued.
After he hugged me, praised me, consoled me, that night ended with me, him, and one of his friends tangled together in the devil's tango.
When it was over, though, I wanted someone who actually cared about me. I don't know what was going on in my head. I can't even remember how I got there—
I just remember being at Gabby's house.
I knocked on her window. The curtain pulled back and her eyes went wide. She whispered, "Rhea, what are you doing here?" She glanced around before coming outside, her voice low. "What's going on?"
Then her posture shifted. Her arms crossed. Her eyes filled with hurt.
"Last time I saw you, you told us to get the fuck away from you."
I shook my head weakly.
"No, Gabby—I—"
I couldn't find the words. I looked up at her and finally said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. There's just—there was so much stuff."
And then it all poured out.
I watched the anger drain from her face, replaced first by shock, then regret, then understanding.
"Rhea… you didn't have to do all—oh god…" Her voice broke. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She hugged me tight, and we cried together. We cried for an hour before she finally sent me home.
But I wasn't prepared for what happened the next day.
"Are you serious?! My fucking cousin? TJ?" Mercedes screamed, her eyes burning with hurt and rage. "After everything I told you? After everything you knew?"
Dozens of kids gathered around us, hoping for a fight.
"They said you were easy," she continued, her voice shaking. "Rumors about you sucking off guys in parks—but this?" She pointed at her chest, her face twisted in pain. "You'd do this to me? After everything?"
I looked at Gabby. She couldn't even meet my eyes. She hid her face—because she was the only one who knew.
Mercedes stepped back into my line of sight.
"Oh no. Don't look at her. Look at me. Look at me."
She shoved my chest. "She was being a real friend, but you—you've never been a true friend. You don't know what real friendship is."
Her voice dropped into something sharp and cruel.
"Slut."
She bumped into me as she walked past. Gabby followed her. Raven didn't even ride the same bus as us, but she'd seen the whole thing—and she followed them too.
They left me there.
Left me alone to be ridiculed.
Left me to be hated.
"Liar."
What?
How were you going to call me a liar? You don't know me. You don't know what happened—
"Perhaps," he interjected. Honey brown eyes focused on her. "'Liar' was a bit too absolute."
He leaned over the smooth silver table, hands clasped, Sleeves rolled up to his forearm— watching Rhea with interest.
"Your truth isn't false—just… incomplete." He leaned back in his chair. "How can I—" Glancing at the two stoic guards posted against the walls before correcting himself. "How can we understand your motives. if you are omitting information? let's try this again—yeah?"
Rhea lifted her head.
The chain rattled softly as she shifted, the cold metal biting into her wrist where it was looped through the cuff bolted to the table. She stared at it for a moment before looking up at him flatly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I told you the truth. Officer…" her gaze flickered to the badge as she spat his name. "Liao."
Liao cocked his head, studying her in silence—watching as if he could see every mechanism turning in her mind as she tried to convince him.
"That isn't how I've seen it happen."
Her jaw tightened. She narrowed her eyes, accusatory. "What do you mean—how you've seen it happen?" A curt laugh fell from her lips, bitter and humorless. "You don't know me."
Liao didn't react to the challenge. Instead, he lifted one hand and slowly tapped a single finger against the table.
"I don't need to know you, Rhea."
She scoffed and looked away, shaking her head.
"That's not what I'm here for," he continued. "I'm here because I've already seen what you're refusing to say."
He gestured to the black screen mounted to her left.
"And we're going to watch it," he added, folding his hands again, "whether you're ready to admit it or not."