Chapter 35

ASHER

I’ve only ever shopped for my sisters before, and the most personal items I’ve ever had to buy for them were tampons. Even then, I had to FaceTime them to make sure I was getting the right brand.

I’m not one to buy clothes, especially not underwear, and it’s safe to say I’m not the most fashion-forward member of our family.

I’m clueless when it comes to women’s clothing, except for what I like to see them in, and those types of dresses aren’t suitable for the girls in my apartment.

But here I am, at Target, because it’s the only place I can find clothes at this hour, aside from Walmart.

I was scared to leave the girls alone in my apartment for the first time, but they needed something.

Neither of them changed into the T-shirts I offered, and I definitely didn’t want them walking around stark naked.

From what I could tell, they were only wearing those skirts and shirts.

And yes, that included underwear.

I don’t know why I assumed they would come to me with packed bags, but I did.

I certainly didn’t expect them to have nothing but the clothes on their backs.

I quickly grab some pajamas in the women’s section, then find jeans, shorts, and joggers that I’m somewhat satisfied with, followed by T-shirts, blouses, and hoodies to keep them warm.

I decide to skip anything else.

Then comes the daunting task of choosing their underwear.

I find myself drawn to the kind of lingerie I prefer on a woman—something eye-catching and beautiful—but these girls aren’t exactly women, and there’s no need for me to choose something I’d want to tear off them when they’re not here for that reason.

No, they’re here for a very different reason.

So, I opt for the plain T-shirt bras—the two-pack that comes in basic white and black.

I guess their sizes—not having asked—and hope for the best. Then I throw in a few pairs of panties and head to the women’s hygiene section.

Loofahs and Ella’s favorite products fly into the cart.

I love the marshmallow scent, and I highly doubt these girls would find a reason to dislike it.

Body wash and tampons—I can handle.

I quickly navigate this aisle before heading to the checkout.

It’s already ten o’clock, and I should be rolling my joint—getting ready to smoke before bed—but instead, I’m twenty minutes out buying things for these girls I’ve taken in.

What have I gotten myself into?

Dressing two teenage girls was never on my to-do list.

But here I am, loading bags into my trunk that contain…

Oh shit, I forgot shoes.

How could I forget shoes?

Well, I’m not going back in now.

Maybe I should have just placed an online order and let the girls pick out their own stuff, so I wouldn’t mess it up.

Hindsight, fucking hindsight!

Ignoring my oversight, I get into the car and drive home.

I’m tired, emotionally drained, and the cravings for my joint are hitting hard.

I just want to crawl into bed and unwind, but I know I won’t be able to, knowing the girls are just next door.

I hadn’t thought this through.

I hadn’t considered the emotions that might come with sheltering these girls in my apartment until I figured out what to do with them.

And playing their savior seems somewhat insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

The apartment is eerily quiet when I return, everything untouched, everything in its place, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve imagined all of this.

I step inside, close the door, and wonder why it’s so quiet.

As I enter the room, I see both girls sitting cross-legged by the windows, watching the world go by.

I quietly observe them from behind as they absentmindedly touch the glass.

What are they thinking about?

Do they miss home?

Do they miss their loved ones, their safety, their belongings?

The brunette is the first to notice me, her gaze meeting mine through the glass.

She seems to be the protector, the more mature one, and even though she sees me and the bags in my hands, she doesn’t move.

She doesn’t come to collect the things I’ve brought for her.

Instead, she looks away, down at the city lights and the cars moving along the roads.

The beautiful view I get to call my home.

“I managed to grab a few things, but they’re not the best,” I say. I approach the two of them to place the bags next to the brunette.

“We can do some online shopping tomorrow. Get some stuff you like,” I suggest to her.

She doesn’t respond, no acknowledgment, no sign that she heard me.

“All right, well… I’m off to roll a joint and hit the sack,” I say, more to myself than to them.

“You have drugs?” The brunette rises and trails behind me as I head toward my bedroom door.

“Yes…” I narrow my eyes.

“She’s going through withdrawals. Can she have some?” she inquires.

I glance at the girl by the window, her skin pale and moist, her cheeks wet just like they were in the car.

~Is that what’s happening?~

~Drug withdrawal?~

“What drugs does she use?” I question.

“I don’t know; they just sedate her.”

This piques my interest, and I find myself retracing my steps back to the blonde sitting on the floor.

“What’s her name?” I ask.

“We can’t tell you that…”

“Bullshit. You expect me to call you miracle and spitfire?”

“That’s what they want…,” she murmurs.

“Well, I don’t. I need your names. Something to call you that isn’t insulting,” I raise my voice at her.

She recoils from me, fear in her eyes as the girl below me trembles.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. But don’t expect me to disrespect you by using those awful nicknames they’ve given you. You’re human beings, with names and identities. Embrace that shit… I don’t expect you to be anything less.”

I squat down, reaching for the blonde.

Her skin is cold and damp, her eyes red-rimmed.

How did I miss this before?

“Do you smoke it or inject it?” I ask her.

“They inject it,” the brunette informs me.

Rolling my eyes, I ponder how many years I could get for not only purchasing an underage girl for prostitution but also for buying and providing a class A drug to a minor.

“I don’t have any heroin,” I tell the girl, turning her face to look at me.

“I have weed, some ecstasy; they might help with the cravings,” I propose.

Heroin is the last thing I want to introduce to this child in front of me. The damage it does, the grip it takes in such a short time.

This girl must be hurting, a whole fucking lot.

“Anything’s better than nothing… My name is Addison,” the brunette says hesitantly.

“And hers?”

“I don’t know; she doesn’t speak. She hasn’t been with us long, and she’s always too high to form sentences.”

“Did they do this to you?” I ask Addison.

“No. No, I never resisted them like she does.”

Nodding, I take a moment to fully grasp the mess I’ve gotten myself into.

“Get her into bed; I’ll get the drugs,” I instruct.