Angel James
No One To Notice
A Note From Alexx
Dear Reader,
Sometimes stories come to you in a flash of stunning violence and epic clarity. The first draft of this story poured from my fingers in nearly one sitting. I’ve come to learn when creative lightning strikes, you follow where it leads.
I am so grateful for the vision needed to create this series. It’s dark, deep, emotional and timely. Trauma affects everyone differently but for every victim who felt cowed and defeated, I hope this series finds you healed and whole by the spirit of three young girls who refused to be beaten.
All my love,
Angel James
Prologue
Shine on friend. Goodnight
Why, then, the darkening of the light?
— Johnette Lin Napolitano
We all die alone.
But she died crying, begging, bleeding. Broken.
Who made up the rule that eighteen was more mature than seventeen? A 24-hour space in time didn’t change the fact that she signed away her life without realizing it would be her end.
She’d wanted what we all wanted — hope.
But the wicked feasted on the desperate, luring with the promise of something they’d never give.
And innocence remained the most stolen currency in a world that’d lost its soul.
We all signed on for the same deal.
We had no idea how it would ruin us.
They had no idea how I would ruin them.
This is our story.
1
I, Nicole Esther West, give Madame Moirai the right to act as my agent at The Auction for the sum of 40 percent of any and all transactions conducted at said auction.
The sharp black words blurred on the page as my eyes glazed over and a voice whispered, don’t do it, but I wasn’t backing out — not a chance. I needed this as desperately as I needed air to breathe.
I shifted against the itch of shame that scratched at my conscience. No one knew my life, they didn’t get an opinion about what I do.
My nerves were strung tight and my stomach hurt. This wasn’t the kind of anxiety you get before a mid-term you didn’t study for — that’d be easy — this was the jitters that happened when you’re about to make the biggest decision of your life.
Most girls never had to make a choice like this. Girls from nice, stable families were never asked.
I gripped the pen more tightly as I reread the fine print but the words were blurring and my palms were clammy.
My one and only chance to get out, to create a life that wasn’t contaminated by the woman who’d given birth to me but otherwise failed as a mother. Carla West was like a herpes infection, stuck to me for life, unless I could scrape up enough money for the miracle vaccine.
That’s what this document was giving me — a first-class ticket to the rest of my life.
I wanted to leave this ratchet piece of urban nothing and forget the first seventeen years of my life. Erase it from my memory. Maybe even change my name. I wanted to go to college with a clean slate.
Dreams were dangerous things. Hope, even more so. Daring to reach for something just beyond your fingertips wasn’t something most girls like me ever tried.
I was smart but my grades told a different story. Hard to study when your mom was screaming in the other room, breaking shit, or fighting with the grabby slob of the moment. Also hard to keep up with the curriculum when your mom liked to play, “Where’s Nicole’s math book?” because she hated her daughter rising above her in any way.
I couldn’t pay the fine for lost books. Couldn’t get another book unless I paid the fine. You get where I’m going? It was a vicious cycle designed to drag you down but I tried my damnedest to keep my head above water. Poverty was an endless whirlpool sucking the life out of everything it touched. Counselors liked to preach at me, “Nicole, you’re so smart but you need to apply yourself…” and I wanted to yell back, “Bitch, you don’t know what I have to deal with so fuck off with your useless advice.”
I didn’t say that, though. I couldn’t get kicked out of school. School was the only sanctuary I had. It was the only place I was free of Carla. So, I swallowed my rage and promised to try harder, appeasing the fat, middle-aged counselor whose fading blonde hair looked as tired as her dehydrated skin.
Until Madame Moirai dangled her offer in front of my face. Suddenly, I had options. The way I saw it, I’d be a fool not to grab that offer and run with it, even if the thought made my skin crawl.
As long as I didn’t chicken out — and trust me, there were plenty of valid reasons to back the fuck out — I’d come out the other side free from my toxic mother.
I scribbled my name as fast as I could, the scratch of the pen echoing in my head, loud and incriminating.
If anyone found out, I’d never live down the shame. I would take this dirty secret to my grave. Opportunity didn’t always show up looking like a fairy godmother. Sometimes it showed up with gnarled fingers, hungry eyes and a stench of wickedness that would cling to your nostrils until you died.
But desperation bred recklessness, and I was plenty desperate.
What am I doing? I returned the pen with shaking fingers to the emissary. Whatever is necessary.
“This document is binding,” he reminded me with cold, dead eyes. “Breaching the contract will reap unfortunate consequences.”
He didn’t need to translate. I could figure out what he meant. I was jumping into the deep end of the pool without assurances that I wouldn’t land on cement. Nobody was coming to save me. Felt pretty familiar. Like always, I’d save myself.
The nondisclosure clause stood out, almost screaming at me from the document. No running to the cops crying foul.
Like I wanted to shout to the world that I’d sold my V card to a complete stranger. Yeah, gonna put that tidbit on my Christmas cards. Good icebreaker at parties.
“I’m sure you’re a good girl who honors her commitments, yes?” The man smiled, tucking the neatly folded document into his inside breast pocket of his crisp suit. At my short nod, he continued, “A car will come for you when the time is right. In the meantime, you will have time to complete your bloodwork as well as complete your menstrual cycle.”
I swallowed, trying to hold on to my bravery with slippery fingers. I wasn’t a good girl if I was doing this. No one would ever consider me a good girl if they knew. Not that I cared what others thought. I’d spent my life fighting against the judgment of others for circumstances out of my control.
This time, I was in control.
“Excellent. We’ll be in touch.” He gestured for me to leave the confines of the big, black Towncar like I was stinking up the fine Italian leather. I scooted out, and the car left me behind as if it’d never been there. I stood, forlorn and awkward in the empty parking lot of the long-ago bankrupt shopping mall, waiting for my Uber, my body beginning to shake in the darkening light of dusk.
I’d just consented to selling my virginity to the highest bidder. My mouth began to water as my stomach threatened to spill the remnants of my lunch onto the cracked pavement. Get it down, don’t throw up. This was just another moment I had to get through in my life. One and done. Life forever changed. Seemed a fair trade.