Our Love Story

Don’t cry, Chloe, you’ve been through worse than this.

I grew up in foster care; my mom left me with social services when I was seven. She stopped wanting to parent me... and my dad? Never knew the man. I was undernourished and never loved. My ability to trust people, wrecked... But I had hope that one day someone, somewhere, would care about me.

That is why, when Jordan showed me attention, I ate it up.

I craved it.

I wanted it so badly; wanted someone to take care of me. The truth is, I’ve been on my own ever since I aged out of the system. I got through college on a scholarship—which was wonderful—but it didn’t give me a family.

Didn’t give me a support system.

And I’ve been able to take care of myself. The safety of the college campus helped me keep my life in order. I haven’t needed anyone else before now, to be perfectly honest.

But that self-sufficiency was easier when I had a passport and a credit card. Things I need in order to get home.

Maybe I can walk to town and find the police station. Surely, they will force Jordan to give me my belongings back.

Not that I know which direction to go. Or, I could go to the US Embassy. Of course, I can do that. They will help me get home.

But it’s pitch dark out and it’s so late. I think of all the crime statistics I read about before I came here with Jordan.

A young woman walking around aimlessly at night without any trace of identification or money? It’s like asking to be kidnapped.

Or worse.

I can’t exactly walk down the highway like this either, I look down at myself; I’m barefoot and wearing nothing but a flimsy sundress.

I head toward the beach, thinking maybe I can find a tree to nestle under for the night, and then when the sun comes up, I can make my way into town and start looking for help.

As I walk to the beach, I look over my shoulder and see that the lights of the condo where Jordan and I were staying are still on.

I can’t believe he did this to me. What kind of man throws a woman out late at night in a foreign country?

A sicko, that’s what kind.

A sicko I was so close to giving my virginity to. Apparently, my ability to judge a man’s character is way off. I should have spent time in college dating instead of only studying.

I’m walking along the beach, lost, and looking up at the stars, when the tears start to fall.

I told myself that I could be brave and strong, but with the water lapping at my feet, an empty sky above, I feel so alone in the world.

Just like I’ve felt so many times before.

I’ve never had anyone I could rely on except for myself. It’s exhausting. I just wish I had someone who would take care of me, truly look out for me.

What I want is a man who wants to protect me, make sure that I’m okay. Keep me safe.

I don’t think those sorts of men exist.

I find a palm tree and sit beneath it, my back against the trunk. It’s scratchy and cold. I know this is a tropical island, but by now it’s probably after midnight and my arms are covered in goosebumps. I bury my head in my hands and that’s when the sobs I’ve held back begin to flow freely.

I imagine my cries washing across the shore, and I wish that a fairy godmother would hear them, would come rescue me.

In my fantasy, someone would walk into my life and take away all my problems. But that’s not reality, is it?

The reality is I’m all alone in this world... Without a job or a house. Hell, now I’m without a driver’s license or a cell phone, thanks to Jordan. Is it too much to dream for that the sky would open up and a genie would come down and give me three wishes?

Resting my arms on my knees, I let my head drop as I try to contain my sobs. I’m doing a pretty poor job of it because I’m crying so loudly I don’t even hear them come up.

But the next thing I know, someone touches my arm, causing my heart to jump in surprise.

“Are you okay?” a soft voice asks.

I blink, looking up at the guy kneeling before me. He has wavy brown hair and a week’s worth of stubble, I can see it in the moonlight, and his eyes are filled with concern. “What are you doing out here alone?”

Behind him, another voice calls out, “Mason? You there?”

“I’m over here, Enzo,” Mason says.

Another man jogs over to us, crouching next to his friend. This man, Enzo, wears a sweatshirt and has closely cropped black hair, a chiseled jaw and strong eyebrows. Both of them are beyond handsome, and the light from the stars above shines down on them both.