I run my hands over my body, thinking about Dante and what we did. I have never felt more like a woman than I do with him. I no longer feel like the poor girl from small town Oklahoma. My confidence in myself is rising each and every day. I love the way his large hands run over my body, his mouth and lips on me, making me feel more wanted and desired than I ever have before.

I sigh as I lay my head back and think about my situation.

I should be scared, fearful or worried. I should be panicking that I am locked up here, wondering when I can leave. But I have no family, no friends, no job; I left everything behind in Oklahoma to live what is left of my life to be adventurous, then within hours of being in New York, I see a gang shooting, then move into the most luxurious house I have ever seen, start hanging out with the coolest kid every day, am sleeping on soft sheets, and now even exploring my sexuality with the most handsome yet dangerous man in all of the city.

To anyone else, it may sound odd, scary, and totally immoral, but how can something that feels so right, so fun and safe, be scary? How can a man who treats me as well as Dante be anything other than the right place for me to be? I wiggle my toes in the water as I continue to move through the pros and the cons of my situation, before I begin to feel my body warming enough to relax. I lift my arm and place my hand on my breast. My fingers massage my flesh for a moment until I feel it. It is still there. The small pea size lump that appeared out of nowhere.

I don’t really know what my fate will be, but given the situation, I can only think the outcome will be the same as my mother’s. I still haven’t told Dante, and after a lot of thought, I don’t think I will. Despite my feelings toward him and his obvious affection for me, once it is safe for me to leave, I am sure he will pack my bags and send me on my way. After nearly a month here, I don’t want to leave. I feel like this is more my home than the trailer park ever was. But I need to face reality, and that reality is that I have no home and that this is all just temporary. It is just me and my duffle bag, with the weight of my decision not to seek medical treatment heavy on my shoulders.