“Sure, but what I call it isn’t important. What’s important is what you call it,” she said.

“That’s just the problem. I don’t know what to call it,” I said, giving voice to the confusion and frustration that I had thus far kept to myself.

“So, Kayla, I don’t know your story, not all of it. So, why don’t you tell me. From the beginning,” Amy said.

“Amy, I…”

“I get it. I really, really do. But I know we’ve both seen things, and you can trust me.”

I already did and knew that speaking these words, getting this all off my chest, would make me feel better.

“Do you know how Elias and I met?”

“I have my suspicions, but no, I don’t,” she said.

“I’m curious. What are your suspicions?”

“He’s got something on you, and he’s using it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, I know you, and I can’t really imagine a scenario where you Elias would cross paths,” she said.

“People could say the same about you and Davit,” I pointed out.

“You could, but you know Davit and I have a story that is a bit unusual. And beside the point. That point being, you and Elias seem to hate each other, so I can’t imagine you would subject yourself to him and his ridiculous demands without a good reason.”

“That’s pretty perceptive,” I said.

“That is so funny. You think it takes perception to suss out that situation.”

“The way you say that makes me think that you don’t think it takes perception.”

“Well, let’s just say, if you guys were playing marry, fuck, kill, I’d go fifty-fifty on fuck or kill,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I can expand, but first you’re going to tell me how you came to find yourself in the clutches of the Petrosyan family,” she said.

“‘In the clutches of.’ It sounds so dramatic when you say it like that,” I said.

“Well, why don’t you tell me how dramatic or not dramatic it was.”

I looked at her but couldn’t bring myself to speak. And it wasn’t because I didn’t trust her.

I had never, not ever, verbalized any of this to someone else.

And I realized then that I had been sitting on all of it for far too long.

So I took a deep breath.

Then started.

“My father owns a trucking company,” I said.

“Ironic,” Amy responded.

“Yeah, but my dad is not like yours,” I said. “Sorry. That sounded bad.”

She shook her head quickly and gave me a sad smile. “Thank your lucky stars he’s not like mine. And no, the truth doesn’t sound bad. It’s just the truth.”