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. “You said once you and Rachel had sex. What happened there?”The anger I had been feeling swelled up. Rachel would always be a sore topic with me. I had her, I wanted her like nothing else, and I lost her. All I had left was a little part of her, hers and mine. And I didn’t like to talk about that, too much, anyway. I was unbelievably angry at myself for what had happened. I had moved on, just barely, but it was raw. Jake was like alcohol being rubbed into it.“I’d rather not talk about it,” I told him. But thoughts swelled around in my head. I couldn’t control them. It was so long ago. I sat there and silence and though all about it.I got in to Chicago on the Three Rivers. The Broadway Limited had been discontinued back in 1995, but was replaced by an all coach train intended to carry mail. By the time I was riding in it that day, it had a sleeping car, a barely refurbished Heritage 10-6. By that time most single-level sleepers on the Amtrak system had been given the newer Viewliner. Of course Angique knew the why of her wavering attitude, but even thinking about it was just too scary. It involved notions like dependence and surrender, notions she thought she had conquered long ago and would never consider again.The why, of course, was that she loved the slut. But experience had taught her that "love" was synonymous to "heart break" and even death. Whenever she'd felt love, she'd been abandoned. Her mother divorced her father when she was four, leaving two children behind, Angique and her newborn baby brother. The woman went to live the jet set life with a never-ending chain of boy toys. She became a stranger at the very few occasions Angique saw her again.Her father abandoned her when he took her to the nuns' convent school before she was twelve; a school that had done everything to break her spirit and turn her into a sex slave for sick priests and the arrogant élite of a demented society. She escaped when she was fifteen, discovering her father had known all.
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