A hundred

Liora Hayes

The days fly quickly,

The club is closed tonight, leaving me with nothing to distract me. After dinner with Caleb, I had made it to the clubhouse only to learn the place is being completely shut down by some exclusive customer, so our services won't be needed tonight.

I dragged myself home each step feeling heavier knowing by tomorrow I'll be entering into a contract marriage with Tristan.

By the time I reached the apartment, I fumbled for the light switch as I stepped inside, only to trip over something heavy. My breath caught as I grabbed the wall to steady myself before I fell.

My hand quickly found the light and flickered it on to see Florence, sprawled across the floor. Empty bottles of cheap beers and wine littered the space around her. Her hair was a tangled mess, her clothes stained and dirty.

She groaned, rubbing her temple before squinting up at me. “Who the fuck is that?” she slurred. I guess recognition finally dawned on her, and she let out a mocking laugh. “Oh hell, it’s you. Guess you decided to come home tonight.”

My jaw clenched, but I didn’t say a word, only started picking up the empty bottles, collecting them into a trash bag. Caleb didn’t need to see this when he wakes up tomorrow, he has already seen enough of the chaos.

“Look at you, all dressed up like someone important... Don't tell me there are no customers to stick their drunk stinky stuff up your throat tonight?”

I ignored the sting of her words nevertheless and bent down to lift her off the ground.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, slapping my hands away as she landed another one on my left cheek. “Don’t you dare use those filthy hands, the ones you use to serve boozed up men to touch me!”

The slap burned, but I didn’t flinch or say a word. I've received much worse than this from her.

I took the trash bag out, and when I came back inside she'd dragged herself upright, now leaning against the wall for support.

Well, she spared me the stress of carrying her.

I turned to leave for my room but she burped, taking a swing of the beer and slurred. “What? No lecture today? No self-righteous speech about how drinking’s going to kill me?”

I stopped, with my back facing her,

“You’re no better than me,” she sneered behind me. “Even though you think you’re so pure, but you’re just as rotten, and despicable, it’s only a matter of time before you realize it, and by then you would've become like me. And oh yes... Can I get a hundred tomorrow?”

Silent.

“No answer? Guess Caleb will have to help me with some little work when the day breaks then.”

“I will give you...” I squeezed my eyes tight, “The 100$, I will give you tomorrow.”

“Why didn't you say yes when I asked earlier? what a bummer. Anyway, I will be looking forward to it. And get going now, ugh, such an eyesore.” She hissed right after, so loud it echoed through the small apartment as I eventually walked to my room, shutting the door behind me.

I leaned against it, sighing as the weight of her words settled over me like a shroud. Right, this is exactly what I've been dealing with for the past five years.

I yanked off my sweater and threw it on the bed, crouching down. I pulled a box out from under my bed.

Inside were a few bottles of my own. My hand hovered over one before I grabbed it, unscrewing the cap and lifted it to my lips, drinking directly from the bottle.

“Guess you’re right about one thing, mother.” I muttered. “I am going to end up like you.”

**

The Next Morning

A piercing headache hit me first.

I groaned, rolling over to grab my phone. The screen lit up with three missed alarms and among them was a time that made my stomach drop. I was late for the registry.

“Shit!” I cursed, jumping off the bed and stumbling into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection stared back at me, puffy eyes, dark circles, the aftermath of another night trying to drown my problems. There wasn’t enough powder in the world to fix this, but I tried anyway, the cheap ones mom usually bought when she's not buying booze have a use after all.

Throwing on the first dress I could find, I grabbed my things and bolted out the door.

****

I stumbled into the registry, winded and flushed, my hair still damp from the hasty wash. My dress is clinging in the wrong places. In Fact everything feels wrong.

Tristan was already there, he stood near the counter, hands tucked into the pockets of his suit pants like he had nowhere better to be. Dark eyes locked on me, scanning every inch like I was an exam he was disappointed to grade.

“You’re late,” he said coolly.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Yeah, well. I’m here now.” I mumbled, walking closer to stand just a little close to him as I stylishly fixed my dress, but he suddenly leaned closer, his nostrils flaring slightly as his lips curved into a mocking smile. “Didn’t realize I’d be marrying someone who smells like cheap booze. You should've at least buried it with a perfume spray.”

As if I actually have the money to buy one, “Don’t act like this is some fairy-tale wedding,” I snapped, but the headache that hit me immediately made me regret it.

He stared at me for three solid seconds, he was opening his mouth to say something, when we got called by the clerk.

The woman behind the desk flashed us a little smile before shifting her attention back to the papers in front of her. “Full names, please.”

“Tristan Cole,” he replied simply by my side.

“…Liora Hayes,” I muttered.

The clerk handed us a clipboard. “Please review the terms and sign.”

I stared at the paper. My hands suddenly feel like blocks of ice.

“Need me to spell what was written there for you?” Tristan asked under his breath.

I shot him a sharp look. “I believe I have the right to check. At least I need to be sure this isn’t a death warrant.”

Unexpectedly, he didn't say anything else after that.

Therefore, I took my time to read the important part of the papers, and I made sure I double checked the one year due date before handing it to him to put his signature on it first.

However, when it was my turn to put down my own signature, my hand trembled as I held the pen, hesitating for a moment, hearing my heart pounding in my ears as I rethink everything... There's no going back after this...

“You’re wasting everyone’s time,” Tristan murmured.

I shot him a glare before signing my name, and it's done. I successfully sealed my own fate.

“There,” I said, slamming the pen down.

***

The clouds outside had thickened by the time we got to his car. I mean, it wasn't even dark when I arrived here, but now it looked like it might rain any moment from now. He opened the door for me, which felt more like a move of control than courtesy.

I climbed in, ready to reach for the seatbelt myself, but

Click.

He leaned across and buckled it for me.

I flinched, taken aback by what he just did. “What the hell are you doing?” I mean I could’ve done it myself. But of course, he had to make it a statement.

Because nothing says “I have power over you” like buckling someone in like a child.

His fingers brushed the side of my arm, deliberately or not, I didn’t know. But what I know is he didn’t flinch, only keeping on his annoying stoic face as he did so.

“Safety, after all you're Mrs Cole now.” he murmured,

My fist clenched by my side, “I didn’t sign up to be your property.”

“Yes,” he agreed, shutting my door. “But you did sign.” he emphasized on the sign before stepping into the car, and on the accelerator.

The car drove in silence after that, I only turned to the window and watched as the city blurred past, as I wondered what this man could be playing at, because if anything I couldn't read him yet. I never was able to.

After a few minutes, he turned into a side street and parked in front of a pharmacy.

“What—”

“Stay in the car.”

He got out before I could argue.

I watched through the windshield as he disappeared inside, the automatic doors closing behind him until he was no longer in sight.

A few minutes later, he came out, and when he got back inside of the car, he tossed something into my lap.

Water and Painkillers.

“Here,” he said.

He didn’t look at me when he said it, just stared straight ahead, knuckles tight on the steering wheel.

“Just take it,” he added, quieter this time.

I stared down at them, then up at him.

“Why?”

His eyes met mine. Not cold this time. Just unreadable. “Because you look like hell. And I don’t need you throwing up in my car.”