Chapter 15

Counting the days to my demise.

Yes.

My demise.

The day I have to see that brute again.

The same brute who wrecked my ass so thoroughly that I spent weeks walking like I had a stick shoved permanently up my spine. The same brute who somehow looked at an entire human body and thought, "Yeah, no lube necessary."

Like genuinely.

Who does that?

What kind of upbringing produces a grown man who sees lube and decides it's optional?

I have questions.

Many questions.

And absolutely no desire to ask him any of them.

I'd tried talking to Esteban about it.

And by talking, I mean I complained every single chance I got.

Could I get another client?

Could Rodrigo get another escort?

Could Silver Slippers suddenly develop a policy against attempted murder by dick?

Apparently not.

Esteban didn't care.

Actually, scratch that.

He cared enough to laugh at me.

Which somehow felt worse.

The more I brought Rodrigo up, the more obvious it became that he wasn't just another client. He was important. The kind of important that made Esteban stop joking around for half a second.

The kind of important that got whatever he wanted.

Unfortunately for me, what he wanted seemed to be my ass.

Fuck.

One thing was certain though.

Nobody was coming anywhere near me this time without lube.

I didn't care if I had to hand it to him myself.

I didn't care if I had to give a PowerPoint presentation.

I wasn't going through another month of sitting sideways.

Absolutely not.

The days dragged on.

Classes.

Assignments.

Studying.

Trying not to fail my courses.

Trying not to think about Rodrigo.

Thinking about Rodrigo anyway.

Every day brought me closer to seeing him again.

And every day I hated it a little more.

On my way home from school, I stopped by a mini mart.

The mission was simple.

Buy lube.

Leave.

Preserve what little dignity remained.

I walked through the aisles pretending I was there for completely normal reasons.

Past the drinks.

Past the snacks.

Past the frozen food section.

Until I finally found the personal care aisle.

There it was.

A small bottle of water-based lubricant.

I grabbed it.

Simple.

Professional.

Necessary.

Then I grabbed a lip balm because my lips had been dry lately.

Then a pack of Doritos because apparently stress now manifested itself through snack purchases.

I made my way to the counter.

The cashier scanned the Doritos.

Scanned the lip balm.

Then picked up the lube.

She looked at it.

Then looked at me.

Then looked at the lube again.

Then back at me.

I stared very hard at a poster behind her head.

She thankfully decided not to comment.

God bless that woman.

"Thirty-five dollars and twenty cents."

I handed her forty.

"Keep the change."

Then I left before the awkwardness evolved into a physical entity.

Outside, I was halfway down the sidewalk when I passed a boutique.

I kept walking.

Then stopped.

Because my brain, apparently my greatest enemy, had decided to contribute.

If I'm doing this, I should probably look the part.

I stood there.

Processing.

No.

That was stupid.

Ridiculous.

Embarrassing.

I should go home.

Instead, I turned around and walked inside.

I hate myself.

A few minutes later I found myself staring at a black thong.

A thong.

An actual thong.

I looked at it.

It looked back.

Somewhere in another universe, twelve-year-old Chris was probably staring through a dimensional portal wondering where everything had gone wrong.

This definitely wasn't on the career plan.

I grabbed my wallet anyway.

A few minutes later I walked back out carrying a bag that contained Doritos, lube, lip balm, and a thong.

If someone had shown me this shopping list five years ago, I would've assumed they were being blackmailed.

Life really is funny.

The next day arrived faster than I would've liked.

Esteban called.

Same pickup location.

Same arrangement.

Same client.

Fantastic.

Just fantastic.

I packed a small bag.

The lube went in first.

Prominently.

Very prominently.

I wanted it visible.

Like a warning sign.

Then some wipes.

A spare shirt.

A bottle of water.

The essentials.

The survival kit.

I stood in front of my mirror afterward.

And there I was.

Wearing the thong.

I stared at my reflection.

My reflection stared back.

Neither of us seemed particularly happy about the situation.

There was barely any fabric involved.

I should've felt ridiculous.

And to be fair, I absolutely did.

But there was also something else.

Something I wasn't ready to unpack.

Because despite how embarrassing it was, despite how absurd this entire situation had become...

I looked good.

Fuck.

I actually looked good.

Nope.

Not dealing with that thought today.

I was already preparing to get railed by a billionaire psychopath.

I didn't have the emotional energy for self-discovery.

I got dressed quickly.

Shouldered my bag.

And took one last look around my room.

This wasn't forever.

At least that's what I kept telling myself.

This paid my tuition.

This paid my bills.

This was helping me save enough money to eventually get out of this apartment.

Away from my father.

Away from the bruises.

Away from all of it.

I didn't know how long I'd keep doing this.

Maybe until graduation.

Maybe until I saved enough money.

Maybe until everything finally blew up in my face.

Who knows.

For now, this was the road I was on.

So I stepped out of my room.

Quietly.

Stepped out of the apartment.

Pulled the door shut behind me.

And headed toward whatever kind of disaster was waiting for me this time.