I yearned to hurt Cricket. He was kind enough to take me into the men’s restroom and lock the door. He wore a condom, and I kept my shirt on.
He freaked out when I bled.
“You’re a fucking virgin?” he asked with his dick in his hand.
I was unimpressed.
But Marcel followed me around like a hungry street dog for weeks after, and I knew my mom was right about one thing:
Men will do, give, or pay anything for pussy.
It’s a tale as old as time.
My eyes open the morning after the gala, and I feel heavy like I have cinder blocks strapped around my ankles and wrists. I know immediately it’s because I carry the burden of an appointment with the city’s district attorney at noon. He likes to handcuff me to his desk and fuck while he stares at booking photos of the men and women he’s prosecuted since he was elected two years ago.
We do this while hundreds of lawyers, investigators, and the office staff bust their asses to keep Grand Haven safe just outside his office door.
Deputy District Attorney Clay R. Deegan, Jr. was a guest at the Carousel of Love Gala, accompanied by his beautiful wife, who’s a regular client at Hush. Their four kids stayed with a babysitter.
I caught him looking at me once while I sat at the bar alone. Per our contract, we acted as perfect strangers. With the memory of my promise to Talent still on my lips, I can’t help but wish we were. The thought of metal handcuffs biting into my wrists while I breathe in the bitter scent of ink from the photocopied booking photos sends a wave of revulsion through my body.
Dog notices I’m awake and places his small paw on my arm. He whines, and when I ask if he wants to go outside, he barks and jumps off the bed.
I’ll get around to making the Lost Dog posters once my life calms down.
Every step weighs a thousand pounds, but I walk quietly past Camilla’s room to the front door. A better person would at the very least put a bra on, but I don’t feel like a person at all this morning. I drag the imaginary cement blocks behind me and follow Dog to the grassy area, where Dog Mom tries not to gawk at my nipples through my shirt.
She hands me a tumbler. “I brought it for your roommate. She’s such a lovely girl, but since you brought Dog out today, it’s all yours. I got a new cappuccino maker…”
Dog Mom goes on and on about her fancy coffee maker, and I’m shocked to realize I’m not mad about it. The cappuccino is good, and it lessens the load around my limbs.
“I know it’s none of my business, Cara, but you should really wear more clothes when you come out from now on. I mean, I don’t care—girl power and all, but there are some real freaks around here.”
I smile near the rim of the tumbler and mumble, “You have no idea how true that is.”
For the next ten minutes, Dog Mom pitches crime prevention strategies. She considers the neighborhood watch program and suggests the need for security guards at every entrance and exit around the complex. She almost bought a gun once.
Dog Mom doesn’t realize I’m the freak she’s wary of.
Camilla’s sliding her feet into a pair of slippers when Dog and I return to the apartment. She doesn’t blink an eye at my current state of undress or ask why I’d go outside in nothing but an oversized shirt. She thought I was still in my room.
“Did you get to try Dawn’s cappuccino? She told me she was going to make it again. Amazing, right? We should totally invest in a machine like hers. Day before yesterday, she made the most divine drip coffee.”
“Dog Mom’s name is Dawn?” I ask, heading back to my bedroom.
“Dog Mom? Oh, because of her mug. Clever.” Camilla laughs. She loads a coffee pod into our shitty coffee maker. “Lydia, can I ask you something before I don’t see you for the rest of the day?”
I stop in my doorway and ask, “What?”
“Can I decorate? Nothing outlandish. We can soften the couch with a throw blanket and pillows. Maybe put some color on the walls. It would make the space more inviting.”
What’s the point when I don’t want anyone invited over at all? Enough people have invaded my life lately, and I don’t see myself opening my home to