by Tia Wylder
“Normal people don’t sell their virginity on the internet either. Throwing stones in your little glass apartment, aren’t you?” He called out viciously. The words cut through Jasmine’s heart like a knife, but it only served to prove that her feelings were well founded. At the thought of losing his toy, he was getting angry. Filled with vitriol, and all too ready to put her down if he had no chance to snare her again.
She wanted to stay and lob insults back and forth with him, but she belatedly realized that it was probably what the man wanted. If he couldn’t have her, he wanted her to suffer. That was the only clear answer.
“Goodbye, Mark. I wish you the best,” she said calmly, ignoring the surging pain in her heart and the tears spilling freely down her cheeks. He shouted after her, but she ignored him. She had no car, no way home. All she knew was that she had to get out of this madhouse. Someway, somehow, she had to get her life on track again.
With or without the sixty-thousand-dollar paycheck she’d been offered. Bitterness crept up on her, and she was tempted to turn the man into the auctioneers and see that he was barred from future auctions. However, a man with his wealth was much more valuable than the feelings of a few young women with little else to lose. It would only prolong the time she had to deal with him.
She could hear him screaming after her, even still. He cried out that he loved her. She only wished that was true.
Chapter Eight
Jasmine found herself trudging the long path back to her apartment, a dull ache making itself known in her chest. The roads seemed almost unfamiliar after the time she’d spent in the wealthier part of town. She felt used, manipulated, and more than anything, she felt as if her heart would never recover from the shattering. At the very least, she still had her apartment to return to. She wasn’t sure what she would do with herself if she had to live on the streets. She laughed bitterly at the thought, musing to herself that she was no better than a common street walker at the rate she was going.
Selling her virginity online had been perhaps the most idiotic mistake she’d ever made. There she stood now, tainted by a man who had claimed to care about her. Now, not only was she out of the winning bid, she was out of first nights to sell. You’re only a virgin once, after all. She gritted her teeth angrily at the thought, fury replacing the misery that flooded through her veins. How many women had Mark pulled this with? While she knew she wasn’t the first, she was also rather sure that she would by no means be the last.
Jolted from her thoughts by the sensation of her phone vibrating, she fumbled in her pockets for a moment before drawing her cell phone out. She swiped the screen, thinking very little about who would be texting her. Her eyes widened marginally when she saw it was from Mark, but then again, she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. She narrowed her eyes upon the text, tracing her eyes across each individual letter. As she might have expected, he was begging for her forgiveness.
Jasmine rolled her eyes before promptly deleting the text. She wasn’t going to entertain the man any longer than was necessary. He’d stolen enough of her life in the short time they spent together. She intended to start anew, even if it meant doubling down on the job hunt. She would find some way to survive in this cruel world or die trying.
“I’m not willing to lie down and let life trample over me anymore,” she muttered, cursing loudly when her phone vibrated again. It was bad enough that the man had lied and manipulated her, but now he refused to leave her alone. She just wanted to go to her apartment, take a shower in her tiny bathroom, and drop like a fly into her scratchy sheets. It may have sounded unappealing to anyone else, but to Jasmine, it sounded like nothing short of a paradise.
Stepping up to the front of her apartment building, she felt a bit lighter as she made her way up the steps. She was confident she could find a way to repair her life, to emerge from the ashes akin to a phoenix. Nearly skipping to her door, she stopped short as she saw a pile of mail in front of the door.
“Damn,” she swore, realizing that she’d forgotten to have her mail forwarded to Mark’s house. She hadn’t expected to be away so long when she initially left her apartment, and a sinking sensation crept up on her as she spotted a sign on the door. She read the note with trepidation, tears pooling in her eyes when she realized what a tragic mistake she had made. Her bills were past due, had been past due for some time when she temporarily moved in with Mark.
The eviction notice taped to the door spoke volumes about the consequences of her actions, or more specifically, the lack thereof. She tried her key, choking out a sob when she found that the locks had been changed. She banged on the door angrily, primal fear and anger rising up like bile in the back of her throat. Where would she go? She couldn’t just go back to Mark with her tail between her legs. Foolish, maybe, that she wasn’t willing to lose every ounce of pride that she clung to. There were painfully few options, however. All she had was the money in her pocket and the clothes on her back.
Reaching into her pocket, she counted out the meager amount of cash as she considered where she might be able to crash for the night. A hotel seemed out of the question, but she knew there was a seedy little place downtown that she may have enough to cover. At least, for one night. After that, she had no idea where she would go, or what she would do. She may end up on the streets after all, as miserable a fate as that seemed.
Briefly, she considered scaling to the top of her apartment complex and flinging herself off the top. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden but intensely intrusive thought, leaning against the doorframe of her locked apartment. This wouldn’t be the end. As much as the odds were stacked against her, she wasn’t willing to give up. There had to be something in her future, something worth living for. Something that would make surviving all this torment worthwhile.
Exhaling a sigh, Jasmine gathered her mail and cast a final lingering glance at her apartment. She was stricken by the thought that all of her worldly possessions were likely thrown in some landfill at that point, and tried to swallow another cry of anguish. She didn’t have much, but what she had was very valuable! Maybe not to anyone else, but she had worked hard for everything in her apartment. To lose everything over a scarce few days of passion felt like such an unforgivable.
A vaguely familiar voice, one that she hadn’t heard since her teenage years, piped up in her head. It was the same voice that had tried to convince her to scale the building and take her own life. It was the very voice that had driven her to the point of selling her virginity online. It was the voice of desperation, raw and festering.
“No. I have too much to live for,” she muttered under her breath, ignoring the taunting trills in her head. She did have a lot to live for. Even if she were to admit otherwise, Jasmine was not a quitter.
The walk to the downtown motel where she would be spending her night was a long one, but she couldn’t justify the cost of a taxi to take her there. It would dip into what little cash she had, and she could scarcely afford a night at the sleazy establishment anyway.
As if to mock her, thunder sounded in the distance. She turned her eyes skyward, jolting in fear when a flash of lightning cracked the sky and rain began to fall.
“Son of a bitch,” she screamed towards the sky, her voice breaking. She threw her hands up as if asking what she had done to deserve such a fate. Her only response was a low rumble of thunder. Tensing her hands at her sides, she tried to ignore the rain as much as she was able. It was nearly impossible, considering just how hard it was pouring down. She was drenched in seconds, and her shoes made an annoying sound as they collided with the ground; sort of a mix between a sucking and slapping sound.
The rain was cold, but the chill in her bones only steeled her resolve. If she could feel the cold, she was decidedly alive. If she could feel something, something tangible to tie her to the world, she could find the power to carry on. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours as she walked for some miles she couldn’t define if she were asked. It
could have been one mile, it could have been ten. All she knew was that time dragged on unbearably long.
When the motel appeared in her line of vision, a sense of relief unlike any other washed over her. It wasn’t a long-term solution, but if she could stay the night at least, she could have some time to formulate some sort of plan. What plan she’d come up with was unclear now, but she knew she would come up with something. She had to. There were no other options. She’d already sold her body once. She decided at that moment that she wasn’t above doing it again, and again, and a thousand times over if that was what it took for her to survive. It wasn’t as if she could get a respectable job while roaming the streets, without even the spare cash to afford a dollar menu cheeseburger. After that night, it would likely be some time before she saw a shower stall again.
Uncertainty creeped up on her again, but she steeled herself as she stepped through the front entrance of the sleazy motel. A young man, looking no older than herself, lingered behind the check in table. He looked bored out of his mind and covered in a thin layer of grease from his hair to his acne covered skin. What looked like a pathetic attempt at a goatee presented itself in scraggly little hairs springing from his chin, and he met her gaze as she realized she’d been staring a little too long. He smiled a near-toothless grin as she approached the counter. He swept a hand through his grease drenched hair, likely thinking he looked rather debonair.
“I need a room tonight,” Jasmine said loudly and authoritatively, her voice demanding respect from the unseemly young man. He sat upright, looking vaguely taken aback by the confidence she presented. She could only guess that she looked much like some sort of bedraggled and soaked animal. Still, she wasn’t about to let this man intimidate her. If she weren't going to allow Mark to dominate her life, she certainly wouldn’t allow this sleazeball the right. Then again, perhaps she was cruel. She couldn’t forsake the opposite sex altogether, just because she’d had her heart broken. Mark had been deceiving, but at least this young man was earnest about what he wanted. She would still decline his offer, but all the same, maybe he would be kind.
“You can always bunk with me, sweetheart,” he rasped out, flicking his tongue out to moisten his lips. She fought not to let her confidence slip, narrowing her eyes upon the young man.
“I’m afraid you don’t understand. I need a room, here. I have the money for a night’s stay,” she said coolly. He tilted his head curiously, that same dopey smile tainting his already poor features.
“Aw, hell. You don’t belong in a place like this. Unless you’re some hooker looking to score some blow. I mean that in more means than one,” the man said with a small measure of scorn.
“Do I look like a prostitute?” Jasmine demanded angrily, leaving out the part where she was considering that very profession as it stood. The young man resting his chin in his hand, reaching out to take her money.
“Not one to judge, lady. You see many people come to this place. Some good, some bad. All with their share of stories,” he paused, smiling cryptically before grabbing a room key from behind the counter. “Your room is on the second story. I hope you find it… acceptable,” he said with brief hesitation. She could only wonder what the interior of the room looked like, but she had very little time to waste with high hopes.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket again just as she stepped through the door of her room, and she grabbed it with a sigh. Sixty messages, all from Mark. How long had the thing been going off without her noticing? It was of little consequence. She skimmed over the messages, seeing much of the same old thing until she got to the last message. It seemed much more remorseful than the other texts, simply offering to pay her the sixty thousand dollars she was owed. Mark promised that after the fact, she would never have to lay eyes on him again.
It wasn’t what she might have expected from the man. It seemed even more likely that he would cut contact with her and keep his cash safely tucked in his bulging wallet. Of course, that wasn’t the only bulge on her mind. As much as she cursed herself for it, she still felt some lingering feeling for the man who had hurt her. It was too soon to be entirely absolved of such feelings, she supposed.
Sending back a brief message agreeing to meet with him, for the strict purposes of receiving her check, Jasmine informed Mark where she was staying. She had her doubts that the man would make a trip out of his way into such a scummy part of town, but he simply replied that he was on his way. Glancing into her motel room for the evening, she decided the longer she could put off crawling into that bed, the better. She closed the door, meandering back down the stairs and ignoring the stares of the young man at the front desk.
It probably seemed as if she were going to wait for some client, but if Mark paid her what he’d agreed, perhaps she could take prostitution off the table. She chuckled bitterly at the thought, pausing at the front desk for a moment.
“You got a cigarette?” She inquired softly. The young man quirked a brow, grabbing a crushed pack out of his pocket and handing over a menthol cigarette. She placed it between her lips, and he reached out to light it.
“Dirty habit, y’know. It’ll kill ya,” he said with a sly smile. She rolled her eyes, smiling genuinely before slipping out the front entrance. She lingered near the entryway, not wanting to simply leave herself in the open where anyone could see her.
When Mark’s familiar car pulled up, she took a long drag off the cigarette before exhaling the smoke and stomping the butt underfoot. The familiar face of the man was twisted with anguish, and as he stepped closer, she could see two distinct tracks going down either cheek. He had been crying, she realized. The man who had turned out to be the ultimate scum was crying over her. She figured that she should have felt vaguely victorious, but the only thing she could think was how it didn’t seem to fit the mold laid out for him.
He approached her carefully, moving as if to reach out to her. He stopped himself, curling his fingers in as he drew his hand towards his chest.
“The money?” Jasmine inquired brusquely, though there was so much more she wanted to say. Mark met her gaze, holding it for a beat before forcing his eyes away. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a check for sixty thousand bucks, as they’d agreed upon. He placed it in her hand, smiling sadly as she considered the note.
“I know I told you that you’d never have to see me again. I plan to keep my word. I just can’t leave without telling you how much you mean to me. What my wife told you was true. When I first saw your online profile, I fully intended for you to be another conquest. I never expected to fall for you,” he trailed off, and Jasmine watched him with shock in her gaze. “If you give me another chance, I can prove how much you mean to me. I can… there has to be some way,” he cried out pleadingly. His heart was all but exposed on his sleeve, and despite the knowledge that she should level him with a share of cruelty, she couldn’t find it within herself.
“...Give me some time to think, Mark. I don’t know what to believe at this point. I want to believe you actually care about me, but you can see how I would have some hesitance...,” she trailed off, meeting his gaze. There was a deep sorrow in his eyes, but at her words, there was also the slightest glimmer of hope. She wondered if he saw it reflected in her own gaze.
“Alright. Take all the time you need. You know where to find me,” Mark said with an air of finality. Jasmine watched the man as he slipped back into his car and drove away.
Was she willing to put herself in such a vulnerable position again? It seemed foolish. Maybe she was just a fool, then.
Chapter Nine
Jasmine woke early the next morning, a sense of relief washing over her when she realized she wasn’t in the crummy hotel. She’d been able to get a small amount from the check immediately upon deposit, and she had used that to slip away to a nicer hotel. She left the young man at the desk of the motel a hefty tip before leaving, telling him to find someone nice for himself. He’d been taken aback by her kindness, but she felt a certain lightness in h
er chest immediately after talking to Mark. With every moment that passed, she grew surer and surer that he wasn’t the cold and callous man his wife painted him out to be. Certainly, he had made mistakes, but he had fessed up to that. He was willing to prove himself to Jasmine, and that went a long way. She knew she had to give him a chance.
Still wearing the vaguely damp clothes from the night previous, she slipped out of the cozy hotel bed. It wasn’t anything extravagant, and it certainly wasn’t pristine enough for her to sleep in the nude. All the same, she felt well rested. She considered her reflection in the mirror, vaguely taken aback by how awful she looked. There were dark bags under her eyes, and perhaps because she’d slept so well, she had a severe case of bedhead.
“I can’t let him see me like this,” she muttered, wanting to make a good impression despite herself. The night prior was in the past, and though she knew she had looked like a drowned cat then, she didn’t want a repeat performance that day. She hadn’t wanted to blow through the check Mark had given her, but at the very least she thought she deserved a new, dry set of clothes. Maybe a makeover while she was at it. A haircut, a dab of makeup, and she would look so gorgeous he would be entirely unable to resist her. It was a shallow thought, but she thought that perhaps, even if he had been insincere, she could win his heart with her looks alone. It was a longshot, but she had very little to lose.
