by Tia Wylder
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 her 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.
As she stepped out of the hotel, she hailed a cab to the nearest beauty boutique. She knew of a lovely place that sold designer clothes with a beautician on hand as well and directed the cab driver to the store. His eyes widened at her instruction, and she shrunk back a bit. Perhaps it was unwise to flaunt the amount of money she had stashed away. More likely, however, was the chance that she looked far beneath the typical clientele of the boutique. The cab driver took her to her destination all the same, and she swiped her card to pay him before slipping out of the car.
She stepped into the boutique, and immediately all eyes were upon her.
“Can I… help you?” One of the workers inquired in a haughty tone. Jasmine forced a smile, gesturing to the clothing side of the boutique.
“I just received a hefty sum of money, and I have to win a wealthy man’s heart. Do you suppose you could help me?” She inquired. The women seemed startled, but were immediately on their feet, rushing towards them.
“Oh, honey, of course. Let’s get you out of those old, dirty clothes. I have something just right for the job,” an older woman, maybe in her forties, smiled. It was clear that the women were gripped by the potential drama behind Jasmine’s story, as well as the payout they stood to make. Jasmine smiled with a more sincere expression this time and allowed the older woman to guide her to the dressing room. The woman grabbed several outfits as they walked, pushing Jasmine into the dressing room with the pile of clothes. “Try them on. They should all be a perfect fit, and you’ll look glamorous in any number of them,” the woman called from the other side of the dressing room door.
Jasmine shuffled around in the pile of clothes, grabbing a dress that was woven with dark strands of maroon. Thinking it would go well with her complexion, she shimmied out of her damp clothes and pulled the dress on. She looked in the mirror, stricken by love at first sight. The dress fit her form perfectly, was the perfect shade to bring out both her eyes and the highlights of her hair. She knew she wasn’t looking at the finished project, but she thought if the beautician were as talented as she expected, there would be no trouble sealing the deal. Stepping out of the dressing room, she was met with wide eyes and delighted expressions.
“Oh, darling, it’s perfect for you. Just as I suspected. Come, come along. I imagine there’s little time to waste,” the older woman crooned, dragging Jasmine to the beautician’s chair. The makeup artist considered her with a pensive expression, tapping her finger on her chin.
“Ah, yes! Yes, I know just the thing. Michele, start working on her hair,” she ordered with a grin. Jasmine was soon surrounded by women who moved at breakneck speeds to prepare her for her meeting with Mark. She couldn’t see her own reflection, only feeling the tug of someone combing her hair, and the vaguely ticklish of eyeshadow being artfully applied.
“Stop!” A woman shouted abruptly, what seemed mere seconds later. Jasmine looked up, uncertainty creeping up on her. Was there nothing they could do for her? Was she beyond help? One of the women turned the chair to face the mirror on the wall, and Jasmine felt certain she would faint. She scarcely recognized the woman who stared back at her, though it was clearly herself. It was just a glamorous version of herself that she hadn’t indulged even when she’d been living with Mark.
“I’m… beautiful,” she whispered.
“Vain,” another woman said drily, before erupting in giggles. “No, but of course you’re beautiful, darling. We had quite the wonderful canvas to work with,” she added with a smile. Jasmine looked at each woman with appreciation shining in her gaze. She made quick work of paying off the charges, shouting her thanks to the women as she slipped out of the boutique. Immediately, she heard a wolf whistle from across the street. She flushed, flagging down another cab.
When the taxi stopped, she slid carefully inside as not to ruin her look. The cab driver was, surprisingly, the same who had brought her to the boutique.
“Damn, lady, you clean up real nice,” he said gruffly.
“Thanks. I hope Mark thinks so,” she said shyly. He chuckled, taking her directions to said man’s house and occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror.
“He’d be a fool not to. Jesus Christ, is this the place? Of course, it is, look at you,” the driver said as they pulled up to Mark’s house. His voice sounded awe, and Jasmine laughed a bit airily as she stepped out of the car. She swiped her card again, resting her hand on the cab driver’s shoulder. “Good luck, kid,” he murmured.
“Thanks. I’ll need it,” she admitted. He rolled his eyes, guffawing as he backed out of the long and winding driveway.
Alone with her thoughts, Jasmine wondered if she had been too wrapped up in impressing Mark. He was the one who was supposed to prove himself, yet she had gone through such lengths to see that she looked as if she belonged to him. She supposed love made you do crazy things. Despite his actions, she had no doubt that what she felt for Mark was love, simple. Except it wasn’t entirely pure, nor entirely simple. She chuckled to herself at the thought.
As she looked towards the estate, she realized there was a vaguely familiar car pulled close to the porch. Recognizing it as Deborah’s car, Jasmine could only wonder what Mark’s ex-wife was doing there. Perhaps she should have called before she arrived, though she had intended to catch Mark off guard. Caught up in self-doubt, she jolted as a feminine shout sounded from the back lawn of the estate. Curious, J
asmine slipped around the side of the massive home, towards the back yard. Large shrubs obscured her vision, but as she heard what sounded like an argument, she remained hidden behind a particularly thick one. She peeked out, surprised to see Mark in Deborah’s arms. The other woman’s lips were pressed against Mark’s, and for a moment, Jasmine felt as if her world had come crashing down. However, Mark shoved Deborah away with something akin to disgust in his gaze, wiping his lips angrily.
“What the hell, Deborah? First, you ruin things with Jasmine, convince her what a piece of crap I am, then you start crawling all over me?” He demanded, anger lacing his tone. Deborah grinned a smarmy little grin, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
“I saw the way you looked at Jasmine, Mark. I saw the way you treated her. Don’t think I didn’t notice. You’ve changed. That girl changed you, in a way that can only be for the better. When I saw how in love you were, what could I do but push her away? You know we belong together,” Deborah purred. Jasmine’s eyes widened, and she swallowed a gasp, desperate to keep hidden from the confrontation. Mark’s expression swam with anger, and his hands were curled into tightly clenched fists at his side.
