by Linnea May
He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Don't call her what?"
"The waitress," I repeat. "It's disrespectful. She's more than that."
"Whatever," he says, sighing. "You never told me her name, so how else am I going to refer to her than by her occupation?"
I wave him off.
"Forget it," I say. "This is not about her."
That's an outrageous lie, and he knows it. But – luckily for him – he doesn't call me out on it.
"Have you been looking?" he asks instead. "For a new one, I mean."
I nod. "Yes, I've started."
"At the agency?"
"Yes, at the agency," I snarl. "Seriously, Lemon, stay out of this. Just trust me."
He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side as he contemplates his next words. I know this all very fascinating to him. An agency that sells high-class escorts, presented in a catalog and made to order, depending on the client's preferences. Lemon is as vanilla as a man can be, secure in a long-term relationship with his wife, who's finally carrying their first child. They've been trying to conceive for quite a while, and even I was able to sincerely offer my congratulations when it finally happened. Lemon is a good man, an innocent man, very careful and secure in everything he does. In many aspects, he's the exact opposite of me, which is why he makes such a good partner.
"I do trust you," he says eventually. "But I also worry. Like I said, last year, you-"
"You're imagining things," I interrupt him again. "I was fine last year, and I will be fine again this year. You have nothing to worry about, especially not when it comes to this acquisition."
I pause for a moment, my gaze locking onto his.
"You know I'd never jeopardize business," I add, my words strong and underlined with candor.
He nods, holding my gaze.
"Yes, I know," he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
He gets up from his chair, breathing noisily as he hoists his weight up. Maybe I should be more worried about him. He has put on a lot of weight since the announcement of his wife's pregnancy.
"Just find a new one," he says, as if it was that simple. "And be sure to stick to the catalog this time."
I huff. "Get your ass back to work."
He winks at me, and I watch as he leaves the office and the heavy door closes behind him.
Lemon is a smart man, but he still makes it easy to lie to him, almost too easy. It's true that I've started to browse through the agency's catalog, but I still couldn't be further from finding anyone who arouses my interest.
In fact, I've even considered skipping this year's retreat. After all, I'm not obliged to do this, no one is forcing me to play with a girl who fails to make me happy.
But I wonder if skipping altogether could turn out to be even more dangerous than sleeping with someone who took as much from me as Laura did?
Every time I recall her face, her body, her voice, I find myself yearning, longing, for something I can't have. Not anymore. I haven't felt this way in a long time, and I'm beginning to doubt my self-imposed rules again.
Would it really be so bad?
Would it really be such a dumb idea to have her again?
Chapter 29
Laura
I have no idea what to do with myself. It's a lazy Sunday afternoon and the apartment is filled with silence. Outside the sun is suggesting a wide array of activities that I don't feel like doing. My blinds are pulled down to keep the intense light out. I don't feel bad about it at all. The sun is always shining, and it has almost every single day since we moved here. There's no reason to feel pushed to do anything outside because tomorrow will be a repeat of today.
Unlike me, Layla is still receptive to the sun's alluring call. She's out with her boyfriend, strolling and eating ice cream, as far as I know. She hasn't been home a lot lately, and most of her days and nights are filled with the excitement of a newfound love.
I'm jealous. I wish I could feel this way about Steven. We only started dating a few weeks ago and haven't even had sex yet, much to his chagrin. We're getting close to our two-month anniversary, and he probably thinks I'm the biggest prude on Earth, but I couldn't care less. Instead of planning a fancy dinner to celebrate our first eight weeks together, I've been absorbed with wanting to break up with him. The only thing that's keeping me from doing it is my bad conscience.
Steven is a good guy, really nice, attentive, smart, and good-looking. We met at a bar while I was out with Layla and her – back then – not-yet-boyfriend. After a few drinks, they both decided it was time for me to find a guy, and dared me to strike up a conversation with the first guy I saw and liked. I had enough drinks in me to think that all of this was super hilarious and drunkenly allowed myself to be swept into Steven's arms on the dance floor. We'd been eyeing each other all night, but he never had the courage to approach me. He's too shy, too nice, and anything but ballsy. He's a good guy, a normal guy, with a steady job and no skeletons that I know of in his closet.
And that's exactly the problem with him.
He's too normal. Too nice.
I never thought I'd be one of those girls who break up with their boyfriends because they're too nice or too good to them. Every time I heard Layla complain about her dates being too nice and normal, I shook my head and declared her crazy. How could that be an issue?
Now I understand.
It's mind numbingly boring, and I'm pretty sure that Steven's good nature is also part of the reason why I never had any interest in sleeping with him. I just don't feel attracted to him in that way. He doesn't excite me, just like no one ever excited me before.
Until him.
Ryan. My master.
A sharp sting cuts through my heart every time I remember him. God knows I've tried to forget about him, because I know I had to. There was no chance I would ever see him again. He made that very clear, even before anything happened between us. I knew what I was getting myself into.
Except, I didn't.
I didn't expect it to be like this. This great, this special, this overwhelming.
How am I ever supposed to get over this, over him? I'm completely lost. The thought that I may never feel the same kind of thrill again saddens me to no end.
What if this was it? What if I never feel this way again? What if I spend the rest of my life searching for this feeling, going through boyfriend after boyfriend, breaking hearts left and right, because my own remains unsatisfied, and it‘s nobody's fault but my own?
I curl up on my bed, fighting the tears as a gripping sensation of loneliness washes over me.
Objectively, I have very little reason to complain. My life is fine. Better than fine, actually.
I was paid one day after Ryan sent me home. Of course, my bank instantly contacted me to make sure it wasn't a mistake, or that I was involved in some kind of illegal business. I never even thought about the aftermath of our date – if one can call it that. Receiving an insane amount of money, explaining myself to Layla – I left all of those worries to future Laura. But as soon as I stepped out of Ryan's house and got into the limousine to take me home, I was that future Laura. Faced with tough decisions and a reality that still seemed too surreal to grasp, I found myself at the kitchen table, Layla already there waiting for me, ridden with worry and a lot of questions.
I decided to tell her the truth, as ugly as it may be.
Only weak people resort to lying.
That's what Ryan said, and his words still echo in my head to this day. I didn't want to be someone he'd regard as weak, that's why I trusted my best friend with the truth. Layla reacted just the way I expected - shocked, understanding, and overjoyed. In that order. While she thought the whole idea was as weird and appalling as I thought at first, she was quickly relieved when she learned that I enjoyed myself. I never told her the details about my night with Ryan because that didn't feel right. I only told her about the lavish wealth, the bliss, and the thrill he provided me.
His payment allowe
d both of us to quit our detested jobs right away, and we were on our way to California less than a month later, sharing a bottle of champagne in our first class seats.
We had no plan, but we had money. Enough money to rent an apartment close to the city and stay afloat for a while before deciding what we wanted to do with our life. Layla felt bad about taking advantage of my money, even though I told her I didn't mind one bit. If it wasn't for her, the loneliness after being apart from Ryan would've been unbearable.
Nevertheless, it didn't take her long to find a job that made her happier – and funnily enough, richer – than the part-time jobs she used to take on before. She's working in the sales department for a fashion designer, a job she was able to land through an unpaid internship she completed beforehand. She never would've been able to go through with that internship if it hadn't been for my money, and she never got tired of thanking me for the opportunity.
I'm happy for her, I really am. I never wanted her to pay me back for anything, or feel guilty for the support I was able to give her. What kind of friend would I be if I was this petty?
But there is one thing that bugs me, and it's only adding to my general status of feeling lonely and lost.
Layla found what she was looking for. She's enjoying her job, she found a boyfriend who she's crazy about, and she's found her path in life.
I still haven't.
I still have no idea what to do with myself, and I've lacked the motivation to take any initiative. For me, there was no urgent need to work, and I didn't think that a job was what I needed to begin with. I always thought about going back to college. That's been the idea since I got hold of all that money. But the money is almost gone now. Large chunks of it were used to pay off the debt I was left with after my mother's death. I didn't have to pay it back all at once. They offered to simply let me increase the monthly installment amount I had been paying before, but I declined. I no longer wanted this to be part of my life. I needed to free myself of everything from that horrible time in my life and to be able to finally move on.
But move on to what?
I let out a deep sigh, bobbing up from the bed to make my way to the kitchen. It's only 5 p.m., but I decide that it's never too early for a glass of white wine. My phone vibrates in the pocket of my hot pants jeans. I don't have to check the screen to know it's Steven. He's asked to come over tonight, and I still owe him a reply. My chest tightens at the thought of having to break up with him, not because I will miss him, but because I'm afraid to break his heart. Steven truly cares for me, and he doesn't deserve to be treated this way. I know I'm a coward for letting him down like this. I've been telling myself for weeks that I should keep trying. Maybe I would eventually fall in love with him. Maybe I just need more time. I didn't want to give up on this relationship too early. But at this point, even I have to admit that there's no point in continuing. I'm only hurting him.
I pour myself a glass of white wine and step out on the balcony, squinting as I try to read my phone's screen against the streams of afternoon sun. The text is indeed from Steven, and he's pushing for a well-deserved response from me.
Tonight.
I have to do it tonight. Get it over with.
But I don't want to do it here, in my apartment.
"Let's grab a drink at the Thirsty Crow," I type. "We need to talk."
Chapter 30
Ryan
This must be the most stupid thing I've ever done in my life. I knew it when I began the research, I knew it when I boarded the plane, and I still know it now, as I drive through the city that has become her new home.
Laura never told me where exactly she'd be moving to, and until a few days ago, I didn't even know for sure whether she actually went through with her plan. As it turned out, it was rather easy to find out everything I needed to know to find her. It may be a violation of privacy in many aspects, but I was able to gather enough information to even find the address of her new home.
She has, in fact, moved to California, only a few weeks after our night together, but it doesn't look like she's doing anything there. There was no employment information and no record of her attending any of the universities. Reading all of this made me worry. I knew that she was in debt and used a lot of the money to pay off said debt, but it looks like she didn't do anything significant with the rest of it. She may just be slowly exhausting her wealth, spending everything on an everyday life that is anything but cheap in this part of the country. Until she doesn’t have anything left.
I worry that something may have happened to her. Is there anything that didn't show up on my research? Did I miss something? Does she have a plan? I refuse to believe this is her plan, just using up all the money until she's forced to work in another low-income job like the one she had when I met her. No. Laura is too smart for that.
I've never wondered about the future of any of my other girls after they received their payment. I never cared to look any of them up to see what became of them. But Laura made me care. She makes me care more about her than what is good for me.
And I'm aware of that. I know I shouldn't be here, I know that I shouldn't have lied to Lemon about the reason for my temporary absence. I know all of this, and I'm a fool for doing this.
Yet I can't help but wonder if this will do it. It's been almost a year since I last saw her. Maybe my memory is tricking me? Maybe I built her up into something that she's not, putting her on a pedestal and glorifying her, when in fact, she was nothing more than any other ordinary girl. An ordinary girl that I spent an amazing night with one year ago.
Seeing her might cure me of that idiotic fantasy. I just need to see her, even if it's from afar. Just to remind myself that she wasn't that special. She wasn't worth losing my mind over. She can't be. It's as simple as that, right?
This is why I'm here, and this is why I'm sitting in a car outside her building, like a fucking creep, watching her door. Waiting.
I made a deal with myself not to approach her, not to talk to her. Just look at her. I arrived last night and I'm scheduled to fly back out tomorrow morning. That's all the time I'm giving myself to get rid of this silly obsession with her.
It's early Monday morning. If she does happen to have a job, I might catch her on her way to work. If she's not home or doesn’t leave her house all day, I'll have to come back tomorrow - and if I don't see her then either, I'll leave empty-handed and admit defeat. I never believed in fate or destiny, but if I'm not meant to see her, I won't. I hate leaving things up to the universe, but sometimes it might be the smarter thing to do.
The door to her building opens several times, as more and more of her neighbors leave for their jobs, dripping out of the entrance like erratic drops out of a leaking faucet.
Every time the door opens, my heart skips a beat, but it quickly returns to its regular pace when I realize that the person was just another stranger. I remain put, my eyes glued to the door, as I sip on my second coffee of the day.
If the next person to leave the house isn't her, you should just leave, I tell myself. This is pathetic. You're wasting your time.
But then the door opens again and the person who walks through it is – for a change – not a complete stranger. It's not Laura, but it's the girl I saw her with at the fundraising event the night I met her. I remember Laura saying that she would move here with a friend, and that must be the friend she was talking about. The girl is wearing a light blouse and suit pants, shielding her eyes against the already blazing California sun with giant sunglasses. She steps outside, turning right and striding up the sidewalk in hurried steps.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I whisper, rolling my eyes up to the sky.
Just as I had set my mind on leaving if the next person to leave the building wasn't Laura, the universe sends out her friend and roommate to make sure that my attention is piqued just enough to make me reconsider.
I sigh, trying to brace myself for something that may still never happen. Just because her roommate lef
t for work doesn't mean that Laura is about to follow. It's unlikely that I missed her because I've been sitting here since before dawn. Unless she has to show up to her job in the wee hours, I can be pretty certain that she's still home.
Time passes and I continue to sit and wait, slowly calming down from the excitement her friend's appearance caused for me. It's getting later and the temperature is getting warmer, but I was smart enough to park the car in the shadow of a tree, so that I didn't even have to turn on the air conditioning. Up until now.
The longer I sit and wait, the more I begin to doubt myself again. I set deadlines for myself again and again, telling myself that I'd leave in fifteen minutes, another fifteen, another ten, another twenty to get the full hour. I know there's a chance that she may never appear, but I can't leave now, especially not after seeing her friend leave the house. I'd always wonder what would have happened if I had stayed another ten minutes, or fifteen, or twenty...
Time comes to a sudden halt when the door opens again, and Laura appears.
My doll.
Her hair is longer, and it’s styled in a cute ponytail. She's wearing activewear, looking incredibly sexy in a pair of running shorts and a white shirt, topped off by a pair of expensive hiking shoes. She doesn't look like someone who's on their way to an office job, but instead as if she's planning to head to the gym for a workout.
Just like her friend, she's wearing giant sunglasses, tilting her head back to look up at the sky. She's smiling, taking in deep breathes as she takes in the beautiful weather.
She quickly heads off to the right, heading for the cars parked next to the sidewalk and jumping into a navy blue mini cooper.
Without thinking about it, I start the engine and follow her as she drives away.
Chapter 31
Laura
Steven didn't take the breakup as hard as I thought he would. If anything, he seemed to be more annoyed than sad about it. He knew something was up, and when I insisted on paying for both of our drinks, he cast me a suspicious look. We sat down on stools at the far end of the bar, and I nervously tried to engage in stupid small talk until our drinks arrived. When I could finally bring myself to say what I should've said a long time ago, Steven just looked at me with an apathetic expression, nodding and taking a big sip from his drink. I was the only one who shed tears about our breakup, at least in public.
