Riot
What the hell’s going on?
I run after Paxtyn through the packed coffee shop, trying to catch her, but she’s fast, slipping between the chairs and tables like an eel. She’s out before I reach her.
Bursting out onto the street, I look right and left until I locate her. She’s half-running, half-striding along the sidewalk, and I start after her.
Not sure what I’m doing. I should let her go. When a client is done, then she’s done. As for payment, she’ll probably pay me through the agency.
I won’t see her again.
That’s the thought that keeps spinning inside me head, the reason I’m running after her, the feeling that something’s wrong, and I’m not talking of the mess of our first meeting.
To say I was surprised when the agency called with her request for another appointment is the understatement of the year, more so when I found out she didn’t complain about me and that she paid in full.
The feeling of wrongness persists, though. What really happened in that hotel room? Why did she asked me to tie her up, touch her and hurt her, and why did she lose it afterward?
There could be a perfectly good explanation for all this, I tell myself as I jog down the sidewalk. She wanted something wild, and got scared. Don’t read too much into it.
But I don’t know why, I can’t let it go. Can’t let her go just yet, not without knowing what it is, what upset her, scared her. What she’s running from.
Which is stupid. Real stupid, Riot. You don’t need this shit. You’ve got enough on your plate and you know it.
“Pax!” She hasn’t slowed down. Fuck. I open my stride, ignore the curious passersby giving me looks. Damn, she stops at a car and opens the door. I start running full out. “Wait. Dammit, wait!”
I reach the car as she starts the engine. With a curse, I open the door and climb inside.
“What are you doing?” She’s glaring at me. “Get out.”
I would, but her eyes look red and shiny with unshed tears. “The hour isn’t over.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re paying me for one hour. It isn’t over. Use it.”
“What for?”
“Whatever you want. Use me.” I suck in air and look away, because saying the words hurts somewhere deep inside I don’t want to acknowledge. “Anything, Pax.”
It’s just my job, I tell myself. That’s all.
“I...I don’t know,” she whispers, and the pain in her voice forces me to turn back to her. Those chocolate eyes are still too bright, and I shouldn’t care, but for whatever inane reason, I do.
“Don’t know what?” I ask.
“What to do.”
Okay, rewind. “About what?”
“My life!” She bangs her fist on the steering wheel and a tear slips free, rolling down her smooth cheek.
“Pax…” What the fuck do I do now? See the messes I get myself into? “Talk to me.” I reach over, pull her small fist from the wheel, hold it in mine like a precious stone. “Tell me what’s wrong. It’s what I’m here for.”
“I can’t…” She sniffles, and the sound snaps through me like a gunshot. My hand tightens around her fist. “Can’t be with men. Too scared.”
“Be with men. As in…?” I’m torn between laughing and gaping. “As in sex?”
“As in anything.” She starts to pull her hand away from mine. “As in touching and sitting close to them.”