Going Deep (Imperfect Love 2)

Unknown: “Have I gone mad?” “I’m afraid so. You’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are.”

Glancing back, I see Patricia is still in the stall, so I text back: Who’s this?

Unknown: The Mad Hatter

I laugh to myself. I can’t be positive, but something tells me this is Killian. He’s the last person I spoke to about my love for Alice in Wonderland. Instead of asking if it’s him, I go along with it.

Me: Funny. Enjoying the book?

Unknown: Yep!

Me: Too bad that quote is from the movie…

I watch as the bubbles appear and disappear. Then, finally a response comes through.

Unknown: You got me. And it’s Killian.

Me: I figured… go read the book! A movie should never be a substitute. First read the book, then watch the movie. How did you get my number anyway?

I input Killian’s name into my contacts while I wait for him to respond.

Killian: In high school, the movie was always the perfect substitute ;) I got your number from Olivia. I hope that’s okay. I just wanted to see how you’re doing…how your mom is doing.

My heartrate picks up and tears prick my eyes. The truth is I’m not doing well at all. I’m scared for my mom, tired from working fifteen hour days to try to earn the money I’m going to need to pay for my mom’s treatment. I feel like I’m drowning. Every day feels like a struggle to breathe, to simply exist. But I don’t tell him any of that. Instead, I text him back that I’m okay, and thank him for checking on my mom and me.

He responds with: What are you doing right now?

I reply with: Working

I regret typing the word as soon as I hit send. This late at night, there’s only one job I could be at right now, and it’s not Fresh Designs.

Less than ten seconds later, he responds.

Killian: On a date?

I know what he’s asking. Am I working as an escort?

I type back my response with a quote from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland—the book, not the movie.

If everyone minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does.

I smirk as I watch the bubbles, which indicate he’s typing. Then they stop. They start again. But then stop. Immediately, I wonder if I offended him. I meant it as a joke, but even when it’s put like that, in a quote from a children’s book, it still means the same thing. Mind your own business. And even if I meant what I wrote, I shouldn’t be rude to Killian. What he did for my mom… he’s the reason she’s still alive. Had I taken the subway that night, I never would have gotten to her in time. And once we arrived, it was his phone call that got the ambulance to her in time.

Before I can type back, a text comes in: Off with her head.

I let out a soft giggle at his response, then reply: I’m sorry, that was rude… Yes, I’m on a date…as an escort.

I throw my phone back in my clutch and make my way back out to the table. When I get there, I realize I left Patricia in the bathroom. She walks up behind me and sits down. The next hour I try to focus better, participate in the conversation more, and earn my pay. When the bill is paid, we say our goodbyes, and part ways once the valet brings the cars around.

“You okay, Giselle?” Paul asks, glancing over to me as he drives us back to his place. He’s a VIP client, which means his dates always include a ‘nightcap.’

“I’m just a little tired,” I tell him.

“Why don’t I bring you home?” he suggests. I want to tell him I appreciate that but it will mean less money—and I need the money.

“That’s okay.” I give him a smile. “I’m good.”

“No, you aren’t,” he argues. “If it’s the money you’re worried about, I’ll notate we had our nightcap.”

“I appreciate that, but I couldn’t let you do that. I promise I am good.” The last thing I want is another person taking pity on me. Paul doesn’t argue further. He takes me back to his place where we spend the next half-hour having sex. When we’re done, he thanks me for another wonderful evening and then calls his driver to take me home.

On the way, I check my messages. If I’m honest, I’m a bit disappointed to see Killian never texted me back. Not that I blame him. Why would he want to continue a conversation with a woman who’s whoring herself out? Then again, he does hire women for the same services I provide.

Once I’m dropped off, I head upstairs. The place is dark and quiet, and I assume Olivia and Reed are at Nick’s. I take a hot shower, scrubbing the slut off me. It doesn’t matter how much I clean myself, though. I know who I am and what I’ve become. I can’t regret it, though. It’s how I’m surviving. It’s what pays my mom’s mortgage, my sister’s school, my school loan debt. It’s how I’m going to get my mom healthy. I don’t have it in me to regret my choices. But even with all the justifying I do, it doesn’t stop me from feeling gross and dirty.