Buy Me, Sir

His finger is white when he jabs it in my direction. “You don’t walk away from clients like yours, boy. And you can’t walk away from clients like mine.”

My gut twists.

“I haven’t had anything to do with clients like yours for fucking years.”

“That doesn’t fucking matter,” he says. “You know things. Things that make you a fucking liability if you stop toeing the fucking line.”

“Don’t threaten me.”

My eyes are like steel. His are like stone.

“I couldn’t keep you safe, boy.”

“You wouldn’t try,” I say.

He doesn’t even attempt to deny it.

“What in the name of holy fucking Christ is going on with you?” he asks, and he’s searching. Digging.

I hate the way it makes me shiver.

I force bravado. “I’m thinking I might take on some legal aid cases. Represent the good guys for a change. Who’d have thought?” My laugh comes out twisted.

His pupils are like pinpricks. “Something happened to you, boy. What the fuck is it?”

“Something happened to me a long fucking time ago and you fucking know it. You were there.”

His smile is grotesque. “You liked it, boy. You moaned like a little fucking sissy bitch as you shot your load over that piss-stained wall.”

“Get out of my office, you disgusting old cunt.”

We stand-off. Eye to eye. Scowl to fucking scowl.

Hate.

So much fucking hate.

So much fucking disgust.

He shoves the paperwork in my direction before he steps away. “Retract your fucking statement to the school, boy.”

“Get the fuck out of my office,” I repeat.

He stops in the doorway, and his expression gives me the chills.

“I’m going to find out what in the name of Christ is going on with you, and then I’ll put a fucking end to it. I promise you that.”

Or put an end to me.

A chill rips up my spine.

And it’s there.

It’s always been right there.

The faces of my demons aren’t those of porn stars, or rent boys, or drinking enough whisky to blackout into oblivion.

My demons all look like my fucking father.

And so do fucking I.

I hold my expression for a long minute after my door closes behind him, and then I rip up his fucking paperwork.MelissaI’m nervous.

Of course I’m nervous.

I’m dancing a stupid crazy dance, right on the edge of a cliff, and now I’m pulling Dean along with me.

I only have a short window and I’m well aware of it. I feel the clock counting down to zero on all my stupid lies.

I heard Sonnie downstairs at Alexander’s on Sunday morning. I pretended to be asleep with my heart in my throat, praying to God he didn’t call me down there.

But one day he will.

One day I’ll run out of luck, and no amount of gemstone trivia is going to bail me out.

Dean has his conditions and I’ll keep them.

I’ll hand in my resignation just as soon as my plan reaches its final destination.

And in the meantime I dance the crazy dance.

Mr Henley seems strange on Wednesday evening.

He’s quiet as he takes me. Quiet as he kisses me after.

Quiet as he holds me.

“Are you alright?” I ask in the darkness.

He takes a breath before he answers. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Okay,” I say, and squeeze his fingers a little bit tighter.

I wonder if he’s growing tired of me already. I wonder if he’s getting sick of paying so much money to have me here.

It only makes me more determined to see this craziness through.

To be the woman his ex-wife wasn’t.

To be the woman he will fall in love with.

He’s all I want. That’s all I want.

But Mr Henley is quieter still on Friday night at the soup kitchen.

He looks so brooding as he stirs the pot, and he doesn’t smile on the streets, not even once.

I hate it.

I hate feeling so insecure after things were going so well.

I hate not knowing what’s going on with him.

I tell him so in a roundabout way as we take a cab back to his.

“I’m sorry,” I add straight after. “It’s none of my business. I just… care.”

He takes my fingers in his. “You’re better off out of it,” he tells me.

His tone gives me shivers.

“But I want to be in it,” I whisper. “I want to be with you.”

He doesn’t even reply to that.

It only makes me more determined than ever.

I send a confirmation text to Mrs Stanley’s daughter Helen when he’s letting Brutus out for his final poop of the evening, telling her we’ll be on for a few hours of babysitting tomorrow night.

I hate the niggle in my belly. I hate the thought of leaving Joe with a stranger, even though she’s not one.

But it’ll just be for one night, and he knows Helen. He knew her before…

She’ll be fine, and he’ll be asleep anyway. He’s good at sleeping right through.

Mr Henley holds me tighter than ever as I drift off to sleep tonight, and I don’t understand it. I don’t understand any of it.