Dr. Fake It - A Possessive Doctor Romance

“This last time was different,” I said, my voice softer. “He never came home. We started to worry after a few months, but it was my dad, you know? Disappearing for a while was what he did, and eventually it would get cold out so he’d have to stagger inside or freeze to death on the street.

“Except that never happened. Then the spring came and we got a knock on the door. It was a man that called himself Cosimo, and he seemed so polite at first. He sat down at our table, accepted tea from my mother, and proceeded to tell us that my father promised to sell drugs for him. He was given a kilo of heroin, and told exactly how much to sell it for. But instead of dealing it all out, he shot half the shit into his veins, and now we owed him for my father’s mistakes.

“We didn’t understand at first, but a couple days later, they found my father in the river. Apparently, he jumped from the Ben Franklin Bridge, although I wonder if someone threw him over instead. Cosimo came to my work and told me that there was another way I could pay off my debt to him—I could give him my hand in marriage.”

I felt sick as I closed my eyes and forced away the tears. I never felt so useless, so gross and demeaned before in my life. Cosimo looked at me like I was some toy for him, some pretty prize he could put on his arm and parade around town. I cost money, and that was all I was worth—my life didn’t have intrinsic value because I wasn’t a person.

“I told him no. He came back, again and again, every night for a few weeks, and I kept telling him no, until one day I was driving home with my mom and this black SUV ran us off the road. You overheard his guys come into my hospital room and tell me that I’d better marry him, and I guess that’s everything.”

I stared at him, heart racing. His face betrayed nothing at first, then softened into something like sadness. He stood up and stepped toward me, but I flinched away.

“I won’t let him take you like that,” he said, his voice soft. “How much do you owe him?”

“Thirty thousand dollars.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I can pay that off.”

“No,” I said, and he must’ve been surprised by the sharp tone in my voice. He took a step back and raised his hands.

“Okay, okay. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I just mean, I don’t want your money. I’m not for sale.”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, you’re right. I’m not trying to buy you, only to pay down your debt. You can owe me instead—and I won’t charge you interest.”

“No,” I said again through clenched teeth. He didn’t understand what it felt like for a man to think he could buy me and own me like I was nothing but a fuck doll for him to use and abuse. “I can’t let you do that.”

He sank back down in his seat and sipped his coffee. I stood there, arms wrapped around my chest, feeling like an idiot. He gestured at the seat across from him.

“Sit down. Maybe we can think up a better solution.”

I hesitated, but sank down. I was starving, and I felt drained from telling that story. I took a bite of the pancakes, then sipped my coffee—then found myself shoveling the food into my mouth with a strange, ravenous hunger I’d never experienced before.

He watched me the whole time but I pushed him out of my mind. I’d spilled my guts and now I felt like I needed a second to process everything I’d told him. I wasn’t even sure he’d believe me—the story was so outlandish, so crazy that I barely believed it myself, even though I’d lived it. My father dragged us down into hell and I was so sure that nobody would be there to help pull me out, but suddenly I felt this strange glimmer of possibility.

I had to be careful. I couldn’t throw myself at this man, even if he seemed like my last chance at freedom. His offer to pay off my debt was tempting, but I still couldn’t take it, still couldn’t let myself be sold to him like that. I had to earn whatever solution I came up with, and couldn’t simply trade one master for another.

When I finished my stack, I leaned back and drank some coffee. He smiled at me and let out a soft laugh. “I guess I’m a decent cook after all.”

“It was pretty good,” I said, smiling back.

“Are you sure you’re not going to take my money?”

I glared at him. “I’m sure.”