Torment Me (Rough Love 1)

“Don’t wake up,” I said again. That had become our life, Simon not waking up. He said he needed the narcotics for his art, the pills, the coke, the syrup, whatever he was taking on any given day. I’d have to lecture him later, because he wouldn’t remember anything I said to him now. You can’t change him, my friends said. You can’t fix him. You have to wait until he hits rock bottom. The thing was, most of those friends were also operating in a drug-fueled haze.

His eyes closed. I stood and left him, and dropped his paintbrush in the solution with the others.

I went into the bedroom and took off the dress W had given me, balled it up and tossed it on the floor. I hung up the jacket, even though the matching skirt had been destroyed. What did it say about me, that out of everything W did, cutting up the skirt seemed the worst offense?

I hadn’t grown up with a lot of money, so I valued my belongings, especially my expensive belongings. I collapsed on the bed with a sigh, and scrolled through my contacts to Henry’s number. I had to call three times before he picked up.

“Yes, love. What is it? How did your date go?”

“Shitty,” I said.

“Hold on.” I heard him speaking to someone, heard titters and cooing. His bed was always full of girls. If Simon was an angel, Henry was a God, or at least a minor deity. Golden bronze, beach tan, beach body, even though he was more businessman than Bahamas.

“All right. Tell me,” he said when he got back on the line.

“He was an asshole.”

“Aren’t most of our clients assholes?”

“No. Some of them are nice. This one wasn’t nice.”

“He tips well. Jesus, Chere, what did you do for him? He left you a hell of a gratuity.”

I waited. He waited. When he spoke he sounded kind, and concerned. “Did something happen? If I have to go after this fucker, I will.”

He didn’t mean going after him in a legal sense. He meant in a sense of calling his guys and making sure that W understood he’d behaved like an asshole. But that kind of action was reserved for extreme circumstances. W hadn’t really damaged me, not any more than I could bear, as he’d promised.

“He was just weird,” I said. “He wouldn’t let me see him. He wouldn’t tell me his name. It really bothered me.”

“About that…”

“Have you seen him? What does he look like?”

“I don’t know. He dated a few escorts through Prom Queen in Vegas, and they told me he was okay. Crazy about privacy, but okay. I’m sorry he was an asshole, and that the two of you weren’t a good match.”

“He was just…not my usual type of customer. I mean…”

Henry let a few moments pass before he prompted me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that he was really dominant, really commanding.”

“Maybe Nina would be a better match for him.”

Nina was our resident pain-slut BDSM enthusiast. She’d probably love W. He’d probably love her.

“I guess I’ll give him one more chance,” I said. I didn’t want him to date Nina, because then he’d be getting exactly what he wanted, and I didn’t want him to get exactly what he wanted. Jerk. Plus he still had to replace my skirt, not that I believed he was really going to do that.

“So am I to understand it’s okay for this client to schedule another date with you?”

“This client,” I repeated with an edge in my voice. “What’s so fucking special about ‘this client,’ that we can’t use his name?”

“I only have a pseudonym. Do you want it?”

Gah. “No. Yes. Fuck it. Yes.”

“E. E. Cumming.”

“He’s hilarious.”

Henry made a soft sound. “He certainly seems to have captured your fancy.”

I hated Henry sometimes, for the way he saw through me, the way he intuitively knew all his escorts and what made them tick. He was like an uncomfortably sexy father, only half the age.

“He hasn’t captured my fancy,” I said. “But he apparently tips well, and he’s not boring.”

“Speaking of boring, Mr. Linguard is hoping to see you next Tuesday night.”

Mr. Linguard was incredibly boring and incredibly sweet. He was just what I needed after the W trauma. “Yes, book him. I’m looking forward to it.”

“I’m sure he’ll look forward to it too.” I heard the tap-tap-tap of computer keys. Another date, another dollar. “Chere,” he said when he finished, “are you absolutely certain you’re okay with seeing Mr. Cumming again? Nina would be happy to take him.”

I made some vague, ambivalent noise that Henry would recognize as a total front. “I already have his stupid blindfold, to protect his stupid privacy, so I might as well do the date.”

“I imagine that blindfold requirement won’t last forever. He’ll probably reveal himself once he trusts you.”