Virginity Sold : A Night To Remember Auction

6. Elena

Thank god Vince and Betty were okay with me coming in to work a little late today. When Edward messaged back with the address to the clinic and a nine am appointment, there was no way I was going to tell him I couldn’t make it.

I wish the appointment wasn’t so early, though, so I could have slept a little later. I stayed up until almost one am waiting for Mama, but she never came home. She still wasn’t there when I left a few minutes ago.

Should I call the police and make a missing person’s report? She’s never just disappeared like this before. Not overnight anyway, and she’s been gone since yesterday morning.

Even though I’m pissed, I’m still worried. Sadly, all hopes of her having any money left are long gone. I know she’s spent it on booze and possibly drugs or lost it. Maybe someone stole what she took from me. Either way, this auction is the only thing that’s going to save me.

When I got the address last night, I compared it to the bus schedule to find out which one I’d need to ride. It would be almost a forty-minute trip.

God, I hope it doesn’t take long and I don’t miss too much time at work. When I asked Betty if I could work doubles for the rest of the week and then the day shift on Friday because I needed the weekend off, she agreed. I thought she’d want to know why, but she never questioned me. I could hear the hitch in her voice when she would go to speak, then stop suddenly.

I wish I could tell her, but I can’t. She’s so sweet, and I know she’d use every penny she had to pay the bills for me, not caring if she was placing herself in a bind. That’s just who she is. Sometimes I wonder if maybe she had it hard like me when she was younger.

I won’t ask her. It’s not my business. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. Sometimes things are best kept a secret.

The bus pulls up and I quickly board, dropping the required fare into the container before taking a seat at the front. Normally I would sit further back, but the looks of the men sitting there have the hair on the back of my neck sticking up. They look younger than me, and I don’t know what it is, but something about them reeks of trouble, so the best place for me is by the driver. Hopefully, he can take them if they start some shit.

“Sir, can you let me know when we are on Mormont Circle, please?” I lean forward, tapping him on the shoulder, and he looks up in the mirror at my reflection.

“Sure thing.” I can’t help but notice how he keeps glancing at the boys in the mirror, and his attention seems to be more on them than me. I wonder if he feels the same spidey-sense tingle about them that I am.

I sit back in my seat, trying to calm my nerves about this appointment. I know Edward said a blood test for STDs, and once he gets that, he would need to meet me for an interview. How in the fuck am I going to swing that and work these double shifts I asked for to cover taking the weekend off?

“Miss. Miss.” The driver finally gets my attention.

“Yes.”

“We’re here.” He laughs and I glance around, not realizing we had already made it to my stop. He continues to watch me through the mirror with a wide smile. I must have zoned out.

“Oh, thank you.” I stand up and look toward the back of the bus, but the boys are long gone. When did they get off? Making my way to the exit, I flash a smile at the driver before stepping off onto the sidewalk.

These buildings look the same and I can’t remember the name of the place. I pull out my phone and open the email to look for the name and exact address.

Well, shit! That’s why I can’t remember. I didn’t get a name, just an address: 2436 Mormont Circle, Suite 202. Tell them your name and they’ll know what you need to have done.

How ominous.

This is to keep a roof over my head and get help for Mama. I keep reminding myself as I head down the sidewalk to the two buildings ahead. They are massive.

Come on, Elena, you can do this.

Each step closer becomes heavier, like I’m dragging a concrete boulder behind me. They’re doing an STD check. Will they also do a pelvic examination? Can they tell if I’m a virgin or not? I still haven’t decided if I’ll slip that piece of information to Edward or not. I don’t want it to hinder my chance to make this money I desperately need.

I stop in front of the buildings, checking to see which one I’m supposed to go to. A quick glance tells me it’s the one on the right.

As I walk up to the doors, they slide open for me and I step inside the cool lobby. I look around at the wall, there’s no directory. What kind of building doesn’t have a directory of the businesses inside? My heart begins to race and my breathing quickens. This doesn’t feel right. Have I walked right into a murderer’s trap? Edward was so charismatic, but so was Ted Bundy, and look at the monster he was.

“Can I help you, Miss?” A security guard stands behind the desk that I totally overlooked.

“Uh… yeah… I’m looking for Suite 202.” Smooth, Elena, real smooth. I’m sure he thinks I’m a blubbering idiot.

His eyes widen, and I swear he glances up and down my body, which has me cringing inwardly.

“Take the elevator to the second floor. It’s the only suite on the floor. You can’t miss it.” With that, he sits back down and glances at something I can’t see.

“Thank you.” Pushing the button, I sway back and forth on my feet as I wait for the doors to slide open.

It doesn’t take long before they do and an older, well-dressed woman steps off, her nose stuck in the air when she sees me in my waitress uniform. Guess she’s never had to work a day in her life.

Before I can step on, the doors slide shut in my face and I have to push the button again, thanking god that it didn’t leave the floor.

A guard, an uppity woman, a suite that takes up a whole floor, and now a square metal box with mirrors all around it on the inside. All this tells me this place is out of my price bracket. How much is Edward paying for me to be seen? Will it come out of the money I make?

I press floor two, and my stomach drops as it moves. I’ve never been in an elevator that rides as smoothly as this one.

When the doors open, I step out and pull my shoulders back. I can do this.

There’s a door directly in front of me, made out of some kind of marble-looking glass that you can’t see through with the number 202 in large fancy script. I grip the handle and push it down, stepping inside.

A woman of my mother’s age sits at a desk, but she doesn’t show any signs of alcohol-related aging like she does. A television on the far wall has a news channel playing with no sound but subtitles flash across the bottom of the screen, and large pillowy couches are spread throughout the lobby.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, my name is Elena Hastings. I was told I had an appointment.” I step up to her desk, an awkward smile on my face.

“Ahh, yes. Here you are. Just have a seat and someone will be right with you.” She’s pleasant, but never looks up at me while marking my name off in her schedule. Does she know why I’m here? What the real reason for this appointment is?

“Do you need anything else?” I’m still unsure if I need to pay for this appointment.

“No, everything is covered. Just take a seat and relax.” That’s easy for her to say.

I turn and take the closest seat. The only sounds in the room are her fingers hitting the keyboard and the soft jazz music coming through the speakers. And not another soul is here. Am I the only patient? Where is anyone else? How can they afford a place like this if they don’t have clientele?

Nervously, I tap my feet on the carpeted floor, timing it along with the beats of the overhead music.

A door opening pulls my attention and I see a tall, thin brunette step out. She’s wearing bubble gum pink scrubs and her hair is pulled up in the neatest messy bun I’ve ever seen.

“Miss Hastings?” she calls as she looks around and I want to laugh. Who else could it be but me? There’s no one else here.

“That’s me.” I stand up and hurriedly walk over to her.

“Right this way. I’ll weigh you and get your vitals, then we’ll draw some blood. Once we’ve done that, we’ll have the doctor see you.”

“Sounds fun.” I know I might sound rude, but I tend to word vomit when I’m nervous and unsure of what to do or say.

“I guess it depends on your idea of fun.” She smiles, showing her dimples, as she leads me to a room with a large scale to stand on.

“Sorry, I’m nervous and when I am, every awkward bone in my body comes out, and it tends to end up sending words out of my mouth that are nothing but gibberish.” I stammer out while I sit my things down.

“No need to be nervous. This is a simple, painless process. Now, if you could stand on the scale, I need to document your weight.” She nods toward the scale, encouraging me to move it along.

I’m not sure why she’s rushing me; it’s not like she has a lobby full of patients to get to. But there is a diner I need to get to and bills to pay, so I do need to hurry.

Stepping up on the platform, I watch the numbers rush up and down with the tiniest movement. I stand perfectly still until the numbers level out and my mouth drops at the number on the display.

I didn’t realize my weight had gotten that low. One hundred and fifteen pounds. I knew my clothes hung on my frame, but I never imagined that. But I guess when you work yourself to the bone and barely have food in the house, the weight doesn’t stay on.

Hopefully, this weekend will change all of that.

I just need to get through this appointment.