13. Collins
Chapter 13
Collins
ONE YEAR LATER (AGE 19)
D ear Creed,
This letter will never make it to you because I won’t be sending it. I guess old habits die hard because I still find myself writing letters to you, even knowing I’ll never mail it.
I know you’ve been looking for me, but like any other living ghost, I won’t be found. Your PI actually questioned me when he found me, but he asked about me as if he had no clue who I was. Creed, I really think you need a new PI if he didn’t figure it out.
Anywho, life has been…different. Easier, but not. Does that make any sense? When I landed, I started my search for a job. Yep. In the middle of the night. But I had almost no money and needed an income to be able to afford a place to live.
I looked for about three weeks while living in this shitty, seedy motel before I finally found work. As an exotic dancer. Yep. A glorified pole dancer. You’d probably shit yourself at the nickname they gave me. The place is sketchy as fuck because I’m pretty sure some of the girls here do more for the private clients than just dance. I refuse to be that girl though. The thought of anyone touching me, anyone who isn’t you … see, I wouldn’t admit that to anyone in a million years. But seeing as I’ll be burning this letter after I write it, why not?
So here’s another confession, the only orgasms I have are the ones I give myself…while thinking of you. I’ve always had eyes for you and only you, Creed. So when I close mine at night, your bright blue gaze that’s oozing sex with just a look? Yeah, that’s what I see when I fuck myself on my fingers at night. I’d never come so hard as the night they aired your concert live on the local tv station so I got to watch you melodically fuck the audience with your words. It was a few moments of pure bliss where I forgot just how shitty my life still is, but in a different way now.
Oh—
Should I also confess that I’ve become a crowd favorite at the club? This place is cheap as fuck and definitely deals in some shady shit, but I try to keep my head down and work my ass off—literally. Fortunately and unfortunately it only allows me to continue to afford the seedy motel room. Yep, I’m still here. One week turned into one year.
The girls from the club took me out dancing and to get a new tattoo a few weeks ago for my 19th birthday, only to return to my motel room to find my boss waiting for me at the door. He’s a fucking creep who lost a client group because I refused to let them fuck me during a private dance. He now thinks I’m indebted to him and takes half of my earnings because of what I “cost him”. The fucking prick.
I really thought that coming out here would have allowed me to turn my life around. That it would be like the books that have badass main characters who take life into their own hands and make something important of themselves to prove to the world that you don’t need anyone but yourself to be strong and successful.
Boy was I fucking wrong.
I may have escaped a life of abuse, but all I did was trade one prison for another. Only problem is, now I’m stuck. I don’t know how to turn my life around. I can’t afford college. I don’t have musical talent like you, or athleticism like Asher. I’m just…me. But right now it’s not good enough.
I tried to look at the positive, but there is none right now. I tried to chase the sun, but my sunshine is blackened and it leaves me in too much darkness. But I refuse to be a burden in anyone’s life, especially yours. That’s why I blocked your number. Why I remain a ghost. Hidden in plain sight. You deserve every success, Creed. You always have.
One small admission before I wrap this letter up? Your song, “Malevolent Melodies”, has become my staple song that I dance to. It’s what made me a favorite here at the club. So I guess in a way I should thank you.
Okay, now that I’ve confessed too much, time to burn this fucker in the sink.
Goodbye, Creed.
Love,
Collins