Chapter 14
Tommy
When I first signed up for this rich boyfriend gig, I liked the idea of pretending to be someone else.
I thought it might be fun to be somebody who never struggled, never suffered, never murdered.
Seemed like easy money to lounge around and eat good food and not have to lift a finger.
No sweating in the sun or worrying about danger catching me off guard on my block.
I should be happy, I should be grateful.
I’ve got fifteen grand for my first week of “work” in my room, hidden in a drawer, burning like a hot coal in the back of my mind because what the fuck am I going to do with it?
I wanted it, but now that I have it, the thought of getting more and more every week almost feels like too much pressure.
I almost want to get rid of it. It’s making me panic.
Which is stupid as shit, I know. But I never claimed to be a genius, and my subconscious must think that I’m not supposed to have that much money, not ever.
I wish I could rip me out of my body and give myself a good shake; like, what the fuck is wrong with you?
So what if you have to be someone else, so what if you can’t be yourself?
! Aw, baby’s going to cry because he has to be on good behavior?
Because he has to hold himself together without losing his temper or showing his true colors? Stupid bitch, just get it together.
This life is a dream. It’s a literal goddamn dream and people would kill to be in my place.
A few weeks ago, if someone had offered this to me and told me I could have it if I killed my competition, I would have seriously considered it.
Because fuck, on the outside, I don’t have a care in the fucking world.
So why am I feeling so fucking… so fucking… anxious and lonely and claustrophobic?
And angry.
A waiter drops off a coffee at my elbow and I flinch hard, which isn’t in character and I try to disguise it with a frankly pathetic sneeze.
I’m on edge, so I’m having moments like this almost constantly now.
I glance around this glitzy, gilded cafe, where all the so-called brunch food has edible gold on it for some reason, but no one seems to be staring at me like I’m an imposter.
Instead, they’re all taking pictures of their food or eating off teeny-tiny forks, gossiping over caviar or whatever it is they’re eating.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m broke as fuck, but I’ve had brunch before and this is not it.
But the coffee is fine, I decide, gulping it down as demurely as I can since I’m supposed to have a modicum of class, but goddamn I need the caffeine. I haven’t been sleeping. I’m trying not to show it, not to the strangers in the cafe or the two girls sitting at the table with me.
Kira’s at my side, and we hold hands on the tabletop for everyone to see, our rings glinting in the light.
She’d presented mine to me at dinner the night Young-gi left.
She told me he picked it out for me while she slid on the dainty one she got, and I’ve had to wear it every time we leave the apartment.
It feels weird. I hate knowing that he chose it for me.
It’s a simple band of platinum, with some delicate etchings scrawling around the circumference.
It’s not like he got me a collar with his name on it, but I think of him every time I see it and that’s annoying.
Lexie leans across the table, almost knocking over a small dish of assorted baked goods–all about the size of a nickel for some reason–to show us her phone screen.
I want to look but the noise around us swells as the cafe starts getting more crowded and I scoot closer to Kira, leaning against her side, overstimulated and overtired.
“What about something like this?” Lexie asks, and I glance at the photo of a couple of models in matching formal wear; the man in a floral tux and sleek designer pants and the woman in a deep burgundy dress with similar flowers stitched down the side.
“We could never have that made,” Kira laughs. “The fundraiser is tonight, Lexie. Tommy and I already have outfits planned.”
That’s the first time I’m hearing about this, and I try not to scowl because Tommy Claremont wouldn’t be pissed about this. “We’ve got a fancy gig tonight?”
“Mm-hm,” Kira pats my hand, and I raise her fingers to kiss them absentmindedly, like a good fiancé, like I’m supposed to. “A gallery showing and fundraiser, at a museum. We pay to go, and buy art, and the proceeds go to children or whatever.”
“Or whatever?” I echo skeptically.
“It’s always children,” Lexie shrugs and tucks her phone away.
“For a good cause, and all that. I always make sure to buy something. Do your outfits match at least? The rumor mill has been flowing with engagement news, and I’ve already seen pics of your rings circulating online.
I think Tommy’s starting a trend for platinum bands. ”
“Seriously?” I ask, sitting straighter, looking around like a hunted animal. “I’m not like a celebrity or anything. I haven’t seen any photographers.”
“We’re not that kind of famous.” Kira pulls me back down so I’m relaxed in the seat again–or at least, giving the appearance of relaxed, because I’m fucking not.
“It’s more subtle, and it won’t be on any news stations or gossip magazines.
It’s mostly on social media, and it only really matters to other people like us. ”
People like us. Like us. Like us.
But I’m not like them. Is it warm in here? I’m sweating all of a sudden.
“It’ll be easy,” Lexie grins. “We’ll go, have a drink of champagne, and stand around for a while pretending to enjoy looking at paintings, maybe make some small talk, and probably go to an after party where we’ll do the same thing all over again but hopefully with a mixed drink instead of champagne, and no art on the wall. ”
That sounds like… torture. The opposite of fun.
That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.
I know myself, and right now, I’m on a short fuse.
I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this?
I swallow hard, barely holding it together.
It’s definitely getting warmer in here. And why does it feel like there’s less air than before?
“Sounds boring,” I manage.
“It is,” Lexie agrees. “But it’s a whole thing, so–” She shrugs, like that explains our obligation to go.
“Why don’t we skip it?” I ask, attempting to strike a balance between casually bored and totally fine either way, because that’s how Tommy Claremont feels, and I have to be him all of the time.
If I’m just Tommy in public, the gig is up, and if I’m just Tommy in private, I might scare Kira and Lexie again, and I don’t want to do that.
They’re finally relaxed around me again.
I can’t take the thought of being even more alone than I already am.
So I’m Tommy Claremont, twenty-four/seven.
“I wish,” Lexie mutters, and I realize the girls won’t go for that. It’s not something they’d even consider; ditching a party just to calm down and breathe somewhere they don’t have to pretend. Maybe because they aren’t pretending. This is who they are.
But it’s not who I am, and I’m splitting at the seams. If I have to go to another fancy fucking party, I’ll lose my shit.
I’ll shove my fist down the throat of the first smirky asshole that asks me what I do for work and who my family is.
Throw champagne on the first bitch that puts her sparkly hand on my arm without permission.
Tear the art off the walls and scream like an animal because since when did buying art help kids anyway?
God, that sounds so appealing. Just letting all of this emotional shit out and burning all my bridges to hell. Sounds so cathartic that I crave it like a cigarette, and I gave up smoking ages ago.
Shit. I can’t go to that party.
“We could go do something actually fun,” I smirk, and lean in on the table like I’m telling them a secret. Think Tommy, think!
“Like what?” Kira asks, so sweet and innocent. Lexie is already staring with wide eyes, like she can tell I’m about to scandalize her and she can’t wait.
“Didn’t I promise we could go dancing when this all started?
” I scramble for something they’d actually ditch a party for, and that’s what I land on.
And once I say it, god, I need it. The movement, the heat, just shutting my brain off for a while and not thinking so goddamn much.
Yeah, that could work. Better than destroying a fundraiser for poor children.
I’ve got some dance partners that know me, that help me out when I get like this. I need them right now. I need some time to just… to drown this anxiety, to sweat out this anger and discomfort, to exhaust myself until I can finally sleep. To be Tommy, just Tommy, for a little while.
“Dancing?” Lexie’s all in, I can tell. Her smile is growing and edged with her thrilled fear of the unknown. “Ooooh, but where?”
“I know a place.”
Kira bites her lip. “I don’t know if my driver will take me anywhere that Uncle Young-gi hasn’t approved.”
“He’s not even here,” I scoff, ignoring the pang in my chest at his name, the way the ring on my finger feels heavier when we talk about him. “We can call a cab, can’t we? Sneak out, like real people do. Haven’t you ever wondered how the rest of the world lives? How us regular people have fun?”
That gets their attention. And maybe I should’ve guessed that it would.
Maybe rich people aren’t immune to wondering if the grass is greener somewhere else–if being poor means being free from whatever obligations they’ve made up for themselves in their mind.
It doesn’t, but I don’t mind exploiting that curiosity a little bit.
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, Kira!” Lexie wheedles. I knew I could count on her. “It could be fun!”
“What if something happens?”
“Like what?” I ask, genuinely wondering what she’s afraid of.