Chapter 2
2
R AIN
This is my first Christmas away from my family and friends, from Eve, and everything I held dear in my old life.
I couldn’t tell Eve the truth.
The reality is, I can’t afford to go home or anywhere else for that matter. Frankly, I can’t afford anything since I’m not making a living. I'm barely crawling at the bottom of the barrel, and my mom’s finances aren’t that great, either.
Not after the divorce.
She made me swear I wouldn’t talk to anyone about our situation, not even Eve.
My mom is too proud to accept help, especially from Eve’s parents, who'd always thought we were well off.
And for the longest time, we were, or so we thought, but that was the biggest lie of all.
For so many years, we had lived a blessed life, and then it all crumbled, and we woke up to a different reality.
Our privileged life came with a price tag we couldn’t afford, so my parents had to take drastic measures to rectify the situation.
They sold the house and everything we owned.
My mom rented a small place while my dad moved on with his life.
Amidst the scandal, a lot of inconvenient truths wrecked our lives. My dad’s business, the cars, and the house were nothing but enormous debts.
They liquidated everything they could, including my car, and the little money I got from them after paying off my loan helped me cover the first two months of living expenses here.
The other thing I couldn’t tell Eve was that, although I’m still in touch with my mother, she couldn’t forgive me for what I did to them, for dramatically changing their lives.
She had avoided the ugly truth about Daria’s sexual escapades and my dad’s indiscretions all her adult life, yet she knew what was going on.
She didn’t seem surprised when I revealed the truth and offered her irrefutable proof. I was so eager to open her eyes and had no clue how much I hurt her.
But she knew it.
Yeah…
She must’ve known.
In hindsight, I understand how cruel it was to force her to acknowledge what had been going on behind her back for so long.
To make her see it with her own eyes.
No woman should go through that.
Betrayal is heart-wrenching on its own, let alone when it’s soaked in sordid details.
It was devastating to her, and it crushed me when it finally dawned on me why she couldn’t face the truth.
Had she done it earlier, she would’ve had to change her life, and she just couldn’t do it.
It was her weakness, and it wasn’t my place to judge her.
Her heart and entire existence were on the line when I coaxed her into making a choice, which was a foolish thing to do.
It made no sense to her.
It still doesn’t.
She firmly believes an inconvenient truth rarely does something good and frequently ruins people’s lives.
'Lies make life more bearable,’ she used to say.
And I argued with her because I didn’t want to believe her, yet she was right.
It’s been six months since everything changed, and nothing good came out of it.
I can’t even spend time with Eve, as I said before.
She attends school here, in New York, yet we rarely see each other.
We blame it on our conflicting schedules.
Sure, there’s that––there isn't enough time to socialize with her classes, her boyfriend, and my two jobs.
But there’s something else.
As much as it pains me to admit, we no longer have that much in common, and that is the real reason we have drifted away from each other.
We’re on the phone occasionally, chatting about family stuff, but even that has lived its life and become a thing of the past.
Eventually, we let it go.
After the divorce, my father moved out of Colorado.
He got a job in San Francisco and found a new place to live.
Daria split from Nathan and moved to Boston, where she goes to school. She's found another man and lives with him.
Once in a while, she calls my mom and probably keeps in touch with my father too.
None of them want to talk to me.
Do I have regrets?
More than I can bear, but...
Had I not revealed the information James Sexton handed me, I would’ve been buried under a ton of guilt, and we would’ve lived an even bigger lie.
James knew all that.
That’s why he forced me to choose and live by my principles.
He knew full well there were two horrible situations to pick from. He did to me what I stupidly did to my mom later on.
Had I kept it a secret, I would’ve been tormented for the rest of my life, so I had to tell the truth and face the consequences.
He knew what I would choose.
He saw through me and read me like an open book.
He also wanted to teach me a lesson, and I surely learned from him, and now I know that truth has dire consequences.
I stare vacantly at the New York skyline for a few more moments before tearing my gaze away from the window.
Faint light spreads around the modest room as I turn the only lamp I own on.
Leaning back in my chair, I do a quick calculation in my head.
Two more weeks until the next paycheck.
The monthly bills are covered.
Next month’s rent is in my bank account.
There’s not much money left for food, though.
I shrink into my seat, pull my legs up, and hug my knees together.
Tomorrow is my first Saturday off in six months. Pretty much since I left home.
Tears well up in my eyes, reminding me of another lesson.
Life is not what I thought it would be.
Damn you, James Sexton.
I didn’t have a fucking choice… a voice screams in my head, arguing with him.
I wish he was here with me so I could sink my fists into his chest and make him feel my anger and frustration.
Make him understand that I truly had no choice.
His money was never a choice.
Because I wanted him.
And I wanted him so badly that my heart hurts even now.
But not like that.
Not living off his money.
Not being a perpetual kid by his side.
I wanted to change that darkened heart of his.
I wanted him to feel something profound for me.
I wanted his admiration more than anything else.
And I wanted to feel unrestrained by his side, unlike an insecure girlfriend.
I wanted so many things from him…
And I got nothing.
“Fuck you, James Sexton,” I growl quietly, blinking back my tears.
I won’t cry.
Oh, no. Fucking no.
That won’t happen.
I won’t shed a fucking tear. But he was right.
Living on my own is way more challenging than I thought.
Sure, people do it all the time, and some live better than others. Some get help, too, but I couldn’t count on getting help from anyone, so I relied on luck.
Big, big mistake.
Curious thing, though, that once the money was gone, luck was nowhere in sight. It ran away like a little bitch. Suddenly didn’t know my name or where I lived.
I fucking hate that little fucker.
And now I’m scraping at the bottom of the barrel, which means one thing and one thing only. My fate is sealed.
Like most people I know, I eat, sleep, and breathe to earn enough money to eat, sleep and breathe some more.
This is not the freedom that I thought it was.
The things I thought I’d do easily have taken weeks and months to become reality.
The things I thought I’d do with the money I'd earned never happened because the money has never been enough.
People I thought I’d meet have never crossed paths with me because I fell off everybody’s radar once I hit bottom.
Nobody cared where I was.
Whether I lived or died.
Whether I got lost in this crazy world that often feels like a vicious maze.
As it turns out, meeting people has to do with access. And access to the good stuff and decent people only happens with money, power, and influence.
Life is also about access to good jobs, decent places to live, and even good men.
I smile bitterly.
Hmm...
Good men. Someone should’ve taught me about good men before I fell into his arms.
I sip my now lukewarm tea before glancing at my phone.
I have no one else to call.
Of all the nights I have to spend in this box, this is not the one I want to stay home.
I push out of my chair, walk to the small closet, and fumble through a few racks, sifting through what’s mostly work attire.
Slacks and blouses, a couple of suits for interviews, and several skirts. Tucked in the back, there’s a party dress I never had the chance to wear.
I bought it way back when I arrived in New York, and my hopes ran high, and my dreams were overly optimistic.
I remove the tags and put the dress on the bed, examining it with a critical eye.
It’s a fitted black dress with long sleeves, a plunging cleavage, a matching rhinestones belt, and a long metal zipper on the back.
The four-inch designer shoes I bought to go with it are black too.
From a drawer, I pull out a lingerie set, a garter belt, and thigh-high stockings.
This purchase goes way back to when James Sexton was on my mind.
I take a quick shower, run a towel over my body, blow dry my hair, and put on my dress.
I slip into my shoes and brush my long blonde hair before I let it drape over my back.
I spin in front of the mirror, painstakingly running my gaze over every detail.
The dress stops above my knees, the fabric molding smoothly on my body, the cut flattering my figure.
Deftly, I paint my lips with a dark shade of red and coat my lashes with several layers of mascara. Watching Daria doing it for so many years finally pays off.
I do a double-take, studying my reflection.
It’s been some time since I’ve worn anything remotely elegant.
The woman glancing back at me looks like a stranger.
She’s beautiful and confident—the opposite of how I feel.
I run my hands down the skirt and clasp my fingers on my hips.
Narrowing my eyes, I ponder.
What if I could turn into that confident woman for a day, an evening, or perhaps an hour?
Quirking my lips, I examine my reflection.
What would that woman do if she were me?
If she only had fifty bucks to spare and no one to ask for help?
If she felt brittle inside and hadn’t seen herself reflected in a man’s eyes in a long time?
How would she handle herself? Or face this crap called life?
Ripping a page out of Daria’s book, I arch an eyebrow and press my lips together, rehearsing a sultry look and a flirting smile as if I were her… The woman in the mirror.
Self-assured.
Empowered.
For one, she wouldn’t ask for help. That’s for sure.
She’d know nobody could give her what she wanted, so she’d have to get it alone.
She’d take care of herself and never act out of fear or weakness.
She’d cherish her strength.
She’d never wait or ask and always fight and own.
And last but not least, she’d never hold her head down and live like a hermit.
She’d cherish the longing inside her body.
And she’d go out and test her power.
Hmm.
Test my power.
I can surely do that and find out if what I see in the mirror is what other people see too.
I walk back to the closet and retrieve a black wool cloak from a garment bag with red silk lining. It’s a Christmas gift from my mother, and I got it a few years back, and I never had the chance to wear it because of Daria’s big mouth.
She couldn’t stop poking fun at me, saying it made me look like a princess. I loathed her words so much I didn’t want to give her another reason to run her mouth again.
I drape it over my shoulders and pull the hood over my blonde hair, the red silk lining matching my lips.
Smiling, I grab my phone, walk out of the apartment, and lock the door behind me, strangely feeling lucky for a change.