On the road
ROSWELL MILLS
Taking a long drag from a cigarette, I peered into the circle of light next to the gas station across the street. One of the girls looked high. There were two of them, dressed mostly in black, showing a lot of skin. Not unusual for summer, but they weren’t clad so scantily because of the weather. They were looking for business.
I didn’t care whether or not they were high. Hookers usually were. But the one on the left could hardly stand. She wouldn’t do. Too sloppy. Loathing made my upper lip curl in a sneer.
What a disgrace.
The other one, though. She had potential. Her hair was blond—wrong color—but that wasn’t important. It was the shape that mattered. Height, weight, body type. She was close enough.
I took another drag and blew out the smoke, flicking the butt to the ground. I straightened my back and crossed the street.
The stumbling one leaned against the building for balance. Her legs wobbled and she sank to the ground, her eyes half closed.
Ignoring her, I approached the other.
She gasped as if startled. “Where did you come from?”
I gestured with a nod. “Across the street.”
“Oh my god, I didn’t see you coming.”
Of course she didn’t. No one ever saw me. I wasn’t worth seeing.
“My apologies if I frightened you.”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile, and her eyes swept up and down as if she were taking me in. “You have very nice manners. Are you looking for some company tonight?”
I wasn’t stupid enough to believe she saw anything in me she liked—other than cash. “How much?”
She told me her price. It was steeper than I remembered for a whore, but it had been a decade. Even hookers were victims of inflation.
Besides, I had plenty of money. I’d added to my stash before I left Tennessee. My mother didn’t trust banks, and she’d been stupid enough to use her birthday as the code to her safe. I had no idea if she counted it regularly, but I doubted it. I’d left enough and arranged it in such a way that the next time she opened it, she wouldn’t notice anything was gone.
I’d procured other things I was going to need. The sedatives had been harder to score than the cash, but I’d managed to buy a healthy supply. I had new clothes, and I’d bought a car. A cheap one, but it would serve my purposes.
I hesitated before agreeing to her price. I did have the cash, but I didn’t want to seem too eager. “Fine.”
“You have a car?”
I shook my head. “Hotel room.”
“Ooh, fancy. You’re a regular gentleman. What should I call you? ”
“John.”
She laughed. “Naturally. All right, John. Lead the way.”
My gaze flicked to the other girl. Her head lolled to one side. My companion for the evening—I wasn’t going to call her by name yet—glanced at her.
“Hey,” she said, her voice sharp. “You okay?”
The other girl’s eyes opened wide. “Yeah. I’m great.”
“You’re never going to get any business like that.” She shook her head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
My patience was wearing thin. “Let’s go.”
“I’m coming.” She gave me what she probably thought was a sultry smile. It emphasized the harsh red of her lipstick and the thick makeup on her face. “And you will be soon.”
I didn’t bother replying. That wasn’t the sort of role-play I needed. “Just be quiet.”
“You’re the boss.”
With her walking next to me, my mind wandered to what it would be like to have her. Not this trash, the only her who mattered. What would it be like when I could take her out and walk with her. Would we ever reach that level of understanding and trust?
In the beginning, she’d need to be restrained. She was far too spirited to be trusted without chains.
That aroused me far more than the hooker walking through the dirty street toward my cheap motel.
To help set the stage—heighten the experience—I took her wrist in my hand. The hooker didn’t protest.
“Good girl,” I whispered.
She didn’t seem to hear me.
When we got to my room, I kept my grip on her wrist while I unlocked the door, only releasing her so she could go inside. She went in and took a few slow steps, looking around as if she hadn’t been to this same motel a thousand times with a thousand different men .
“Not bad,” she said. “Been a while since I got to work in a room. It has a bed and everything.”
I closed the door behind me and locked it.
My voice was monotone. “Clothes off.”
“All of them? Some Johns like me to leave certain things on.”
“All of them.”
She shrugged. “Have it your way.”
I watched while she stripped. She didn’t try to make a show of it. I wasn’t paying her for that. She peeled everything off and set it aside, then stood in front of me.
“Well? What can I do for you, John?”
My eyes swept up and down. She was almost too thin. Not enough in the hips. But no one was perfect.
No one else was her .
She’d do.
I pulled an elastic band out of my pocket and held it out to her. “Put your hair up. Ponytail.”
She smiled like she thought I might be joking. “Really?”
“You’re too blond, but I don’t want to pay you to dye your hair. So put it up.”
“Oh, I see.” She started gathering her hair into a ponytail. “I’m standing in for someone, aren’t I?”
I didn’t answer.
She tied the elastic band around her hair and pulled the strands to tighten the ponytail. “I can do that. Who am I? Ex-wife? Forbidden coworker? What’s my name?”
My voice came out in a whisper. “Melanie.”
“Melanie? I like that. It’s pretty. I can be Melanie for you tonight.”
She started to come closer, but I held out a hand. I didn’t want to look at her face. “On the bed, on your knees.”
She climbed onto the bed and got on all fours. I squinted, making her image blur. Yes. That was good. It wasn’t her, but it would do. Tide me over until I could have the real thing .
I unzipped and put on a condom. I had no intention of taking off more clothes than necessary. I didn’t really want to touch her—this poor substitute—but I was going crazy. It had been so long. I needed this. Deserved this. I’d been so patient. Melanie would understand.
The hooker obliged, answering to Melanie while I fucked her. I said her name every time I thrust—a rhythmic chant. Melanie, Melanie, Melanie . With my eyes closed, I imagined it was her. I wasn’t in a cheap motel room with a stupid whore. I was in our place, wherever that was going to be. And it was her. My Melanie. It was her stream of yeses, her eager and willing body.
I knew it wouldn’t be like this right away. It would take time. Years, most likely. She wouldn’t be so compliant. Not my Melanie.
Not the one who got away from me.
But I’d teach her. Slowly but surely, I’d show her that she wanted me as much as I’d always wanted her. And we’d be together forever.
I finished with a roar of her name. With my eyes still closed, I held her hips for a moment longer, still pretending. Still fantasizing. Wishing I could be lost there. That I’d open my eyes, and it would be her.
But it wasn’t.
A wave of revulsion swept through me as I pulled out. I went straight to the bathroom, still breathing hard, where I threw away the condom and fastened my jeans. Closing my eyes again, I washed my hands, chasing the feeling of satisfaction. Of heat and desire and the burst of pleasure. Imagining what it would be like when it was real.
Not yet. But soon.
When I came out of the bathroom, the hooker was mostly dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed putting on her shoes. She gasped again, like I’d somehow startled her.
“You’re so quiet,” she said .
I didn’t reply.
“Well, I guess you weren’t quiet before.” She stood with a smile and held out her hand. “I’ll be on my way unless you want another. Half off the second round, but you have to finish in thirty minutes or less. And trust me, I can make you finish in time.”
“No.” I pulled cash out of my pocket and handed it to her. “Get out.”
“You sure? I liked being Melanie. I think I’ll start using that name with all my Johns.”
White-hot rage hit me like a bolt of lightning. Gritting my teeth together, I lunged for her. “You’re not Melanie!”
She was bruised and bloody by the time I was done. But alive. I hadn’t heard her protests, her pleas. I’d muffled her attempts to scream.
No one would care anyway. Not in that place, and not about her.
Still, it meant I had to leave. Pity. I’d paid for the room. I glared at her as she whimpered on the floor. It was her fault. She shouldn’t have said that—shouldn’t have dared to claim that name.
I gathered my duffel bag and stepped over her on my way out the door. Without another look, I left.