6. Isaiah #2
Then she was gone, off to meet her himbo boy toy, the door swinging shut behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts, a nearly complete essay, and the faint hum of the building.
The next morning, Isaiah was still thinking about his conversation with Amara, namely, whether his friends knowing and not caring about his camming changed things.
He’d hidden his identity partly because of his academic career, mostly to protect his cousin’s rising stardom from association with porn.
But he wasn’t ashamed, and he didn’t want to hide forever.
25 He knew he’d earn more if he showed his face as well, promoted himself properly with social media and the like.
He’d gotten lucky that he’d done as well as he had so far and managed to keep the relative anonymity, but if he wanted to reach the next level, it would have to go.
Was Oxford progressive enough to keep him on if he was found out?
Would his cousin forgive him if his own career was impacted?
Interesting dilemmas to consider, and the academic in him couldn’t help but interrogate every angle. 26
He rolled out of bed, then neatly folded the weighted blanket his favourite subscriber had sent him, placing it reverently on the end of his bed.
Gifts had become a pretty standard thing for him, his post box in town was regularly bursting with boxes of lingerie or toys he was expected to show off on his stream, and he had so many poppers sitting unwanted in his desk drawer now that he was slightly concerned they were creating a fire hazard, but the gifts from Flash were different.
He sent things from Isaiah’s public wish list that everyone else skimmed over, the items that felt more like they were for the real him than for Quick.
Last week he had sent him a pink fuzzy hoodie that he was basically living in now.
There was a message sitting in his inbox from Flash.
It had been there for days, but he hadn’t known how to respond.
He’d asked for a private show. The idea was both exciting and terrifying.
Isaiah didn’t do private shows. Had never done one.
It was a big deal putting yourself out there at all, but private shows were…
Well, he knew they could be lucrative, but they also seemed really fucking scary.
Isaiah didn’t reply, staring at the message again for a moment and trying to formulate a response before giving up yet again. Instead, he opened his email to reply to Chris Green, because that was something he could handle.
To: c_green_run@
From: isaiah.owens@
Subject: Re: re: re: re: re: ban reduction
Green,
Have I told you how incredibly stupid your email address is? Because it is. I think I lose brain cells every time I type it out.
The only lawyer in my family is my father and as he’s made it quite clear that he wants nothing to do with me, or Carl for that matter, I’m afraid you’re shit out of luck there. You’ll have to actually pay someone what they’re worth if it comes to it.
You can use some of your free time to do a google search and make a list of names. Do something more productive than wanking in your parents’ basement for once, maybe.
Isaiah Owens, BA (Oxon), BPhil(Cand.), not paid enough to deal with your nonsense
With a smirk at the screen, he pocketed his phone and left for his lecture.
Crossing campus in the cold, biting November wind, he drew his wool coat tighter to himself and buried his nose under his scarf.
Isaiah walked quickly, his Chelsea boots striking the pavement in a steady rhythm that felt more deliberate than it was.
He passed the Rad Cam, the cobbles slick with last night’s rain, the stone buildings looming above him.
Bells tolled somewhere, and his steps fell into time with them.
Other students streamed by, bursts of laughter trailing behind them.
He barely noticed them, his mind still firmly stuck on the message from Flash and the decision he needed to make.
The small lecture hall was already half-full when he slipped inside.
He took a moment to breathe it in: the wood-panelled walls, the faint smell of dust and old paper.
Isaiah took a seat near the back as he always did, grinning as he spotted the back of Amara’s head right up at the front of the room.
He nodded to a couple of course mates as he shrugged out of his coat.
Ethics today. What joy. They spent a lot of time on morality in this paper.
It was a stark reminder of how everyone was constantly judging each other, and he couldn’t help but see the parallels to his own life.
Professor Jacobsen began without ceremony, launching into a soliloquy about Kant and the problem of moral worth.
Isaiah knew the text inside out at this point; it was hardly enough to hold his focus.
Words landed, hovered, then slid off. He underlined a sentence in his notes three times without realising he’d done it, still mentally stuck somewhere between private shows and Chris fucking Green.
“Acting from duty,” the professor said, “not merely in accordance with it.”27
Fucking Kant.
When the lecture ended, chairs scraped across the floor as conversations sprang to life.
Isaiah waited a moment before standing, letting the room empty ahead of him.
He waved Amara off as she headed for the library and walked alone out of the building.
Outside, the air felt sharper, the sky a flat, pale grey that promised nothing.
He was halfway across the quad when he saw them.
Ollie and his stupid friends.
Matt flanked him on his left side, and the way they laughed together made Isaiah’s stomach turn.
It was as if he was falling straight back into that moment.
The betrayal was still there, but now it was like seeing it on film.
Something that hurt, but not quite so sharply as the first time around.
It seemed obvious to Isaiah now that there was something about him that drove people to treat him this way, as disposable.
Someone for whom love and care would always be conditional, or a placeholder until something better came along. 28
A girl in a pleated skirt and tight jumper ran towards the group and leapt at Matt, locking her lips with his, and Isaiah saw Ollie shrivel.
For a fraction of a second, their eyes met.
Ollie’s gaze lingered, just for a moment, before he offered Isaiah a swift nod.
He turned back to his friends and said something under his breath.
Matt snorted, wrapping his arm around the pretty girl.
Then the moment snapped, and they walked past him.
By the time Isaiah finally got back to his room, his hands were frozen. A text buzzed and he fumbled for his phone.
Ollie
You look good Zay, want to meet up and talk?
Isaiah could hardly believe the audacity. He thought of the look on Ollie’s face as his best friend kissed his newest girl.
Isaiah
I don’t think so. But I hope you’re okay.
The reminder of what he’d been cast aside for, of how he’d failed at even the most simple relationships stung, but he didn’t need Ollie to know that. Still, the interaction left him off balance.
Ollie
Of course. Are you? Do you need anything?
Isaiah screwed his eyes shut tight, trying not to think of why Ollie, who was never concerned about anything, would ask.
It irked him that even now, Ollie could throw him back to that vulnerable place he’d been in when he’d first been tossed out, begging his then boyfriend for shelter and praying it was all a misunderstanding.
Isaiah
I’m fine.
He set up his laptop and camera, adjusted his lighting, and examined the supplies he’d laid out for the show.
It felt wrong now. He’d planned to be funny, sexy, that line between flirty and crass that always seemed to rake in the tips, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Isaiah had never cancelled a stream, and he wouldn’t, couldn’t bear the idea of letting subscribers down.
29 But he didn’t have it in him to be that guy right now.