32. 32
Harlow
I shut the door and lock the deadbolt. Killian is... unpredictable.
I drop my purse beside the sofa. The keys Killian made for me rattle inside.
I must admit, I am grateful Evan showed up. I was about to have a meltdown. Thank God I walked away with some dignity.
Evan sets down the box on the coffee table. Who knows what he wants to talk about, but I need a moment. I excuse myself and slip down the hall.
I make it to the bathroom and lock the door. The moment I sit, pain pulses through me. Oil and semen still slick my thighs, and a faint pink smear stains the toilet paper. Killian didn’t even ask if I was okay.
By the time I face the mirror, I barely recognize myself.
My reflection is tragic. My mascara is smeared, and my eyes are bloodshot and welling with tears. I grab some toilet paper and blot them. I try like hell to wipe away the black makeup staining my cheeks. My chin trembles as Killian’s face flashes.
“It didn’t work out,” I echo his words.
A knife slices into my heart. Tears return and pour down my face.
“Whore for my dad.”
How could he say that? How could he think that?
It doesn’t make sense in moments like this, but somehow, I still love him. I want to believe when he’s ugly like that, it’s his true self.
It’s not though.
I didn’t fall in love with that version of him.
I just can’t believe it’s over. After all, dinner was okay, minus the texts. The sex was painful yet incredible and intense. I gave him everything I had. Those keys were so promising. He put my name on them.
But now, I’m supposedly obsessed with money. I simply asked if I’ll still have a job after he moves.
That’s a reasonable question!
I choke back a sob, desperate not to let Evan hear. I can’t be weak around my ex.
“Cry about Killian after he leaves. Go get this over with,” I coach myself.
I take deep breaths, in and out, before returning to the living room.
He smiles warmly. “You are just... wow, you look incredible, Harlow.”
I forgot I’m dressed up.
“Oh, thank you. I went on a date.”
“I figured. Did it go well?”
“Yeah. It was alright,” I mumble. “What’s in the box?”
He opens it. I spot crocodiles, but there are several items new in packaging. There’s a silver women’s watch, a tablet, a knife set, gold hoop earrings, and sunglasses.
He breathes in deeply. “These are the things I stole from you when we lived together. I pawned them to buy drugs. They’re not the originals, but I always felt terrible about it. Now that I got a good job, I can finally fix my mistakes.”
I stare at the items and nod, but deep down, I don’t care.
“That is very, very sweet.”
Slowly, his head tilts. “What’s wrong?”
I look at the ceiling so tears don’t race down my cheeks. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t think so. I know you pretty well,” he says cautiously.
The treacherous tears unleash, etching down my face with fury. My voice cracks.
“It was a bad date.”
“Damn, I’m sorry.”
Like he did before, he looks confused and unsure how to handle a crying woman. I hate that. It makes me feel like a problem he can’t solve.
He steps closer.
I let him.
Awkwardly, he moves in for a hug, and despite my better judgement, I don’t resist.
Normally, I would never touch my ex, but right now, I want this pain to stop. My forehead presses against his chest and I bawl, loud and ugly.
His arms hold me tighter.
“You’re okay,” he assures.
“He didn’t want a second date,” I wail.
“Uh, that’s alright. There’ll be other guys.”
“You don’t understand! I’ve been in love with him for months. It was my only chance.”
“Oh.”
I cry and cry until my rib cage stops shuddering and my tears dry up. I step back and cringe at his shirt. It’s wet and makeup found its way onto the fabric.
But I don’t care about his shirt either. I wander to the couch where I collapse. He sits beside me, and oddly, he turns on the television.
I glance over.
He smiles, cratering his dimples. “What? You need a friend tonight. We can watch TV. It’s better than being alone.”
I lean back into the cushion. He’s right.
He reclines too and tells me about his new life. We walk down memory lane sometimes, but don’t linger too long. He tells me about the girls he’s dated, and I trauma-dump about my pathetic romantic life with Killian.
I’m so devastated that words tumble from my mouth, unfiltered and honest.
“I thought I could date a rich guy. Isn’t that stupid? Could you imagine dating a rich girl that lives in a freaking mansion?”
He strokes his chin. “It would be dope. She could buy me things.”
I chuckle. “How do you think I got that Audi in the driveway?”
“He bought you a car?” he exclaims.
“Yep.”
“Give me his number. I’ll turn gay.”
We both laugh, but I shake my head.
“That’s what I’m talking about. It’s cool until things go bad, then rich people hold it over your head. He called me a whore tonight and claimed I care more about money than him. It made no sense.”
“That’s cooked,” Evan whispers.
“Yep. Killian was kinda right, though. I would never quit my job for a recovering addict.” I side-eye Evan and add, “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Good. And during dinner, I told him I’m short on tuition. He probably thought I was trying to get into his pockets.”
“How much do you need?”
“Tuition? Four-thousand.”
“How about you give me the car, and I’ll give you the four grand?”
I laugh, incredulous. “That car is worth more than that. I would sell it before giving it away.”
“Why don’t you sell it?”
I shrug. “It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever owned. I feel good when I drive it. I don’t know.”
But I do know.
Killian gave it to me. I’m attached to it.
“I see. Can I ask something crazy?”
I smirk. “Sure.”
“And you won’t get mad?”
“Cross my heart. Trust me. There is nothing you could ask that would make me madder than I’ve already been at you.”
He nods, but winces as he speaks.
“What if I paid your tuition for... sex?”
I blink.
He panics. “Don’t take it wrong! I would pay most women for sex.” He smiles nervously. “It’s a guy thing. I don’t mean you’re like...”
He stops himself, his face flushed.
“No, finish what you were saying,” I demand.
“It’s not like I see you as a slut or anything. You’re hot. You need money. Why not?”
“Are you insane?” I balk and stand up. “You’re the second guy tonight to treat me like I’m just a money-hungry whore.”
He crosses his arms, defensive, then scans the room.
I wait, expecting an apology.
“Harlow, you live in a trailer. You have a shit job. I think humbling yourself isn’t such a bad idea.”
I gasp. “Humbling myself?”
“Maybe hanging out with rich people has made you think you’re better than where you came from.”
Those words hit hard.
Okay. Yeah. I have been immersed in a mansion, twelve hours a day, with a class of people I would normally never see. Maybe it’s possible they’ve had an effect on me.
“I don’t think I’ve forgotten my roots,” I say.
“Then you know people do things to survive. Sometimes they steal because they can’t afford groceries. Sometimes they leave their kids alone because they can’t hire a babysitter. And sometimes they suck a dick because they can’t pay tuition.”
I hold my breath as a chill runs through me.
He’s manipulating me. It’s nothing new. He’s just sober now.
And what he said was awful, especially the last part. But I forgot about those people. My people. I look at sex workers as trash instead of women trying to get by. I am in a trailer. I don’t have a trust fund. I need cash.
I need to survive.
Killian is wrong. I haven’t been his dad’s whore. I’ve been his whore. That’s the only reason he’s kept me around.
“You would pay me four thousand dollars for a blowjob?”
“I think it’s generous,” Evan says.
My hands cup my elbows as I hold myself. Inside, I scream at myself: sell the fucking car.
That car might be the only nice thing I’ll own in my life. Hell, I may fail nursing school. Clark may fire me if he finds out I slept with his son. A thousand things could go wrong. I would still have the car. Then I could sell it in an emergency.
I can’t say it. The words won’t pass my lips. I simply nod.
In slow motion, Evan leans back into the sofa and undoes his pants. His form blurs as his cock is exposed.
I close my eyes.
Immediately, I see Killian. I feel him all around, like a force blocking me from stepping forward. His words, good and bad, replay. Three ring loudest:.
Whore. Trash. Nothing.
I push past Killian’s invisible shield and walk toward Evan.
Every step feels wrong. Even when I kneel, the voice in my head begs me to stop.
I don’t.
I know his smell, the shape and taste of him, yet it’s not the same.
“Make it good,” he murmurs.
I obey.
I bob my head faster, I apply the right pressure.
I blow my freaking ex.
“Uhh,” he moans. “Oh, yeah, Harlow. I’m close. Swallow for me.”
I wince, but he doesn’t notice.
I want Killian.
I wish it were him. Just the thought makes my heart speed up.
Imagine him.
So I do and move my head rapidly, visualizing his shaft in my mouth instead.
When the hot, salty release hits the back of my throat, I swallow it as I was told.
It’s done.
It’s over.
I’m the whore I already was.
I move to the kitchen and wash my hands, and rinse out my mouth. Evan sends me the money over a cash app.
“Let’s watch TV another time,” I say.
He doesn’t fight. He looks a little awkward himself. We hug and say goodbye.
Once he leaves, I hold onto the kitchen counter, trying to decide if what I did was life-changing.
I take an excessively long shower, then fall into my bed where I cry until my throat hurts.
“What a night from hell.”
I hate Killian. I hoped I would be in bed with him.
No, I shouldn’t be thinking that I actually could’ve been with someone so unlike me. That’s what I hate most.
As much as Killian made me feel worthless, he somehow made me believe he’d actually choose me.
Killian. With me. His girl. Maybe one day his wife. And she’s trailer trash.
God, he manipulated me worse than Evan just did.
And I let him.