19
Avery
I was a big, fat coward—and turning into a bit of a recluse. After our date, Noah assumed all was good and he’d won, but we both lost. I just couldn’t give him what he wanted. And that meant he couldn’t give me the one thing I needed—a friend.
The following week, I hid in my apartment, binging on Christmas classics and eating things I had no business putting in my mouth. Being that Noah and I shared a floor, a building, an elevator, and the common areas, I had to change my usual routine to make sure we didn’t cross paths.
I stopped going to the gym at dawn and started going at seven-forty-five after Noah disappeared for the day. I also started studying on campus so I didn’t have to be around when he was home on the weekends. As far as my clients… I broke my usual rules and asked them to come up to my door. That way if I did have to use the hall, I was never alone.
I knew Noah watched me in the past. He’d admitted as much. He knew what clients were closest to me, who I allowed to kiss my cheek, and which ones took me out the most. These men were my only source of income and while I still had nothing sexual going on with any of them, I had a business relationship with each. Noah wouldn’t dare interfere with that because whether he approved or not, it was my job.
He called and texted and even banged on my door a few times, but I never answered. We weren’t going to be romantically involved. Once he understood I wasn’t budging, he could have settled for being my friend, but he didn’t. His texts crossed a line, turning nasty before they stopped altogether.
* * *
Avery, please call me.
Why won’t you answer your texts?
I know you’re home!
Fine, you want to be a fucking coward, enjoy passing time with your Johns and fulfilling an empty life! We could’ve had something real!
* * *
Tapping my pencil on my textbook, I pursed my lips, ignoring the pinch of rejection that accompanied his silence. I should be used to having no friends. I’d written off everyone I left in Blackwater. And living the secret life of a sugar baby didn’t really create genuine relationships.
Some of my clients confided in me. I listened and comforted and tried to offer advice as much as I could. But that wasn’t a reciprocated dynamic.
Sugar babies were meant to be low drama and soothing company, pretty sources of confidence-boosting companionship. It was very one-sided, but that’s why I got paid. I couldn’t show up at a job with baggage. I had to smile and laugh at all the right moments. Dish out compliments and flatter men the way they liked their egos stroked. So, as much as I knew their problems, I couldn’t share mine.
I shut my textbook and slouched in my chair. “This sucks.”
Snatching my phone off my desk, I scrolled through my recent texts. It had been four days since Noah knocked on my door and his texts had grown increasingly nasty toward the end. But the last one hurt the most.
My thumb swiped over my messages, opening up his texts as a painful reminder of where things stood. It should have cemented the accomplishment and taken Noah off my to-do list but, instead, reading his texts again only left me wallowing in doubts that his accusations were right on the money—maybe fear did control me more than anything else.
* * *
I don’t know why I ever wanted someone who doesn’t even have the basic manners to answer the phone. Have a nice fucking life.
* * *
I ruined it. Or he did. Maybe we both did. Did the autopsy really matter? Our relationship was pronounced dead the moment I said goodbye to him the morning after our date and I needed to wrap up the wake.
But his angry words remained on my phone, a lingering reminder of how I could manage to fuck up just about anything if I tried hard enough. A reminder that I wasn’t worth the work, as he eventually gave up and moved on.
It was a new year and I had nothing better to do than bathe in my own self-pity. Since I’d spent the holidays alone again, and only interacted with men who believed I was someone else, no one suspected how down I could get this time of year.
There was so much confusion on top of my usual holiday depression I felt drunk on a toxic cocktail. I needed something to cheer me up. The new semester had just started and wasn’t filling the void in my life the way it usually did. I didn’t have any appointments until tomorrow night. I’d go insane by then if I didn’t get the hell out of this apartment.