Haisley is laughing, and the pure joy in her expression is worth everything. Worth the money I paid to get her out of debt, worth the stress of having someone new and strange in my world.
Or is it?
I think about the last time I took someone under my wing, the last time I stepped in and tried to help someone. The last time I really cared…
My smile fades.
At first, Haisley doesn’t notice. She’s making small talk with one of the actresses, and it seems the two women have hit it off almost immediately.
Meanwhile, I feel myself falling, falling back in time, down a dark hole of my own making.
It’s a sensation that I’ve had whenever I allow the past to creep into my present. A past so dark, so relentlessly grim that I’ve had to pretend it happened to another person in order to survive.
I nearly didn’t make it out of those days alive.
I suppose, in a sense, I didn’t make it out alive, because the person I was back then had to die in order to make way for the me that exists in the present. This new version of me is a survivor, is strong, is cold and without emotion.
All of this serves a purpose.
The way I’ve lived my life for years has allowed me to be as close to normal as I will ever get. But somehow, Haisley has come into my life and I’ve forgotten all of my guiding principles, I’ve thrown aside the ways of living that have kept me halfway sane.
I got careless, and now I’m paying a price.
My mind has been captured by the past, and as the party and celebrations flow around me, I am somewhere else.
I’m in the darkness, remembering it all.
Falling into myself.
Haisley
I cannot believe the magical time I’m having, and I have Dermot to thank for all of it.
As we exit the theater after drinking and conversing with the cast of the show, I want to tell him everything.
“That was amazing,” I say. I’m a tiny bit buzzed from the champagne, but even more so from the amazing show, and then going backstage to meet everyone afterwards. “I feel like…I don’t know…a princess.” I laugh and shake my head. “Okay, I feel stupid just saying that.”
Finally, I notice how quiet Dermot is.
He’s staring ahead, then he checks his phone. He glances at me and makes a slightly pained expression. “I just was checking to see how close the car is to picking us up.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask, feeling my stomach clench with the certainty that Dermot’s feelings have once again taken a turn.
“I think I’m just tired,” he says. He wipes a hand over his face, and I can see his eyes do look weary.
“Is that the car?” I ask, and he nods, walking briskly to meet it as it pulls up beside us on the street.
As we’re getting in, I realize we’re being watched. People nearby are talking, pointing, a few people across the street even have their phones out and seem to be filming or trying to take pictures of us.
“They’re watching us,” I say, staring back at them. I feel frightened and a little angry.
“It’s normal,” Dermot replies. “Come on.”
We get into the car and soon we’re driving away from Times Square.
“How is that normal?” I ask him. “Why were they staring at us?”
“I’m sort of a known quantity in Manhattan. Some of them probably will just text their friends, but maybe one or two will try to sell a picture to a website. Whatever they do, I don’t pay much attention anymore.” He shrugs.
His body language is all wrong.
The car drives smoothly through traffic, navigating effortlessly. I want to sit back and take it all in—the lights of the city out the windows, the plush interior of the car, the warm seat, Dermot looking dashing, handsome and sexy as he sits near me.
But this perfect picture feels askew.
He won’t meet my gaze. He’s on his cell phone, quiet. A big change from just a little while ago.
“Did I do something wrong?” I say, after enough time has passed to be uncomfortable.
He glances up as if surprised I’m still here.
“Something wrong? Like what?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, the frustration showing in my tone of voice. “I thought we were having a good time.”
Dermot just stares at me blankly. “Obviously, I took you to the show for you to have a nice time.”
I can’t believe this man’s moods. I feel myself getting angry again. I should know better after the way he’s already acted in the very short time I’ve known him.
“Great,” I mutter and turn away from him, stare out the window, arms crossed.
He doesn’t say anything, and we continue the rest of the way in silence.
I can hear him clicking away on his phone.
At one point, he even takes a brief business call.
“Yes…good…anything to report? Okay…let me know when you hear anything. Day or night.”
And then more silence.
Inside, I’m boiling with frustration, but also scared and confused. Did I do something to upset him when I was socializing after the show? I didn’t speak to very many men, at least not for more than a brief moment of two.
And besides, I can’t imagine Dermot would be jealous of me chatting with a man. He seems fairly secure with his power and position in the world. He literally owns me.
So, then what? Why did he change yet again from being so kind and warm and romantic to suddenly cold, distant and almost repulsed by my mere presence?
I know that I’ll never get an answer and it’s foolish of me to even expect one.
I’m here to do a job. He’s been considerate enough to pay me the rest of my fee in advance, which he didn’t need to do. All that is required of me now, is to finish out my contract.
And if Dermot decides to cut me loose early, I have no reason to be upset. After all, I can pay off my father’s debt regardless of what happens.
I’m free.
I should let that make me feel better about this whole twisted situation, but somehow the money and my apparent freedom don’t actually make me feel any better at all.
As we pull up to Dermot’s building, I use my cell phone to transfer the final fifty thousand dollars to Vincent Rossi’s account.
Doing so, seeing the money leave my account at zero, gives me a sense of finality.
It’s over.
Whatever happens now, at least I paid off my father’s gambling debts. There is a tiny bit of relief, and maybe even some pride, that goes with this realization.
I did it…I made the money and now we’re free from those sick bastards.
The car is stopped, and the driver has opened my door. A few moments later, I’m following Dermot back into his home. He hasn’t even acknowledged my presence, and I’ve decided to just let it be.
I have nothing to prove to him or anyone else.
But I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I was already feeling desperate for his hands on my skin, his lips on my lips, to once again know the heat of Dermot’s incredible body.
I’ve never felt anything like what this man can do to me, and I can’t help but want more of it, be greedy for it and addicted to it.
I know better than to bother him, however.