What kind of correspondence do I have? Probably some kind of welcome message or alert about my profile needing more detail.
The app opens and brings me to my account inbox.
I have a big splashy piece of mail that says YOU HAVE BEEN FULLY FUNDED! CONGRATULATIONS!
I gasp.
This is crazy. There must be something wrong.
Maybe it’s a weird hoax, a scam or something?
I look at the next message waiting for me in my inbox. It’s from NashD, and the subject line says: Hello.
I click on the message to open it, and inside it simply says, We need to discuss timing ASAP.
That’s it.
I go to my campaign page, which is now listed as closed to offers. Reason: Campaign Fully Funded.
I suddenly feel nauseous and light headed. I get up and stumble to the bathroom. I sink to knees in front of the toilet, feel my gorge rising, my stomach contracting painfully.
I’m going to be sick, and I hate puking.
I hate the loss of control, I hate the feeling, I hate all of it.
Slowly, the nausea subsides.
I manage to regain some control of myself, although I’m shaking and my mouth tastes metallic and bitter. I get up after I can be sure I’m not going to vomit after all, then I brush my teeth and wash my face.
My eyes look haunted.
This can’t be real. What the hell was I thinking? I can’t believe I just went and signed up for this crazy service without even giving it any real thought.
I’m incredibly irresponsible to have done it, and now what? Now I’ve gone and sold myself off to some weird stranger. He could be anyone. He could be a serial killer for all I know.
But it doesn’t matter, because he paid the money so now he owns me. I can’t back out without paying a steep penalty, unless I have a medical reason backed by a physician or other extenuating circumstances. The site states clearly it can and will sue for damages if I try and back out of my contract after its been agreed to and signed off by both parties.
The last thing I can afford is to owe even more money.
I feel the panic starting to rise again, and I can’t get enough air. I walk back to my bedroom, and finally it hits me. I need to speak to this phantom menace, this stranger who now seemingly is in control of my life.
I hit respond on the app and write a reply to NashD’s message.
Hi there. Is there any way for us to talk a bit over Skype or Facetime? Thanks. Looking forward to speaking.
I assume there will be a bit of lag-time before I get a response, but then I see a blue dot flash and next to it, a new message.
Don’t see the point, is all it says.
Don’t see the point? What the fuck? I start replying, and now I’m getting angry as well as frightened. I quickly type my reply.
The point is I have never seen or spoken to you. It would be nice to at least get a glimpse and have a chat before we arrange to spend a month together.
I hit send.
A new reply comes back, even faster if possible.
You don’t make the rules here. I paid for you, remember? That means we do it my way.
I scowl. Great. It’s clear the guy is a complete and utter jerk, which is probably why he needs to spend so much money to buy a woman in the first place.
What do we do now? I write.
And then comes his reply. I’ve booked a plane for you. Tomorrow morning at 8 am. Details to follow.
I’m fuming now. I can’t just leave tomorrow morning. None of this is how I pictured it to be. First of all, I never in a million years thought that anyone would actually fund my campaign. It was something I did in a moment of panic, just to feel like I was at least trying to find a way out of my problem.
As I sit here alone in my tiny room, in my recently broken into apartment, where my degenerate gambler father snores on the couch, I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom in my life.
I’m stunned by how quick the descent, how rapidly I fell to this point.
I’ve become a prostitute, and now my life is not my own. I have to get out of this. I consider ways of breaking my leg so that I have a true reason to pull out of this deal without being sued into oblivion…
And then I get an alert.
Sighing, I open the correspondence that’s come in from the GirlFundMe site.
Dear Haisley,
Congratulations on having successfully funded your campaign! As required, your funder has provided us with their personal information. Below, you will find the details for your records.
The first payment is on its way! And the rest will fund after both you and your funder complete the agreed upon time share, after which both parties must also agree that the campaign has been conducted in good faith and meeting all terms and conditions as set forth by GFM and Parties, LLC.
Below this legalese is the information stating the real name, age, and address of the man who has bought me, for a month, for one hundred thousand dollars.
The name is Dermot Nash, he’s 27 years old and lives in Manhattan.
I feel like the name sounds familiar. Dermot Nash. Where have I heard that before? I pull up Google and type the name into the search engine.
I want to at least find a picture of this weirdo and see how bad it’s going to be for me. Please, God, I think, just don’t let him be totally hideous. Please allow him to at least be presentable, tolerable. Please.
When the pictures first appear, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. There must be a mistake. This can’t be the same guy who just purchased me online.
It’s impossible.
What I’m seeing is literal perfection—a square jawed man, with thick dark hair swept over his forehead, eyes that are seductive and intelligent, showing a hint of amused cruelty. In some pictures, he is featured in tailored suits that cling to his chiseled body like body paint. In others, he is wearing far less attire. One pic that keeps me ogling, is of Dermot Nash on the beach in some tropical paradise, tan, gleaming in the sun as some gorgeous plaything looks up at him with pure adoration. His muscles are taught, his swim trunks tight enough to show a hint of the monster beneath.
My mouth is agape as I page through one picture after the other. Dermot hanging with sports stars, supermodels, climbing aboard a private jet. Giving a tour of his multi-million-dollar home in New York,
It says he lives in Manhattan.
I manage to find the address of his home in New York and match it with the correspondence I’ve received from GirlFundMe.
The addresses are exactly the same.
The Dermot Nash that is making me salivate, making my heart go pitter-patter, making my nipples stiff and my pussy wet…
He is the man who bought me for a month.
Dermot
“We’ve recovered all of the devices in your home.”
Max Edwards is the head of my security team. He’s sitting across from me in my office, a large man with a shaved head, sporting a black turtleneck. He is as smart as he is big and mean.
“How many were there?”
“Three. Two small cameras and one audio device. All were placed in your bedroom. We were able to see when the devices were activated and match it up with security footage to find our suspect.”
I lean back in my chair and wait. “You know who did this?”
He nods. “It’s almost one hundred percent. Six months ago, on Friday night, you brought a woman named Becca Windsor home at approximately midnight.”