A Work Of Fiction.
Part 13 - Hell & Heaven
Terri :
I'm in a tizz. I drop my keys.
"W-what?" I stumble through my words as I try to pick them up.
"Yeah. You're 'Chastity'. You're one of Martika's girls. I banged you the other day..." he trails off.
I was about to speak. Deflect the situation. But....I couldn't. I felt a wave of hotness through my body. My face, I felt, probably gave me away. I couldn't lie. That would just make the whole...embarrassment....worse....and I'd just get redder.
"I-I'm not sure what you mean..." I say, looking up at him as I get back to standing.
"Yes..." he affirms, "...your face. Not the same makeup - obviously - or wearing the same clothes, but I remember you. You're a great fuck."
Would be a nice comment to have, but only in a better context...not out on the street in front of my bank!
"Look, maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement...."
Ok...I'm all ears. My redness, I feel, subsides....
"I'm needing that loan...for my business..."
"I'm sorry, but like I said, if you bring in the evidence to support your application - like you said you had some more - then I'd be happy to go through it again with you..."
I'm non-committal. Not owning up to 'Chastity'....good.
He shakes his head "No, no, no..." he begins. "That'll be too late."
"Look...you must make a mint at Martika's. Give me £5k and I'll not mention this to anyone...."
"I haven't got that kind of money!" I panicky answer. 'Fuck! I've just admitted it!' I think to myself.
"Bollocks! You must be raking it in..."
Balls! How do I admit, in the middle of a street, in the early evening time...that I make no money from this? That it's just mine an Tom's 'kink'. How do I admit that without looking like a total...fucking....idiot?!?
"I don't have that kind of cash. Please..." I reiterate.
"£2k. You must have two..." he anxiously asks. I shake my head.
"Really? Fuck off..." he snarls.
"I-I-I can give you £1k...." the words tumble from my mouth...surprising myself, not just this....person.
He nervously runs his fingers through his hair....pacing side to side....
"Ok. Give my your fuckin' phone..." he asks.
I pause.
He makes hand gestures.
"Just fuckin' give it. Open it..."
I find myself reaching into my bag and grabbing my phone. Trying to open it in a bit of a panic...
Fail...
'Shit! C'mon, girl...get your shit together..' I think to myself.
Success.
I hand my phone over to Jerry.
As he's frantically working it, he tells me that he's giving me his contact details for later.
"I'll be in touch...." he answers, giving me back my phone before walking away....
I'm shaking. I hurriedly race to my car....get in....delve around in the glove compartment and pull out a spare packet of cigarettes. 'God, I need one...' I think to myself, nearly in tears over what had just happened.
A cigarette, of course, doesn't make it any easier...but calms me down enough to slow down the tears...to bring myself out of a panic state....enough for me to manage to drive home.
I vaguely remember him. With 18 + punters throughout the day, copious amounts of drink and drugs, I hardly remember their faces.....they're just cocks with wallets, really. Most don't want to talk or nothing. They just wanna ball me.
Fine....until something like this happens.
I get in...in tears.
Tom's there....comforts me....then asks what's up. We sit down....face to face....shaking, I tell him.
"Christ!" says Tom.
He tells me to take a shower and he'll make some food for us. He tells me to calm down. That we'll work things out.
I shower, get changed....but I'm not sure what my head is feeling. I'm on remote control.
My phone pings. It's a message from....this fucker.
This Jerry.
We read it. Bank details, send £1k, which is pretty much all of my savings, and money that we were putting towards plans for a holiday.
I send it, going through all the hoops that banking apps put you through for any dodgy transactions....fine, but do they do anything for bloody blackmail? No! So the transaction goes through and the money sent.
We try to eat. Well, I do. Tom is alright....but concerned about me. Me? I hardly touch my dinner.
Fitful night's sleep. Not in the mood for sex at all.
Extremely tired. Up and back at work.
Not feeling it. Some of the staff notice I'm not good today. They think I'm ill....Well, I am! Sick to my stomach!
On my way home, my phone pings. New message. I don't get to see it until I pull into my drive.
Horrified...
"I want more money!"
Shit!
I'm, once again, in tears putting the key into the door.
Neighbours see me. I don't care.
I tell Tom...I see his face drop.
Upset. I haven't got the word for it. I haven't got the strength to support him.
We chat, whilst I have a shower. Going through the motions. Towel dry and change into my PJ's. Tom forces me to have some soup, at least. It's tough going but I know I have to have something to eat.
I feel drained. I message that I haven't got that money....in tears, pretty much....with a reply of "Get It!"...which creates just more tears.
I try to sleep. Too many bad thoughts through my head. Numerous. Various permutations of how my mum and dad find out...each ends the same; my heart breaking.