You stare down at your phone. Both the cracks and the numbers stare back at you.
-$3.847.22
Your account? Dry. This was all you had. Less than nothing. This wasn't credit. Not a loan. That number was how deep you've gone beneath the surface--how deep of shit you were in. To make matters worse, you had over thirty missed calls and hundreds of texts--All of them from your landlord.
Each one was a little more passive-aggressive than the last, dressed up in fake kindness and legal 'warnings' like:
"You understand we can't extend again."
"Eviction will proceed by next week if...."
And your favorite:
"We regret to inform you..."
Your stomach rolled over and curled up. It's not just the rent on your back. It's groceries. Overdue notices from the clinics. The phone bill. You can feel it building behind your eyes. It's the kind of pressure that makes your chest ache, like someone you loved was never coming back--Your financial freedom. Your peace. Your ease of mind. Crushed by the weight of bankruptcy.
It's the kind of weight that makes you ask yourself...why? What now? Why bother continuing on?
The orders stopped coming in good. When you first started, you were confident. But now, getting a good client was like finding gold.
You thought selling your body and its holes would be easy. Just lay back and let the money pound you into the bed, or backseat, or front seat, or against a dirty wet brick wall.
...The window was close by. Maybe the fall wouldn't hurt too bad before you kick the bucket.
You toss your phone onto your sagging mattress and bury your face into your hands. You try to breathe but it keeps shaking. That pressure behind your eyes is getting harder to control, and you were having a hard time keeping the tears from bleeding down your cheeks.
Then, the phone buzzes.
You flinch. What now? It was probably the landlord with another threat or reminder. Maybe it was him asking for another 'favor' so you could keep your place. That thought alone reminded you that you needed to get mouthwash.
You grab your phone, expecting to see another reason to throw your phone across the room.
Instead, it's a message from a client. The name is unfamiliar, usually anonymous, but this one was vague.
It was just a simple letter 'K'.
And the message was simple:
"Are you available tonight? Looking for discreet, upscale and no limits." Then you saw the end of the message:
"$10,000 cash offered."
Your heart could click heels if it had feet. You sit up, fingers trembling shakily as you prepare to reply.
But you halt. Wait. What if this was a trap? Someone luring you to your doom? What if it was a gang of misfits looking to ruin a girl? They get ahold of you, take you somewhere far so no one could hear you scream and cry, then violate you. Killing you after would be a smart choice for them, but at that rate they'd be doing you mercy.
You hesitate. Then another message comes across the screen:
"Gonna need that rent, girl. Either cough up or cough on this dick. Then maybe I'll give you some more time." - Landlord.
...
Your fingers tap the keyboard, "I'll take the job. Where are we meeting?"
A minute or two passes then there's a buzz. An address. Upper city. Luxury district. You've never even been close to that level. Hell, you never made it past the middle district! How the hell would you even afford a cab there? The fare is worth half your rent.
Then there's another text:
"We will send you transportation. Where is your address?"
You blink. Holy fuck.
You answer honestly. They tell you that they sent the cab over.
They also tell you to wear something comfortable and easy to take off.
Figures.
So you evaluate. There's no name. No explanation. The instructions are clear but vague at the same time.
But...$10,000? That speaks for itself.
You glance at your bank app. It's still flashing that bright raging red color. Hesitation was out the window. It was either this or sweaty landlord dick.
You take a shower and paint yourself back into the image you're supposed to be selling. A little blush here, some eyeshadow there. Tight black dress that barely leaves your legs to the imagination.
This dress saved you many minutes a client. Easy to roll up. Easy to roll back down. Hugs the figure perfectly and easy to wash.
No bra or panties were needed. Whoever this mysterious person was didn't give 'first time' vibes. You couldn't play shy girl this time.
Wouldn't look good enough to earn that ten grand.
*****
The cab ride took longer than you thought. Your thighs stick to the leather seat that you were possible had sex all over it. On every block he turns on, your heart thumped faster and faster. The buildings kept passing by, and you kept anticipating the one you were instructed to meet at.
Before you know it, you're there.
By now, your heart is in your ass.
It's there. A tall building--A penthouse of some kind. The ones that live in the upper districts sure lived fancy. Just breathing the clean air felt expensive.
The doorman doesn't even look at you more than once as you pass, heels clicking on the spotless marble. The mirrored elevator took you upwards. You could see yourself--and through yourself.
You saw the question. Can you do this?
But the numbers kept rising. The answer didn't matter anymore. You were past the point of no return.