Seven
855 Words
Lisa
Maya’s shriek makes me pull the phone away from my ear. I stare at the ceiling.
“He kissed you,” Maya repeats, like that’s the only part she heard. “Start from the beginning. How did this even happen?”
She keeps talking, fast and loud, and I roll my eyes.
And somehow everything felt easier when my life was just survival. Three jobs. Cheap noodles. Dodging debt collectors. Counting coins at the register. Now there’s a billionaire who kissed me, a child I’m attached to, and a house that reminds me daily I don’t belong.
“Where did it happen?” she asks.
“His study.”
She whistles. I regret telling her.
“Maya, stop. He’s my employer.”
“I know,” she says. I hear crunching. “Was it good?”
I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m serious. You can’t lose your job over bad kissing.”
“It wasn’t bad.”
The words slip out. I press my lips together, annoyed at myself.
When Omarion touched me, my brain shut off. All the reasons this was a terrible idea vanished. Power. Money. Consequences. There was just him, too close, and me not moving away fast enough.
Maya goes quiet.
“Okay,” she says. “Listen to me. Men like that don’t live by the same rules. This isn’t a fairy tale. You’re not the exception.”
“I know.”
“Good. Then remember where you stand. You’re the help. I’m not being cruel. I’m being honest.”
It stings because it’s true.
“To people like him, everything is transactional,” she says. “Including s*x. If you’re going to risk your job, at least make it worth something.”
My stomach turns.
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t.”
She sighs. “Everything is a service, Lisa. Even sex.”
My mother’s face flashes into my mind.
Men in our apartment. Whiskey breath. Doors closing. Sounds I wasn’t supposed to understand. I was eight when I finally did. I heard everything. The shame after. The scrubbing in the shower. The way she looked hollow when it was over.
I promised myself I would never live like that. Never turn my body into currency.
But the thought won’t leave me.
“I won’t,” I say quietly.
“Okay,” Maya says, softer. “Then protect yourself. Especially if he just wants you for a moment.”
I lean back against the headboard.
“There’s more,” I say, and tell her about the voices I overheard. About being called a distraction. About obligations no one bothered to explain to me.
“Are you sure it was about you?” she asks. “Rich people have drama we don’t understand. Don’t spiral yet.”
I sigh. I know she’s right. I also know I’m not imagining the way his mother looks at me.
Then her tone shifts. “Now show me this fancy bedroom.”
I groan. She laughs.
“I’m sending you rent money,” I say. “Six months.”
Silence.
“That’s almost five grand.”
“I know.”
“I’m not taking that.”
“Please.”
She exhales. “Use it for Christmas. Buy something nice for once.”
She laughs, then softens. “Money really does change things.”
“I wish it fixed everything,” I say.
We talk about nothing important for a while. She’s excited about getting a small role in a soap opera.
When we hang up, the room feels too quiet.
At lunch, Patricia doesn’t bother hiding her resentment.
“Some people think they can walk in with no training and take over,” she says.
I ignore her.
Mrs. Chen watches me like she’s measuring something.
I eat and leave.
I check my bank app. More money than I’ve ever had, and still I don’t feel safe. I pay the rent. I send money to the debt collectors. At least my card won’t decline in public again.
That kind of shame sticks.
Later, at the playground, Zara talks more than she has all day. An older housekeeper watches us.
“Did you study child psychology?” she asks.
“No.”
She blinks. “Then how do you manage her?”
“I pay attention,” I say. “I don’t force her.”
She smiles. “Patricia is angry because Zara rejects everyone. But with you, she’s herself again.”
I shrug. Not my problem.
That night, Zara wets the bed.
The next morning, she waits for me to yell.
“Accidents happen,” I say. “You’re six.”
I change her sheets without fuss. In the hallway, Mrs. Chen pauses. “Everything all right?”
“I spilled something,” I say.
She nods and walks on.
But I need answers. I can feel it now. Something is wrong, and I’m missing pieces.
I’ve avoided Omarion since the kiss.
I won’t anymore.
Someone needs to tell me what happened to this child.
And it won’t be the staff.
- Writer
