He Treated Me As Her, I Left For Good

I, Brenda Reynolds, made the first move when I crossed paths with Charles Gibson for the very first time. The bar was bathed in dim light. Our eyes locked unexpectedly, and my heart skipped a beat. I watched his back as he walked away. My feet moved on their own, and I followed him all the way down to the underground parking garage. He leaned against a Cayenne with its low beams turned on. A glowing red tip rested between his fingers, and slow plumes of smoke blurred the familiar lines of his face. Something pulled me toward him, and I walked over without hesitation. He leaned down the next second. His lips crashed into mine, taking complete control. I could feel him nipping at my lips, gently yet firmly. The taste of tobacco spread inside my mouth, making my head spin and leaving me short of breath. Still, I gripped his shirt tightly and leaned harder into this rough kiss. We spent one reckless night together. When I woke up, I was alone in the room. A sugar baby contract sat on the nightstand. I rubbed my aching lower back and propped myself up against the headboard. I flipped through the contract page by page. I never imagined something like this would happen to me. It was a mutual arrangement—no one was forcing anyone, so I didn't think I had lost out. I tossed the contract right back where I found it. I'd acted on impulse the night before. I'd followed a stranger home. I was far too drunk, and I could barely tell what was real and what was a dream back then. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "He's not coming back."