Mine

Less - 17

When I awoke the next morning, Baldie was gone. He left no evidence of him having ever been here last night. The first thing on my mind is what he said about how the other girls chose this life.

I don’t often think about others. I’ve never had to really. My only friends come from money. I come from money. I’m not like these women who had no other choice in life but to use their bodies as an actual career.

I head to the shower, sore and my ego bruised. Dare I admit that I feel something for these women? Did they have love? Did they come from money or were their homes and lives so broken that this was all there was for them to choose from?

I turn the faucet on all the way to the hottest setting it will go and notice my wrists. They are red, raw. The steam makes them burn. There’s a full-length mirror in the corner and I watch myself as I undress, taking in the way my sore muscles limit my ability to move.

The spaces above my ankles are bruised from the shackles that held me in place. My shoulders are tender, but no marks were left behind. I turn my legs, taking in the purples and blues of the bruises as I’m met with a mix of emotions.

I’m not surprised that I love them or that I wish Tate had been the one to make them. No, he’ll make his own version once he’s mine. He will love it, I know he will.

The hot water burns the cuts and my skin, but I steady myself under the pounding jets, focusing on my breathing to subside the pain. My mother always told me that this takes the sting out of anything; even emotional wounds—and it always has.

When he sees what kind of loyalty I have, the things I’d do for him… he will want me and I won’t stop until he’s mine.