I grabbed my jacket and the money, already walking away. “I am not your Pretty Boy. You’ll never see me again, Prince Charming.” I pulled the door open, pausing to look over my shoulder. Shadowy, demonicfigures closed in around me, their claws drawn and ready. “Fuck your soft hands, your gentle voice, your praise, and your gorgeous damn face. Fuck you for ever showing me what kindness felt like.”
I ran. As far and as fast as I could. I ran until I realized I didn’t know where I was anymore. Price’s dejected face came together with my thoughts, haunting me as I walked aimlessly on the streets.
Now more than ever, I understood why I’d never allowed something like this to happen. I never would’ve known what I was missing. I’d be fine right now, not stopped on a random street corner, plopped onto the sidewalk with my arms around my torso, sobbing.
A dam gave way inside of me and fell into the black hole I knew as my heart. I was suddenly grieving, but it wasn’t for something I’d lost. It was for something I’d suddenly found and was never allowed to have again.
The sun rose over the horizon, mocking me with a colorful view behind the city buildings. I was overrun with regret. Regret for leaving my hometown. Regret for surviving this long.
I silently begged for the sun to burn me whole and leave nothing behind but ash.
It didn’t respond.
Price was on my mind the entire walk home, once I knew where I was. I could still feel him on my skin, though I had no bruises to show for it. I had to get ahold of myself. I could never and would never be that vulnerable again. It would do nothing but ruin me further than I already was.
Without pain, I was nothing. Thankfully, Crescent Planes was large, with many options to choose from for work. I knew tonight would be the last time I’d see him. The thought should have settled me, yet it twisted inside of my chest with a sharp edge, cutting me from the inside out.
Originally,I’d rented the hotel room for an entire night so the beautifully wounded man I’d paid to spend time with would have somewhere to stay. Instead, I was left using it for myself.
I didn’t plan to do that, but my body decided I couldn’t go anywhere else. My feet wouldn’t cooperate with my mind, heels digging into the lush hotel carpet, holding me back. If I were truthful, I’d have to admit I would’ve run after him if I weren’t stuck.
The colorful exit he’d given me wasn’t enough to scare me off, oddly enough. Pretty Boy had fire in his voice, despite the ice I could feel coming from his soul. I dealt with heat daily—from a grill, a pan, a pot of boiling water, or straight from Brandt-The-Rant’s mouth. None of it could compare to the barely contained blaze that came from him.
I felt it when I held him, could see it when he begrudgingly looked into my eyes. The worst part wasn’t that I knew it was there. No, it was infuriating how drawn to him I was. I had spent so long alone and uninterested, that this pull I felt towards him was driving me wild.
Time must have slowed down the moment we walked into the room together. Two hours had passed, feeling more like an eternity.
Usually, I’d feel a lot more relaxed after a night like tonight. I’d start to come back into my body, the itching slowly subsiding. I’d be basking in the comedown in a dreamy state between numb and number, finally able to hear myself think over the rushing of blood that constantly crowded my ears. I’d leave work ready to tear my skin apart, find a gravestone to etch my name into, and find a fucked-up calm in the skin-on-skin intimacy.
Now, I lay on the bed, contemplating where I went wrong. I’d never met someone who claimed so vehemently they enjoyed something so obviously miserable.
He’d struggled so fiercely. I could see the turmoil and questions on his face, trying so hard not to go against what he knew. I wanted to know why he struggled so much. Was it his reputation he was trying to uphold?
Fuck, the way he gave into me. How—once he let go—he let go so easily, so beautifully, slumping against me as I coaxed him through something I wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The serene ecstasy on his face. How his muscles felt as he relaxed further into my hold. The sound of his voice as he begged me to continue.
Shit, I felt insane. The way he left, I knew he had no intention of ever seeing me again, and that began to crush my already battered heart. Our city was larger than life, hundreds of street corners, bars on every block, and triple that amount of sleazy establishments he could easily hang around. Our chances of seeing each other were worse than slim.
It took me a long time to wrap my head around everything that happened. Worse yet, I was forced to think about how it made me feel.
All too soon, I was lying on my side, fully dressed with the lights still on in that in-between phase where I wasn’t sure if it was really late or very early morning. I tried to give myself a bit of grace, letting my thoughts wander to the most gorgeous, saddest man I’d ever met. When I woke up, I’d force myself to forget. To let go.
I had to let go.
Or else I’d let myself hope.
I was angry.I hated being angry. Exhaustion wore me down to skin and bones, frustration worked itself through my veins, leaving sparks of fire in its wake. I was angry at myself, at Brandt, the other staff—angry at the entire world. I wasn’t sure why today was digging me further into the ground than usual. At least, that’s the story I was going with. I refused to admit the true cause, even to myself.
The combined six hours of sleep I’d gotten the last two days were doing nothing for me, and I could feel myself slowly losing it. My next day off was so far away, I began to wonder when my resolve would finally give way. Maybe I’d lose it on Brandt, screaming in his face like he didso often to us. Or maybe I’d lose it on the cooks, firing them all, causing mass destruction, even though I didn’t have the power to do that. God forbid I lost my shit on a paying customer, which I was increasingly close to doing.
Mistake after mistake ran through the kitchen, server after server bringing all sorts of meals with a new complaint each time. All of them were somehow my fault, which I guess was fair. I was the one trusting the kitchen staff to cook correctly and according to the menu. What a mistake on my end, obviously.
My throat was sore from how much I had to yell. If only one station was fucking up, that’d be one thing. I could pull the employee to the side, have a civil, quiet chat with them, and go on with the night. Unfortunately, it was everyone. All of them were messing up where they usually had a handle on it.
Overall, it was turning out to be a horrible day. Outside of work, I refused to yell or fight to be heard. I never raised my voice, and I sure as fuck never raised my palm. I had been stuck in a fight for respect for eight years, and I was sick and tired of demanding attention where I didn’t need to. The person they saw at work was and always had been a facade, perfectly crafted from a lifetime of fighting a fight I was never meant to win.
I had accepted I would always be last place in the race to find peace. I looked at other options, of course, but they always turned out the same way.
My experience was too limited for something more, too broad for anything less, and I wasn’t good enough, educated enough, or trained enough to do what I really wanted to. Cooking was my only concrete sense of self. I’d rather be eternally locked in a room with Brandt than give up my one true love.
