The mansion is dark. I slink down the stairs, holding my shoes, trying my best not to let the wood creak beneath my feet as I head toMaggie’s Dinerfor my first official day. I can’t let my father know what I’m doing, and I need to be careful not to let any of his aides catch wind of my new job. If Father finds out I’m working at a diner in the Patch, he’ll have me committed. He’d rather I hide in my bedroom than stoop so low as to be a server.
I’d rather be a server than a lying, two-faced politician.
The apron and cap I need to wear are safely concealed in my backpack beneath a Gucci cardigan.
And if you think the Gucci cardigan is gay, you should have seen what I did with half the rugby team the first time I tried molly.
There are also several books shoved in there to serve as an alibi should anyone stop me. I’ll just say I’m going to the library or cafe to get a head start on studying for next year’s coursework.
I’m not going back to Cornell, but nobody needs to know that just yet. Maybe if I work atMaggie’sfor a bit, I can save up some money and move out. That’s all I want—to free myself from my father’s orbit.
This is so much more than a job; it’s the first step on the road to independence. It’s the first time in my life I can see beyond the gilded cage rather than kicking at the bars.
Plus, I have another mission to accomplish.
I want to see Torren again. Last night was the first night since Mother died that I didn’t dream about her.
I dreamt of him—his strong, calloused hands wrapped around my throat, giving me just enough air to live but not enough to stop struggling while he pushed his cock deep inside me.
My brain is a whirlwind of confusion. Talking to Torren felt wonderful. Effortless. We bantered—I made him laugh.
He has a nice laugh.
Then, he turned into such a prick.
And I loved it.
Do I have a fear fetish, or is it the combination of attraction mixed with the carnal intensity of his anger?
The human mind is wild.
I don’t know why, but I want Torren, and I’m going to find a way to make him mine.
It’s 6 AM, so I hop on my bike to make my 6:30 AM shift. I’ll be early, but that’s good for my first official day, right?
I ride a bike because I care about the environment and because it pisses off my father.
It’s another thing I do that embarrasses him.
So, naturally, I ride it as much as possible.
One can instantly see the shift when they cross the traintracks and enter the Patch. The streets become bumpy, and the homes are weathered from lack of upkeep. Some of the buildings are condemned, while othersshouldbe. There’s something decrepit and grey about the entire area, as if I had left Technicolor and emerged in a black and white film—a reversedWizard of Oz.Guilt twists in my stomach, knowing that my father played a part in the Patch’s demise. It didn’t start with him; it takes years to crush the spirit of an entire neighborhood, but he certainly sped things along.
The neon light ofMaggie’s Dinercomes into view. It’s quarter past 6, and the place already has a few patrons. But I see Maggie standing outside the restaurant, having a cigarette.
My bike rolls up to the rack, and she calls out, “Better take that thing ‘round back and park it in the storage room. Some asshole will steal your wheels when you’re not looking.”
I look down at the bike, then back up at her. “In broad daylight?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“Aren’t they worried about getting caught?” I add.
“Nope.”
Well, that’s that, I guess.
“I’ll meet you back there and let you in,” she calls out while tossing her cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with her foot.
