“Avery! Listen to me!” He has that nervous laugh he gets when something goes horribly wrong. Pleading, he smiles at me, and tries to explain. “You see, there were things, and none of them worked, so I—”
I’m not listening. I swear to God that I try. More than anything, I want this to make sense, but Marty buying me for a night and pretending to be the cowboy client makes me think he had plans to ride me all night. My jaw feels like it’s going to pop out of place, because the muscle is way too tense.
There are moments that make sense when they happen, and it makes perfect sense to me now. I have to punch a card with Black so she doesn’t skin my ass and hang it on her wall, and I have to manage to sleep with a guy—who I thought was my best friend. It’s not a problem. Of course not. “You want me so bad you’d buy me? Well, fine.” I laugh like I belong in a mental institution. My smile is too bright and my voice is too high. Arms spread wide, I say, “Here I am.”
Marty blinks at me. When he opens his mouth again, I don’t want to hear what he wants to say. I advance on him, tugging at his shirt, and ripping the front open. My foot stomps on his hat as I tear the shirt off his body. My foot crushes the felt and Marty stands there appalled.
“I think you have the wrong idea. Hey!” He tries to keep his shirt, but I grab hold of it and tug. Marty is talking, but it sounds like buzzing. This can’t be my life. It can’t be. There are so many things that I’d thought I’d be, so many things I thought I’d do, but none of them included screwing my best friend for cash. I jab, punch, and shove him as I rip his shirt off and toss it to the floor. I hurt so much. Sobs bubble up from my throat in an incoherent rage. “Avery, stop! This isn’t what you think! You’re too upset to see it now, but—” He tries to grab my shoulders, but I twist away.
“You don’t know what you’ve done! Do you know what she’ll do to me if I walk out of here right now? I can’t do this, but I have to.” Tears glitter in my eyes as I start laughing again. I can’t think. I know what I have to do even though I don’t want to. What else is new? I’ve been living a life that I’ve hated for the past few years. What’s another day?
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. I can fuck him and leave. That’s what he wants. That’s what he paid for. Do it and leave. The words repeat over and over again, drowning out everything, including Marty’s girly screams and bitchslaps.
Marty is bare-chested, standing in front of me in jeans and boots. His hair is a mess and his eyes flash with fear. He sucks in a jagged breath and works his jaw as his fingers flex at his sides. “This isn’t what you think. If you’d stop—”
I laugh, but it feels like someone drove a lance through the center of my chest. I want to fall face down on the bed and cry until I pass out, but I can’t. There’s no one left to pick up the pieces and I sure as hell won’t let Marty see me fall apart. Looking crazy is fine, but turning into a ball of slobbering snot will never happen.
I snatch at his belt buckle, doing everything in my power to force myself forward. The god-ugly thing is a big piece of brass with a bird on it that connects to a black leather belt. I have to do this, I have no choice. He left me no choice… I’m snapping like a piece of balsa wood. I can’t even form sentences any more. I’m saying things to him, half crying, slapping him and hugging him.
I can’t… I can’t… I can’t…
Pain flashes in his eyes, as he continues to try and talk to me, but his mouth moves and there are no words. My eyes twitch, flicking around the room, on his face and at the door. Gabe is out there, watching, waiting. They’re going to make sure I do it this time. I saw what was done to Henry. I can’t take a beating like that. I’ll end up with broken ribs and more medical bills that I can’t afford.
Every muscle in my body is tense, ready to snap. I want to beat my fists into Marty and scream until I feel better, but nothing will fix this—nothing will make it better. He’s gone too far this time. There’s no way to recover from this, so I’m not showing a shred of mercy. It’s me or Marty, and I’m not going to be the loser again. The past few times he pulled shit like this, I let it roll. The man pretended to be gay and went lingerie shopping with me. I didn’t drive his jewels into his skull with my knee then, but I should have—and God knows he deserved it.
I tried so hard, so fucking hard, to make things better with him. I spilled my guts and let him get close to me, closer than I should have, and all the time I was thinking that this guy cares about me and wants my friendship, he was just trying to get laid. Fury shines through me like a beacon in the night. I can’t control it. I can’t calm down and I don’t want to. Betrayal looks horrible on me.