7

I change, just barely, and stumble to Scarlet's. I need her to take my mind off it all. But when I get to the door, it's silent. Too silent.

My instincts kick into overdrive.

"Scarlet! Scarlet open the door!"

It flies open. She frowns deeply, peeking her head into the hallway, glancing around before looking up at me with a glare.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" She hisses, pushing me into the doorway. Behind her I catch a glimpse of a man, his body sprawled on her bed. So I'm not the only one on her sheets.

Ha.

"You're making a scene and I have company."

Company.

"I need you," I whisper.

Her lips curl up in disgust. Mine follow, turning up into a smile. So expressive.

"You need to get a grip. I have a client—"

I narrow eyes. "Client or company? Those have different meanings."

Scarlet looks me up and down. Her fingers stretch out, stroking my collar bone. "I'm busy now. Come back tomorrow, and I'll play with you."

"What is he giving you?" I whisper. "I need you tonight. I'll give you double whatever he's giving you."

She glanced back at the door. "Tomorrow."

I grab her wrist. "What do I have to give?"

She chuckles. "Rough night, Dawson?"

I chuckle back humorlessly. "The roughest. I'll even take seconds. As long as I get you."

Her fingers tap the door, pensively. "Come by at 11. I should be done by then."

Another hour.

But I nod, and let her return to her...client. It's so interesting she phrases it that way. I mean, I offer her things for our nights. Money, weed, whatever is valuable.

She demands to have her time compensated and she's so good, so filling—she's worth it so I don't mind.

But clients? Plural.

She doesn't seem the type. She's so proud, arrogant. I stick around for a bit. Listen to the conversation between them.

"I don't mean to keep you waiting. It seems another appointment has come up. You don't mind if we cut this short, do you?" She says softly, her voice like honey.

"I..."

"I knew you wouldn't. You're my best customer."

She doesn't quite sound like herself. It's almost a parody—a bad one. The saccharine tone of her voice, one I've never heard.

Maybe this is what she's like during the day.

I walk away, hands in my pockets. I have no qualms with the oldest profession in the world—but I don't dabble in it.

It seems...unnecessary. There are no shortage of willing, eager participants, so why bother?

But her...I don't mind her. She's my treat after a long day. I walk toward the stairs.

The scent of blood hits my nose, making my body tense. My palms burn, drawing my attention to them. Oh. It's dripping, the imprint of fingernails etched into my flesh as it weeps.

I shake it out, sit on the stairs on the second floor. It's only an hour anyway, I may as well stay.

I want to know who he is. Not for any particular reason. I'm just...curious.

It doesn't take long. He stumbles out of her apartment as if pushed, tripping down the stairway. How graceful.

He passes me. He's average, but his clothes are expensive. When he passes I get a whiff of Dior—Sauvage to be exact. A basic pick, and not super expensive.

I guess he's rich, but not wealthy.

He looks satisfied. He doesn't watch his surroundings, doesn't acknowledge me.

"Nice night?" I ask. My voice echoes through the empty corridor. He turns back, as I stand, walking down the steps with a friendly smile.

I put my hand on his shoulder before he can move.

"Pretty good."

"Yeah... that's nice,"

His hands...they touched her didn't they? My smile gets a little tighter. My scar twitches as I fight not to curl my lip—or my fist.

I'm not the biggest fan of sharing, is all.

"I'm glad. Hey? You have a good day."

His brow is furrowed, his hand fixed on my hand before nodding. "You too."

I wonder why she even has clients. I only wear my most expensive things around her, I have for the couple months we've fooled around.

I give her money, give her things—so why? She feels the things I gave her weren't enough?

Hm. Well, she is greedy. Never stops seeking entertainment, drugs, money. Anything. Everything. Like she wants the world between her dainty fingers.

So I just shake my head. I let him leave. I walk back up the stairs.

She's waiting at the doorway for me.

"How'd you know?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I had a feeling. You were desperate."

I scoff. Desperate. "It's not that I can't replace you. I can find another you in three seconds."

Scarlet clicks her tongue, a quiet reprimand. "There is no other me. I'm one of a kind. Limited edition."

She struts into the apartment as always, leaving the door open.

"Can you be limited edition if you sell yourself to losers like him?"

She whips around, her eyes are alight in a way I've never seen. Scarlett scoffs, and in an instant, spits in my face. It's warm on my cheek. I smile, and wipe it, swiping it onto my lips.

"...Is that a no?" I pull my lips up into a smirk.

"Losers like him? What do you call someone who's content with sloppy seconds?"

She shuffles into her bathroom.

I follow her. "I call it aware of your value. I also know you hate to be left with a scent that isn't yours," I touch her shoulders as she slips into the bath.

"You're an insufferable prick and the only reason I deal with you is because you're good with your hands."

I kiss her shoulder. "Is that all I'm good with?"

"You're good at pissing me off, that's for damn sure." She sneers. "Who do you think you are? You show up at my doorstep panting like a wild dog, and you have the nerve to judge me?"

Well. She's right. Of the two of us, I'm the only one that's dirty. She can sink into a bath and wash him away, but I...

"I'm sorry. I was just...shocked."

"Thought you were my one and only?" She snorts, lifting her eyes to the bathroom ceiling. "How innocent. Want me to hold your hand too? Maybe give you a goodnight kiss and a story?"

"Red..." I murmur. "I've had...a really bad day."

Her eyes flit to mine.

"That's all. Just a really...shitty day." I grumble, her hair is wet, soaked, her curls stretching to their full length.

I sit next to the tub on her bathroom floor. She sinks beneath the water, leaving me only her eyes.

She looks like a mermaid.

My head leans against the cool porcelain of the tub. She's right. Why did I come here? For her to console me? We're not that close.

"Your nightgown...do you wear it with all of them."

It seeps from my lips before I can recognize the words.

"Do you want to be special to me, Dawson?"

I shake my head gently.

"Good. Because no one is. Now go sit on the bed and roll for me. I'll be out in a moment."