I wonder what she thinks of me [COMPLETED]

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Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. I do not own shit obviously. This is a story intended for adults. If you are offended by celebrity, explicit sex, lesbian relationships, and other adult situations, please DO NOT READ. This was a oneshot I wrote and I'm republishing it as a short fic. Enjoy

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Nicki stared out of the window looking at the sky. It was bleak outside - a faint blue sky covered with grey clouds, a view that she'd grown used to in the past months. Her dark black hair rested just below her lipstick covered lips in thick curls that she had tied up. Her makeup was simple but that didn't matter. She wasn't going anywhere. She felt her mind drift somewhere it hadn't been before and she rested her hand under her chin.

Inhaling the faint floral scents rising up from the diffuser she decided to crack open the window. The hotel room reeked of guilt, but not the usual kind of guilt you get after sleeping with a married man. It was the guilt of wanting more than sex - not from him but from someone. She had never been one to indulge in romance or love. But after so long of being someone's escape from their marriage she found herself longing for someone she could escape with. He was gone now and she was alone.

She felt a lump lodge in her throat. This mans wife thought she'd found her "person" and now she was sleeping with him. Nicki felt guilty as if she was the reason he cheated. His wife was in love with the man she was having sex with. He wasn't the faithful man that had promised vows. He was a cheat - a scumbag. Nicki usually tried not to get involved in the business of others - it wasn't important to her. For all she knew it could be part of some elaborate fantasy of his wife where they were swingers. And yet Nicki found herself on the balcony wondering what his wife would think of her.

The balcony was her favourite place, it was warm and had a view of the grey and sometimes suffocating city. She didn't plan to leave the hotel. She would just sit out on the balcony while housekeeping did their job. Taking a deep breath, she let the warm Texan heat envelop her. The heat was overshadowed by the clouds which weighed on her shoulders. She took in another breath letting her mind linger as she rolled the blunt.

She inhaled again before she heard a knock on the door.

"Come in" she yelled keeping her eyes on the view. She'd left the door unlocked expecting housekeeping who usually came around this time.

She didn't bother putting the blunt down or trying to hide it. Most of the ladies smoked anyway. It came to be expected. Onika was smoking for inspiration, they were smoking for peace. She hoped they didn't envy her for being technically unemployed and living in the hotel they cleaned. She wondered if they knew what was going on - they had to. Onika knew how women spoke. She could sometimes feel the judgement radiating off of their uniforms - but she preferred to be judged than envied so she held her head high regardless. Envy never did anyone any good. But it wasn't prostitution. She wouldn't have disagreed if someone called it sex work but not prostitution. He was paying for her company. She wouldn't have called him a sugar daddy because he wasn't a super old white man but it was definitely an arrangement involving money in exchange for sex.

In the mist of Onikas daydream she hadn't noticed the sound of heels clicking on the floor. She'd been too wrapped up in her own mind to even notice the change in atmosphere. She hadn't felt the eyes piercing into her.

"Hello" a deep register and southern accent filled the room. It was shaky but firm; a woman overwhelmed by nerves but with a desperate need to be heard. The woman sounded as if coming here had been a task let alone the effort of opening her mouth.

Not recognising the voice, Onika frowned. She'd been there for months, in this hotel room. It was her home at this point. Over time she'd come to learn and know the names and voices of the women who replaced her sheets and folded her towels. She'd talk to them and ask about their lives. Many of them were unmarried single mothers. They tended to want the money she had whilst simultaneously looking down on her. They wanted the luxuries but resented how she got them. But this voice had a different cadence. This voice judged her personally. It had a tone that said this woman wasn't here to scowl in silence and fluff her pillows.