Yours - Larry

1

Lottie's eyes are empty as we meet, inky pools staring into mine. Minutes turn into years as we stand on rough ground, covered in... blood. Her school uniform becomes as bloody as our surroundings, but I can't reach. I can't...

"Why haven't you saved me yet?"

I startle awake, presumably puzzling my coworker. "Sorry."

"You okay?"

"Fine," I say. "Just... exhausted."

"Well... nap time is over. Your next customer arrives in ten minutes."

Hours pass as I escape into tattooing, but I've never seen anyone as pink as Jenny. Her nipples are covered, yet I've rarely seen someone put a sweatshirt back on so quickly.

"Thank you."

"Sure," I say. "It was my pleasure."

It was not. I resent sternums, but I can't handpick my sessions as much as I want. I step out once Jenny is gone again, bringing out a cigarette as Austin comes towards me.

"Jack wants to see you."

I breathe in one more time. "It hasn't even been a week yet."

"You're wanted," he says, snatching my cigarette so he can put it out as I roll my eyes. "Imagine how many people Jack is turning away because you won't put out."

"Austin—"

"You're requested enough as it is. Imagine—"

"I'm not a prostitute," I interrupt. "Putting out is not a requirement."

He sighs in response. "Go see him, won't you?"

"My phone works, you know."

"You're not answering."

"Because I'm working."

"Tattooing isn't bringing in as much as escorting."

I head out as soon as I can. Austin isn't wrong. Tattooing isn't paying me nearly as much as I need or want. And as much as I enjoy tattooing, I'm craving more—something new. New scenery and new changes, new adventures in a new city or a new country. I want to meet new people—interesting ones, ones that aren't constantly reminding me that just because my extra work isn't necessarily prostitution, I'm still expected to put out every time someone wants me to. But I'm not interested in becoming someone's... whatever.

England isn't entirely bad, but meeting new people is an urge I can't seem to escape. I want to move away, but I need money to move away. Austin introduced me to Jack a year ago. And as much as I'd rather spend my hours tattooing, I'm not necessarily against earning money by being someone's momentary companion. Jack isn't pleased that I'm not up to being touched, mainly because he earns a certain percentage of everything I earn—sex means more people requesting me, but I'm not giving in.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes," Jack says. "Come on in."

I step in so I can sit opposite him at his desk. Jack isn't scary, yet saying no isn't always easy. He's counting on his escorts' money, so going against his wants and needs hasn't been uncomplicated, though as much as I may complain, I appreciate his cautiousness. He always makes sure we're not endangered, that we're never hired by someone with a criminal record or even a misdemeanour.

"So..."

"Someone wants you," he says, typing away on his keyboard. "His name is Harry. He's twenty-seven and grew up in England. He's currently in Los Angeles and works as a very successful architect. He's not mentioning much in that aspect, but money is certainly not a worry."