Lainey's Story

One

****

I sat on the unmade bed, in a nest of various blankets, plushies, and pillows, watching him crawl on hands and knees in search of the teeny-tiny shard he swore he dropped the night prior. There was no shard. His cluck-ass smoked that shit already. He was pissed off that I wouldn't help him look, but I fucking told him, "You smoked it already, babe. I saw you."

Krist had stared at me like I was a fucking liar, his jaw clenched. "If you ain't going to help me look, you can get the fuck out." He told me.

Bitch, this was my apartment. You leave.

I held my phone up, the iPhone 6s (it was 2017, so don't judge me!), and went on Facebook Live. I did this shit every time Krist started acting like a fiend. Petty? Yes. But it got old him being blacked out high because his ass wouldn't sleep and then tripping out on me.

"Y'all," I began and giggled, "Look at this fiend ass muhfucker."

Krist's head jolted up, his icy grey eyes burning, "Bro, I fucking told you to stop doing that shit," he told me.

"And I told you to stop crawling around my floor like a cluck," I grinned. He hated when I called him that, but oh my god, who crawls around carpet surfing for shards? Clucks. And Mr. Krist Samson was acting like a straight-up cluck.

People began to comment on the live, making jokes about tweaker shit, telling me if I needed a real man to holla at them, if he needed a hookup to get at them. Mainly a lot of laughing emojis.

Every so often, someone would hop on my lives and tell me it was wrong of me to exploit his addiction for likes on Facebook. I'd tell them if they wanna hop on his dick, they know where his DMs are. I wasn't exploiting nothing. I was showing this dumb ass how he acts when he don't sleep because he would deny it after he came down.

Krist stood up, kicking a pile of my clothes across the small stupid apartment, "You wanna embarrass someone, show 'em how fucking dirty you keep this place. Show 'em your nasty ass period stained underwear," he snapped.

I could see in his eyes he was about to snap. "Krist, you live here, too. Your bitch ass doesn't even work. You just live off your momma's money."

"You don't have no problem spending that money on dope, though," he retorted, stepping towards me.

"Take another step towards me, I swear," I warned him, holding my phone so he understood I was still streaming.

"You really think anyone watching gives a fuck? They only watching because they know you are a straight bag bitch who sells her pussy to old men on the internet," he laughed. "Tell 'em thumbs up if you think Lainey is a bag bitch whore."

Several "thumbs up" replies crossed the screen. Most of them were from my old boyfriend, pre-Krist, Jonathan, who steady watched my lives talking shit on me and telling Krist to "sock her ass up."

Jonathan, like Krist, was a dope fiend cluck who never had a job and also had his drug habit supported by his parents. He'd had no problem with me getting money from other dudes when our money ran out but held the fact I was, essentially, a prostitute, over my head, and that meant he could fuck with other girls when I was out making money.

Krist, being a jealous prick, had told me he was not cool with the escorting, sugar-baby life, but he would suck up to me doing Camwork. Not that I had given him an option to tell me no.
He took most of my pictures and videos. Occasionally, I had subscribers pay me to make content with him, and he obliged so long as his face wasn't shown. Whatever, bro, we can hide your face.

I also did a lot of content with my friend, Madi. Krist was not allowed to be present, participate, or even see the pictures and video. Telling him no had been a big ol' deal. He was like, "Oh, but I just want to see you with another girl. I don't get a fuck about the other chick."