Myocardium

Part 9

 A couple of hours later, I've just said goodnight to Sasha and Daisy and am on my way to the cathouse. Damnit, I'm begging for him to not come back. If I'm lucky, he'll be busy prepping studies. Or he magically got hit by a car or something. As long as it keeps him far, far away from me, it's good.

I'm still thinking about a reasonable plan that won't get the kids taken away from me. Trust me, if they weren't a part of this, I wouldn't care. Joe's mates could murder me, if my siblings weren't a part of me, I would not care if I died. As long as they're safe, I'll be okay too. 

The problem is that this is not how things work, I know it's a lot more complicated than that. Also, it's a true torture not to give myself a happy shot tonight, but I know that I need to observe everything he does and says in case he actually comes back. But hey, just one more night of this hell and I'll have two nights to myself, not needing to sell myself to those monsters preying upon me. 

So, painfully sober as I am, I sit on one of the barstools, ordering a shot of vodka to at least make me a bit less hyper-focused on everything. It doesn't even take long until, lo and behold, he really shows up, walking directly towards me, looking as attractive as ever. Speaking of, this is the first time I get to make up my mind about his appearance – in a mostly sober state of mind, that is. He sure is handsome and...undoubtedly the man from college.

He utters a calm 'hi' and seems somewhat glad to see me as he sits down on the barstool right next to me. My mind is pretty neutral, even though I am still a bit frustrated by the conversation with Joe. With a faint smile on my face, I reply,
"Hello, there. How are you tonight, Sir?"

Rafael Woodstein. As long as I don't let that name slip before he tells this version of me too, I should probably be okay. There is no way he could have noticed me among all these students. After the typical "How are you? Fine, you? Same."-sort of conversation, I realize how strange it feels not to be pulled into the backroom immediately. 

"Hey, sorry I got so angry yesterday. But I want to let you know that I meant what I said", he speaks, making my smile drop. Please, don't start with this crap again. That Woodstein dude notices the frown on my face and follows up his statement with the words, "Now before you freak out, I won't ask you to tell me anything, okay? No need to get upset."

His words make me feel forced to drop the attitude, "Oh, it's alright. I'm just sorry I can't answer your questions. But if I did that, I'd get into a lot of trouble."
The smile he gives me brings me a sense of comfort, one of the type which I haven't felt in a while. His husky voice tells me, "Yeah, I wouldn't want that to happen." This awfully casual chat we're having makes this client conversation feel more like a leisurely talk between strangers at a bar or something, or at least what I imagine one of those to be like. 

It makes me feel so strange, knowing that he'll be my lecturer for a while. Carefully, I place my hand on his thigh mindlessly, as if it's the right thing to do in this situation to not let this become too personal and casual. I need to remind myself that I'm still at work, and he is still a client. Money is the motive.

"Hey, how about we go to the back, okay? No need for these perverts to see us, huh?", he growls and gives me a rather sweet smile. I can tell he's uncomfortable, maybe his right mind tells him that this isn't the right place for him to be in and I'm not the person he is supposed to spend time with. 

But then why...why is he being like this? Why am I being like this?! Why does he make me so comfortable speaking to him when I know he doesn't care? Can't he just be an asshole and treat me like a piece of garbage?! That would make things a lot easier for me. Instead, my mind is racing as I follow him to the back of the building, where he leads me into my backroom. Damnit, what have I gotten myself into?! My heart is beating faster with every step, who knows what he will do to me. Awkwardly, I sit on the bed, not knowing what to do.