RISK & REWARD ✔️

98 | 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥?

I SAID I WOULD FINISH THIS SHIT AND GUYS WE ARE GONNA. TWO UPDATES IN A WEEK? OH WE ARE ROUNDING THE BEND FOR THE HOME STRETCH

"YOU WANT TO LEAVE?"

Hearing those words come out of Sasha's mouth makes me feel sick. Sure, I'd planned on hearing them, but to actually have her say them makes me feel like throwing up. Seeing her say it doesn't make things any better; she's wide-eyed and genuinely shocked, probably upset.

Maybe Billie and I should've waited a little to tell her. You know, find a gentler way of breaking the news to her that hey, the girls you just spent a bunch of money transporting here are leaving to go back where they came from, actually. To be totally honest, I feel like shit. Unfortunately, I'll feel like shit either way; either trying to play happy somewhere I shouldn't, or backing out of an arrangement and likely stepping on some toes in the process.

Still, we could've been a little more calculated. We'd woken up, a tangled mess of limbs and silicone and leather. Gotten up. Showered. Got dressed. Made ourselves a nice breakfast-lunch and then immediately went to tell Sasha that we weren't happy and wanted out. We'd run into her in some random hallway right outside the elevator.

And now we're here.

"It's nothin' that," Billie starts, words coming slowly; she's trying to put the sentence together in her head in a way that won't hurt Sasha. There's a little knit in her brow when I look over. "It's nothin' that you did. It's just...that's home."

Sasha blinks. The poor woman looks like she's about to head to shower; she's got a big, fluffy pink robe on, and huge white bunny slippers. Her hair is pushed back with one of those fat makeup headbands. Also white, with bunny ears. "Iowa?"

"Chicago." I speak up this time. I hate that we have to do this. I hate it. "It's...this is a lot nicer, and we're so, so grateful for everything, but we're...homesick."

"Homesick," Sasha echoes, expression vapid. "For your city."

"Yeah." Billie's turn. She shifts from foot to foot. She's wringing her hands together, scratching at the back of her wrist. "We ain't...tryna rush out or anythin', but..."

"But you miss Chicago." Sasha comes back. Her voice steadies, and she meets both of our gazes. "You want to go home. For vacation? Or forever?"

"Um." I glance over at Billie. "We...haven't discussed, but...we didn't plan on coming back."

"Oh."

"You didn't do nothin' wrong." Billie pipes up again. "Really. It's nothin' that went wrong."

Sasha nods, slowly. She chews on the inside of her cheek. "My Vegas is your Chicago. You feel it," and she gestures to her chest, "it is in here."

She gets it. I think. "Yeah. I was...born there, raised there. She was..." Awkwardly, I trail off. Was Billie born in Chicago?

"...also raised there." She saves me, thank god. She presses closer to me, too. "Didn't think it'd matter, but we got out here an' I miss it."

"Oh." Once again, Sasha nods. "So you want to leave Vegas and go home to Chicago. Yes?"

"Yes." Billie and I answer in unison. I want to wince; I can see the wheels in Sasha's head turning, and I hate it. I hate it desperately.

I don't want to upset her. Because, really, I like Sasha. At least, I think I do. Yes, she'd had her fair share of fucking up. Then again, she'd brought us here, got us a nice suite, given us a job and food and a place in the lap of luxury. She'd been nothing but generous for nothing in return.