OnlyFeet

Rafi

This wasn't the plan. Study hard, they said. Find an internship in your industry, they encouraged. Add some extracurriculars, they cheered. Create a polished, yet passionate cover letter for each job application, they droned. Lean on your networks and you'll be fine, they promised. It'll come easily for you, they lied. Seven months on, hope is slipping through my fingers. Even a restaurant job is a rarity, though I was fortunate enough to secure one at a family-owned Greek place in the neighborhood. I never thought my part-time jobs during school would hold any value, but here we are—back to carrying plates and dealing with the general public. We're one step away from—oh, great. I notice a paper stuck to our front door: past-due reminder.

I peel it off, stuffing it into my bag quickly. Hopefully none of our neighbors saw. Inside, I find Kat hanging wet laundry over the drying rack. "Geia sou!" I call with a smile, leaning in for a kiss. "Hello, in Greek."

"You got it?" she asks, and I nod. "That's great, hon."

"Yeah." I shrug, feigning indifference. "It's a job." I pull the wrinkled past-due notice from my bag and place it on the rack.

She glances at it and sighs. "Oh."

"Yeah." I sink onto the couch, bag still hanging from my shoulder. "I can't ask my mom for money again. She offered her spare room last time." Kat picks up the letter, crumples it up, and walks over to me.

"Babe, we need that," I protest.

"I paid it this morning," she says, her voice steady as she settles beside me.

I look at her, incredulous. "What'd you sell?" We already hawked all non-essentials. We're down to one laptop, two phones, a pot, a skillet, and our eclectic mixture of cooking and eating utensils. Did she ask a friend for money? Not Alyssa, I hope. Living in mom's spare room would be less excruciating. Maybe she picked up another shift with the catering company?

The truth is considerably worse than I could imagine. "I've been selling pictures of my feet online." She says and smiles, which I think is meant to ease the information exchange, but it fails miserably, and in fact has the inverse effect. The whole scene is a contradiction. The woman I love is smiling but she's saying something that feels like betrayal. I manage to mumble, "What-- wait-- who - who are you selling them to?"

"I'm posting them on OnlyFans and people are paying to access them."

"You're on OnlyFans," I repeat, the weight of it sinking like a stone. I feel a rumble in the pit of my stomach.

"It's totally anonymous. And... it's just my feet."

I laugh, no other response feels normal. I can't look at her. The room starts to pulse around me. I feel hot so I fan the front of my shirt a few times.

"Honey, can you talk to me?" She places a hand on my arm. I fight the urge to yank it away.

Her eyes explore my face for some hint of information. I give her nothing. I have nothing. I stay silent, my mind swirling. Eventually, she pulls her hand back, exasperated.

"Be an adult, please," she says, her voice edged with frustration.

"Sorry," I mumble. "I just... don't know what else to do." I give a strained laugh. "It's just funny."

"It's not funny." Her voice is tight. "It's survival."

"But it's feet porn." I shake my head. "It's fucking funny."

She sighs, biting back what looks like anger, and starts to say something but then stops and considers a different tact: "Know what's funny? Hilarious, even. A true romp... Getting evicted from this shithole apartment and moving in with your mom, or worse, my parents."

"Your parents?" We'd go homeless before that happened.

"Neither are good options, Rafi. Stop being an ass. I'm showing my feet, not doing anything I can't live with, and I plan to stop as soon as one of us has a solid-paying job."

"I have a job, now. We're not that desperate."

That hits a chord. Her face crumples slightly, her frustration giving way to something rawer. "We are, though. Your first check is weeks away, and we couldn't make rent again. Do you think I want this? You think it's fun for me?" Tears roll down her cheeks. Every time she breaks down it feels like a personal failure and the sight of her breaking pulls me out of my spiral.

I reach out and pull her close. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Through sobs, "We need a place to live. And real food. Oatmeal every other meal is not good."

"I know." I take a breath, feeling the weight of her sacrifice. "What you did was...brave." I don't say incredible, though I almost do. Instead, I brush her hair back, meeting her gaze. "You covered all the rent? How long have you been doing this?"

"Just a week."

"So...you made three grand in a week?" She nods, and I can't help but let out a low whistle. "Wow. I mean, that's..." I hesitate, still searching for the right words. "It's impressive."

I hold her hands, drawing her close. "Look, I'm not going to pretend I love it. I don't, and I don't think I ever will. I don't want to share _you_."

"You're only sharing an appendage. A picture of an appendage." Her tone is light, trying to bring some ease back to the room.

I pull her in closer. "I guess I can live with that."

In truth, I'm not sure I can.