All in the name of punishment.
That's what I do, though...that's how I cope. If you could even call it that.
A few more slut shaming insults and a loud grunt later...my penance is over.
I leap off the bed and make a beeline for the bathroom.
I force myself to look in the mirror. “You only did it to yourself, Alyssa,” I remind myself.
I close my eyes as I run a washcloth under the warm water and proceed to clean myself up.
A moment later the door opens and arms wrap around me like tentacles.
I move my head from side to side, looking for a way out.
“That was great, babe. Huh?” he asks while adjusting his large framed glasses on his face.
I roll my eyes against his preppy, polo shirt and give him a smile that's about as fake as a two dollar bill. “Yup.”
I shimmy past him and nod my head toward the front door. “You can go now,” I remind him.
He looks puzzled, which only serves to annoy me further.
I swear, every time we have sex...he gets even more attached. I'm going to have to cut him off soon.
I decide to try the nice approach with him one more time. “Look, I have a job interview today and I really need to get ready for it.”
He laughs nervously. “Oh, okay. I was getting a little worried there for a second. Thought you were getting sick of me.” He takes a step forward. “When can I see you again? I really want to take you out on a date. I was thinking about taking you to the science...”
Ugh...the walls are officially closing in on me.
I cut him off before he has a chance to finish that sentence. “Look, Brock...I think we need to go over the rules of our arrangement again. This...” I gesture between us. “Is just sex. That's it. Once a week—maximum.” I walk toward him and cup his face in my hands. “You are a great guy...but I think this needs to end.”
Before he has a chance to argue, I continue on with my spiel. “It's not you, it's totally me. I just don't think we're looking for the same things anymore.” I give him a kiss on the cheek and walk him to the front door. I unlock the door and give him a little nudge. “I'll see you around. Have a safe drive home. Buh-bye.”
I slam the door shut and chain lock it behind me.
He's gone...crisis averted.
I fall back against the door...another innocent, harmless nerd prototype bites the dust before he reached stage 5 clinger status.
With a sigh, I walk back into the bathroom and turn on the shower.
I finish the rest of my shower, and study the clothes I laid out for the interview I have later on tonight.
I pull up my favorite tight pair of jeans over my hips and reach for my low-cut white top...made all that more pronounced by my black push-up bra. Then I blow dry my hair and apply a quick coat of lip gloss and mascara.
I shake out my long blonde hair and run my fingers through it a few times.
I glance at the clock and let out a curse.
Given the fact that the city's about two hours away in rush hour traffic, I'm running dangerously close to being late.
And lord knows, I desperately need this job.
After throwing on my favorite leather crop jacket, I give myself a once over in the mirror again and decide I'm ready to go.
I can't afford to blow this opportunity.
His dirt brown eyes skim over my body before landing on my chest. He rubs his chin and nods. “Very nice. Now, turn around and bend over for me, sweetheart.”
Somewhere very deep inside, my inner feminist wants to claw his eyes out. But then I remind myself that all I've got in the fridge is a container of moldy milk…and cheese that looks like it will make good penicillin soon.
But that fails in comparison to the real reason I need this job.
I turn around and do what he says while he lets out a whistle. After a few moments have passed, I assume it's safe to turn back around and my inspection is over.
He considers me for another minute or so and gives me another nod. “You're easy on the eyes, that's for sure. And you got a rockin' body.” He holds up a cue card with a giant number on it. “Think you'll be able to manage holding these up in the cage?” he asks hesitantly.
Seriously...is he kidding?
I maintained a 4.0 for 3 years while studying journalism and news-casting at NYU for crying out loud.
I flash him a strained smile. “Gee, I don't know, Mister. It looks awfully hard.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me.
Shit...I really need to learn to tone the sarcasm down every once in a while.
He clears his throat. “You and another girl will be trading off. You'll be in the green outfit and she'll be in the red.”
Awe, just like Christmas, I think before he continues with his sermon.
“And when you're not working the ring. You'll be eye candy for the elite members. You are to serve them beers, whiskey, whatever their hearts desire in between rounds. Got it?”
I nod my head. “Yes, sir.”
He gives me another hard look. “And if you do anything to draw attention to this little operation we got going on here, it will take them a week to clean your brains off the pavement.”
I shudder at his choice of words.
“Got it. The first rule of fight club is that you don't talk about fight club.”
He shoots me a look of annoyance and mumbles something under his breath that I don't catch.
“So when do I start?' I ask eagerly.
He reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out two scraps of shiny green material. “In two hours. Get ready,” he says before throwing them at me.
My mouth hangs open. “You mean, I start tonight?'
He leans his elbows against the desk. “That gonna be a problem for you?”
I quickly shake my head. “No. I would have just come more prepared if I had known is all.”
He extends his thumb in the direction of the hallway. “Down the hall and to the left there's a dressing room for the ring girls. There is makeup and all that other girly shit in there.” He glances at his watch. “In fact, Lou-Lou should be in there getting ready right now. I suggest you make nice with her. The only fights we like around here are the ones that bring in money. Not no prissy cat fights. Last girl got fired for that,” he warns.
“You won't have a problem,” I assure him. I make for the door when I abruptly turn around. “Um. So how much does this gig pay anyway?”
He chuckles. “Well, you'll only be working one weekend night, every two weeks,” he says. My excitement sinks with those words. “But, you'll be making $800 for the night...plus tips.”
I give him a genuine smile this time before I begin walking down the hallway.
Lou-Lou turned out to be nicer than I thought she would be. With her honey-kissed skin, full lips, small stature, and big brown eyes...it was easy to see why she'd been hired.
She flips her long dark hair over her shoulder and studies our reflection in the mirror before she ruffles my hair and winks. “We're like totally salt and peppa,” she squeaks. “The guys are totally gonna love us.”
Rein in your inner bitch and be nice, Alyssa. I remind myself.
I suck in my stomach and add a bit more bronzer to my mostly pale cheeks.