I take my clothes off and lie on his bed. I don’t care what he is going to do, I deserve this. Whatever he has planned, I will let him use my body how he wants, and I won’t fight him.It’s the least I can do.
I wait, passing the time by letting his soft sheets run between my fingers. This bed is comfortable, I notice. The pillow is soft, and the comforter is plush. I don’t remember the last time I slept in something so nice. The beds at the women’s shelter are anything but—scratchy blankets, stiff pillows, and mattresses that feel like sheets over springs.
The sound of the door opening echoes through the house, and Ryder steps into the bedroom moments later. “Good girl,” he patronizes. Taking off his sweat-stained shirt, he throws it into a hamper in the corner. “If you’d been half as easygoing five years ago, we might have actually got along.”
No, we wouldn’t have,I think to myself. I was too jealous and selfish to even give him a chance.
“What do you mean you are adopting someone else?” I ask, my mind reeling. My parents adopted me when I was four, and I have been their only child ever since. I didn’t even know they were looking to adopt more. Why did they hide it from me? Are they replacing me? Am I not enough?
“Not adopting yet, just fostering for now,” my mom explains. “This boy really needs a home, and Marissa said he would be a great fit for us.”
“A boy?”
“Yes, his name is Ryder, and he is about the same age as you,” my dad tells me. He is smiling at me, but there is no way in hell I’m returning that smile. I’m too angry, too scared. Why are they doing this to me? I’m happy with the way everything is. I don’t want things to change.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I shake my head, “I don’t want someone else living with us.”
“Penny, it’s not your decision to make. Ryder will live with us, and you need to welcome him,” my father warns, his voice stern, a tone he hardly ever uses on me.
“Well, I won’t. I hate him already!” And I did, I hated him before I ever met him. Ignoring my parents calling after me, I storm to my room, slam the door shut behind me, and flop onto my bed.
They are my parents and mine alone.
I will do whatever it takes to get rid of him…
“Get dressed and out of my bed. This was just a test.”Ryder’s voice drags me out of my memory. His dismissive tone is a stark reminder of what I am to him and what my purpose is.He strips out of the rest of his clothes and disappears into the bathroom.
Getting up, I put my clothes back on and walk back into the living room, taking a seat on the couch.
When he reappears a few minutes later, fully dressed, I ask him the question that’s been burning in my mind. “How long do I need to stay?”
“Well, let’s see. You owe five thousand. A prostitute around here charges fifty bucks an hour. Today and yesterday combined knocks a hundred off, but I also paid fifty for your pill, and I got you breakfast. You slept here, used my shower, and I got groceries. So, I guess we are back up to five grand.”
Leaping off the couch, I almost fall flat on my face. “You can’t… You can’t do that. I didn’t ask you for any of it.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Talking back always gets me into more trouble. I brace myself for him to hit or kick me, but he just starts laughing.
“I can do that, and I will. Now, if you want to take a shower, do it now.”
Needing that time alone anyway, I nod and rush past him into the bathroom. Using a hot shower to clean up and try to gather my thoughts. Is he planning on keeping me here indefinitely? I didn’t freak out until now because I thought this was temporary. I thought he was going to make me pay and then send me on my way. This is a whole different story. I can’t take this for long.
When I’m all clean, I throw on the clothes from yesterday and walk back into the living room. Ryder is lounging on the couch I slept on, playing on his phone. His dog is sprawled out on the floor next to him, not paying me any attention.
Gathering all the courage I have, I sit down on the recliner next to him. “I have a proposal.”
“Is that so?” He snickers.
I hold my head high when I say, “I’m worth more than fifty dollars an hour.” I have a good laugh on the inside. I don’t think this is what the lady at the self-worth class last week was talking about.
“Who says?”
“I do. I want five hundred an hour,” I tell him, keeping my voice even and strong.
“Five hundred? Do you think you have some kind of unicorn pussy?”
“No, but I don’t think the other prostitutes gave you their virginity.” Before he can answer, I continue, “Also, instead of charging me to stay here and eat, I’m willing to do other things for you.” I purposely look around the room when I say, “Like cleaning, for example.”
He considers me for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you five hundred for yesterday and two hundred an hour from now on.”
Containing my joy, I ask, “What about the rest?”