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You’re out on a proposal tonight, right? I type to Josh.
I’ve got two, actually. One dirty quickie, then onto the main event. It’s going to be a rough one. I’ll be feeling it for days.
Another bout of weird hits my guts. I’m talking to a new guy I’m schoolgirl crazy over about how he’s going to be fucking people later, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
How about you? he asks. You’re booked tonight too, aren’t you? That was ambitious.
Or stupid. I get a lurch at the thought.
I had motive in my madness. The client is into somno. He wants a sleeping beauty to slip into bed with while she snoozes, oblivious. I guessed I’d fit the bill just perfectly after my flight.
Cool, Josh replies with a wink emoji.
Cool that I’m getting fucked by a stranger in a hotel room tonight. Damn, it’s so strange.
There are so many questions I want to ask him about the clients he’s going to be with later. What are they going to be doing to him? What does a rough one mean?
He pings me another message through.
You’ll be a sleeping beauty, pretending or not.
Thanks, I reply, and almost go for the heart emoji, but avoid it. Too soon. Much too soon. We’re still at the grinning face stage, or occasionally heart eyes. No full-on heart emojis yet.
Another message comes through.
Tiff says somno is a great choice for night one, BTW. She’s pissing herself, given how knackered you are.
Ah, so he’s with Tiff. Creamgirl. The idol I’ve been looking up to ever since I saw her profile on the entertainers list. No surprise since they live in the same apartment block, over in Belgravia. One of my viewings is in the block across from theirs tomorrow, and it looks amazing… but yet again, is it too close, too soon? An unfortunate coincidence, or destiny calling?
I push the thoughts aside and focus my limited attention on staying awake. Sleep time is for this evening, not for this afternoon. A nap would prove fatal.
I sort out my case, unloading all my clothes, toiletries and trinkets from overseas, which is quite a major job, and quite a boring one. I empty the filter on the washing machine before I dare to put any dirty clothes in there, since the mould would be a lot more toxic than Sydney sweat. The whirring rhythm of the washing machine spin doesn’t help my energy levels, but I do my best to stay conscious, I even stick my head out of the window to get some fresh air. But it’s hard. I’m fading fast.
I’m relieved when a fresh message pings, cutting through my haziness. I expect to see Josh’s name, but it’s from an unknown number. I sigh out loud, because here we go. Yet again.
Speak to me, please. I made a mistake, ok?! Come on, Ells, please. Just hear me out. I’m begging here. I love you.
This one has plenty of heart emojis after it. Another message from Connor the jackass. He must have texted me on at least ten different phones these past few weeks.
No, I reply, just like that. He can moan and mewl and apologise all he likes. He can write lyrics about how love is life, and life is gone as much as he wants to. I’m not interested. It’s another great reason to get out of this shithole. He won’t know where I am, so he won’t be able to turn up with another crappy bunch of flowers.
It’ll be a good thing, to be free of running into him at my front door, but that doesn’t mask how it feels below the surface. Underneath the trapdoor of I’m over it, the betrayal still hurts like hell.
I go back upstairs to my room, remembering all the times that Connor and I have been in here, together, pondering how great our life was going to be once he’d made it. Once he was a rockstar with a massive record deal and a billion fans all screaming his name. I barely had ten pounds in my bank account through most of it, but I never thought that mattered. I’d have given Connor my last penny.
I feel a little twinge of sadness. So much has happened here for me. Loving Connor, then losing Connor. Meeting Ebony and her setting me up with The Agency – the best friend I could ever have. Becoming an entertainer and earning the cash of my dreams. Having ambition. Living a life. Finally creating dreams of my own.
Meeting Josh at the Christmas party.
Yet soon I’ll be leaving this cheap little cocoon of a room behind me, on to pastures new.
I’m not the same old Ella anymore. That Ella has morphed and changed, and emerged like a butterfly from a putrid chrysalis.
I’m Holly the budding hardcorer now, and Connor is done for me. I block his latest number, tossing my phone to the side. Falling for Josh, a fellow entertainer, might have red flags flapping all over it, but he’d have to be one hell of an asshole to top my betrayer of an ex.
I grin at the thought of taking his renowned cock, and exploring the depths of his hardcorer skills, but I’ve got another cock to be focusing on in the meantime.
Time for my next proposal.
