I haven’t moved from my bed in hours by the time the night comes. Stuck in a loop where I relive the last day nonstop, I can’t seem to move. What does Ry think of me? The alarm rings beside me for a few seconds before I even register it. Did he even believe my excuse? Was he disappointed?
Did he *know*? It’s not possible for him to have known, but he wasn’t supposed to know what I do at Mid, either.
Finger still pressed to my phone screen, I try to remember what I need to do. Les looked so pale. And with how rare it was to see Varik outside the store, his anger made me even more embarrassed. Why does it feel so awful to be seen like this? To be known more intimately than I would want.
Those fucking expressions on their faces…
Three weeks until my exam for Service Sundries, I tell myself, hugging my knees one last time before letting my feet hit the floor.
Thoughts of work make me want to vomit. The sound of Jack’s belt sliding free…
When I finally look at my phone screen, thirty more minutes have passed and it is well past time to get dressed.
It feels like I blink, and I’m walking into the back room at the Mid. Probably not a good sign, but what is at this point? Drumming my fingers against my jeans, I walk past the door to Jack’s office without a word. Ice slides down my back, but nothing happens…
No one calls my name. No one makes a sound. I tug at my clammy shirt.
“Deviera, hun?” Sass calls out, rounding the VIP dressing room. “Glad I caught you.” Her eyes don’t seem glad at all. “Jack told me to tell you you’re on Lunar for the foreseeable future…”
Her eyes are asking me a question I don’t want to answer, so I just nod and slink past to grab a uniform. It’s better than I could have hoped and it leaves me feeling unsure about when my punishment is coming.
There’s no scenario in which it doesn’t come.
She gasps as I reach for a costume. “Absolutely not, Lovie. Who left all these cuts on you?”
“I-I,” looking around, I lower my voice to a whisper, “I train sometimes for self-defense. And I just got clumsy today, Sass. Promise.”
Her voice is as low as mine. “Well, I’m happy to hear that part, but you’re not working like this. Come on, I have a stash of medi-patches in the back office.”
The back office she drags me over to is no more than half a closet with a curtain and a rickety old filing cabinet. She settles me in one of the metal chairs while she rummages through her fourth drawer.
“There they are,” she hums, “oh, and lucky you, I have another paindose too.”
I haven’t felt the pain in hours if I’m honest, but I won’t say no. Sometimes, the doses can blur the mind if there’s no pain to dull. Within minutes, she has me wrapped in medi-patches that seal and melt into the skin, blurring the marks with reflective tech so my skin looks perfect. By tomorrow, it’ll actually be as perfect as it looks. When the dose sinks into the meat of my arms without an issue, I chance a look at Sass to see her eyes focused on my neck. She looks sad.
“Thanks, I’m gonna head up,” I say, squirming. Too many people have looked at me today, seen me. I can’t stand it.
Once I’m changed into a short moon-white romper with freckled gray spots and platform strappy shoes, I set up my bar. I don’t really see anything I’m touching, and I don’t realize I’m zoning out until the cursory knock outside my door.
Clients. Right. Shaking hands run over my outfit before they settle on the tray. Standing in front of the bar, I try to plaster on my practiced smile. It quivers, then drops. I try again. It’s a grimace. On the third try, the door handle turns, and a rowdy group of Thur rush in. Males and females alike, all Darkmire. The noise alone is jarring, reminding me that I haven’t looped my songs or ensured the seating area has space for dancing. My stomach sinks, but there isn’t time to worry.
Two males playfully shove one another onto the couch before two more slide in next to them. One female sinks into the wingbacked chair, and another topples into her lap. The last few fit in where they can as I turn to grab the water pitcher.
“Good evening, my name is—”
“Karkut with ice.”
“A bloody mess, extra Pepprin!”
“Water, no ice. Show us your tits.”
“Lithe and three droppers, girl.”
They all talk at once, and no one listens to me. Right, Darkmires prefer quick, quiet service. I can be what they need. Hitting the button for the music, I try to stay focused. A quick little song with bass fills the space, and two Thur start gyrating.
“You think he’s wondering where we are?” one of the males asks another. “Can’t imagine he’s back at the base waiting.”
“Who the fuck cares? Call me in for discipline… Me?” the other male scoffs. “I’ll *report* when I’m good and damn ready. You will, too, as my second.”
A grunt of acknowledgment.
“Truceguards are hot,” one of the females pants. Usually, the thought of guards would put me on edge. I can’t feel anything right now.
“Get on it, attendant, and then drop the shorts,” one of the males jeers as someone else chuckles. My body is moving anyway, doing exactly what they want. I order the Lithe, make the drinks, and then drop my romper to serve them. The chill of the air settles over my shoulders and down to my budded nipples. There’s a transparent bit of fabric that barely obscures the site. The underwear, a bit of fabric tucked between both cheeks, obscures nothing.
Carafe on the table. A broad hand on my waist, sliding over my hip. A drink to the right, a pinch on my butt cheek. A drink to the left, a face looming an inch from my breast. He blows cool air against my taut nipples, and for once, the traitorous lust that haunts me is absent. I just… am.
When I return to drop the tray and grab two waters, I’m unceremoniously shoved over the center table top. Everyone grabs for the items littering the surface just in time. But both waters clatter from my hands to the floor, spilling and shattering in the dull throb of my music. My skin prickles with my ass in the air. Clinching my eyes closed, I try to demand my body act, but my reaction is lifeless. Hardly a flail. I’m so fucking tired. So, so tired.
I should do something. Say something.
A broad hand presses into the center of my back as a rough voice accompanies the fingers that spread across one of my cheeks.
“No way I’m lucky enough to run into you twice,” he grunts with a devious edge. “Or maybe it’s you who’s unlucky, huh.” Tilting my head to the right carefully enough to avoid the spill, I see the male situated behind me is the same one from earlier. The one who pinned my arms to interrogate me.
“A little gutter middling, selling pussy like this? You probably know exactly who the thief from earlier is, don’t you,” he jokes to himself, sliding his hands possessively across my body. I tense, but I don’t know what else I can do. Jack is… not going to side with me. Technically, nothing that’s happening is even against the rules.
It’s me that’s the problem. I’m not slipping into my role correctly. I’m not doing anything correctly.
Another knock brings my focus back to the door. It’s unusual for anyone else to come in after the fact. Most Thur don’t need to use the bathroom as often as middlings do. Fingers dig into the flesh of my ass until I hiss, biting my lip. Still not against the rules, I remind myself.
Someone gets up to answer the door and curses. “Fuck do you want? Daddy dearest send you to do his fetching?”
I look up, seeing familiar emerald eyes and a large body that fills the entire doorframe. He lasers in on me immediately, and his eyes become even more vibrant—almost electrified as his gemstones glow. The rumble that rolls through the room silences everything. He takes a step, fisting the shirt of the male who answered the door. Shove. Another step. Glowing so brightly, it peels away some of the shadow.
Then I notice the dark pants behind him. See the glittering dust. A broad hand of golden gemstone rings.
“Don’t worry. Daddy came to collect you himself,” the icy voice rumbles, bringing Nox into the room. And he’s pissed.