Page 3 of Valentine's Slave

“In a sugar baby?” Hailey asks.

“Not exactly, but it’s a week-long deal. I don’t have all the details, but I’m going to meet him for coffee. I’ll let you know how it goes later.”

“Ava. Do not go anywhere with him alone,” she warns. “Make sure you get photos of his driver’s license, get his address, get everything.”

Hailey can freak out, but she can also be no-nonsense when the situation requires. That’s why she’s so good at emergencies.

“Will do.”

“How much is he offering to pay you for a week?”

I hesitate. “Fifty grand.”

I practically hear her eyeballs jump out of their sockets.

“Holy shit, what does he hope to do with you for that price? A hooker would be cheaper.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’re going to talk about today,” I say. “I know just as much as you do.”

“Does it have to do with Valentine’s Day? Does he have, like, a weird fetish?” she asks.

“He didn’t mention it, but who knows.”

“Be careful, Ava,” she warns.

“I will.”

I personally think Valentine’s Day is the stupidest holiday of them all. If you have a partner, you feel pressured by society to give in to consumerism and buy overpriced chocolate and flowers, and if you don’t have a partner, you just feel unloved and miserable. Or you paint your nails black like I do and tell the world to fuck off.

Shawn and I never really celebrated Valentine’s Day, which didn’t bother me. It did bother me, however, that he wasn’t romantic in the least in everyday life. He didn’t try to make a girl feel special, since he already had her. And then, he cheated.

I open my laptop again. Maybe I should write a blog post about Valentine’s Day, but I have no idea how to spin it. Before getting back to work, I text Valentino back with my reply.

3

Valentino

She’ll text. It’s a fact, and I put it out of my mind while I work at my desk from dawn until dusk. I get up only for my workout, a sandwich, some yoga, and to answer a call from Marco. We haven’t caught up in a while, and after last night’s favour, I owe him.

But I’ve always gotten along with my uncle. He’s the only family I have to call my own, the only one who ever tried to make me feel at home despite all the shit I put him through. He never gave up on me, even took me in as his own, and now, it’s my turn to be there for him.

His arthritis is getting worse, he says, but staying active helps. So does fresh air and sunlight, and he just started a plant-based diet.

“It’s about time,” I say. I’ve been on his back to try it for months, and finally, when his health got bad enough, he gave in.

“Any word from the girl?” he asks at the end.

“No.”

It’s 2 p.m., and whether she’s working or not, I know she has access to her phone. That girl is addicted to the thing, and I have no doubt she read the message. Now it’s just a matter of time before it infiltrates her mind and comes out in the form of a text.

“Well, it’s still early,” Marco says, always on the hopeful side.

“I’ll keep you posted,” I say quietly as I hang up.

I go back to my work, clearing my mind of all thoughts. It’s a practice I learned years ago, one that quite literally saved my life. I’ve long since learned that what is meant to be, will be, and my only two options are to either fight fate or accept it. And who am I to fight against God? God as in the all-knowing rhyme and reason of the universe, not any religious god. The stoics knew the difference.

At just after 4 p.m., I get a text. A little bust of adrenaline cracks up my veins. I feel like an addict again, and I haven’t even read her message.

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