Chapter Twenty-Two

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Huge, obligatory A/N: This chapter contains material that is quite graphic, and it may be unsettling or upsetting to some readers.  So I'm warning in advance that it's not pretty, and should you continue to read, you will encounter unpleasantness.  Should you wish to skip that part, it's literally the largest block of text towards the beginning of the chapter, so that should give a little bit of a guideline. 

Chapter Twenty-Two

APOV

I hadn’t wanted to get high this badly in a long time.  Because that was easier.  It was so much harder to be sober and deal with life.  And at times like this, it was a constant kind of war inside.  I knew addiction was bad.  Drugs were bad; all that bullshit.  But I never did it because it was bad or because it was unhealthy.  I did it because I was in unhealthy places and wanted to get out.  And if I couldn’t get out physically, then at least I could get out mentally.  Problem was this wasn’t an unhealthy place.  So it was even harder to try to talk myself into drugs when I was already in a good place.  Fucking logic.  Fucking Jordan.  This was all her fault really.  If she would have just left me in the hole I was in, none of this would have happened.  I could have stayed completely fucking unaware of the happiness that could come out of things.  I wouldn’t have known what happiness was to begin with.  Happiness would have been the line I was gonna do in an hour, or the shit I was gonna smoke later. 

Maybe all those drugs had made my already fucked up mind really, truly all haywire and disconnected.  There was really no other explanation. 

You ever have one of those moments where you sort of zone out and then when you realize you were zoning out, you can’t remember what made you zone out in the first place?  Or you wake up from the zoned out place and have trouble figuring out where you are? 

I had neither at the moment.  I knew exactly where I was.  And I knew exactly what had happened.  I didn’t know how long I’d been zoning out for, but in a way, that’s sort of like its own drug.  Zoning out isn’t a place where things move through your head; you don’t have to think, it’s just nothingness.  Like a huge black hole just sucks you in and you can stay there and be safe and not have to think about how fucked up you really are. 

I did miss the part where Jordan was dressing me like I was a fucking little kid.  But when I realized, I started slapping her hands away. 

“Well it’s about fucking time.”

I glanced at her cautiously; she’d been pissed at me the day before, so I must have been pretty far zoned if she was being nice to me.  What she said had been normal Jordan-harsh, but the way she was looking at me—she was worried.  It also dawned to me suddenly that Jordan was dressing me.  “Where’s Tyler?”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Are you fucking kidding me?  That’s the first thing you ask?  Not anything about, wow, the last, like, however many hours or so have passed by without me noticing.  Or I seem to be naked and Jordan is getting me dressed because you’ve been fucking catatonic?  You ask where Tyler is?”  She paused, shaking her head and glaring at me. “I fucking threw him out, that’s where he is.”

My brow furrowed. “Why would you throw him out?”

She breathed deeply, closing her eyes and running a hand over her face. “Because he did something to you to make you like this, Allison.”  She shook her head again. “I told you he was fucking trouble.”

Wait.  What?  “No.” I shook my head, “No, it was me.”

“Oh, please!”

“No.” I shook my head again. “Really.  Jordan, this was all me.”

“Bullshit.”

“When did he leave?”

She let me know how much she hated this start of the conversation by the noise she made before she answered.  “I dunno, a while ago.”

I couldn’t remember him leaving.  That probably wasn’t good.  In fact, I couldn’t remember anything after… after he tried… fuck.  I got up off the bed, surprised at how stiff I was and started looking for my phone.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

I looked at her strangely. “Looking for my phone?”

“The fuck for?”

“To call him?”

Jordan threw her arms up.  “Oh my God.  You’re half-dressed and you look like shit.  You’re not calling him until I know what happened.”

I wasn’t really processing her questions and shit.  I just knew I needed to talk to Tyler.

She finally stopped my searching and forced me to sit back on the bed. 

“Stop.”

I tried to focus on her. 

The worry was back.

She waited until she knew she had my attention.  “I want you to listen to me, ok?”

I knew this voice.  This was the I just pulled you from really bad shit voice.  The I need to keep calm so you don’t freak again voice.  It hadn’t changed since Vegas; I just hadn’t heard it since then.  Not since that last night. 

I nodded slowly.

“First, we’re going to get you dressed.  Ok?  Then, I’m gonna make breakfast and you’re going to tell me what happened.”

“But, Tyler—”

“Tyler can wait.  Tyler will wait.  Right?”

She was expecting an answer.  I really didn’t know, honestly.  I couldn’t remember anything after he’d pulled out.  Who the fuck knew what I’d said?  Or did?  Oh, Jesus Christ, I could have said anything!  I could have told him all about Vegas; the real Vegas, the shit that happened in back rooms and fancy hotel suites.  What if I’d suddenly had a flashback or something and completely fallen apart?  What the fuck would be thinking?  Oh God, I shouldn’t call him.  Not until I figured out what the hell happened, how I could explain.

“Allison.”

I jerked back to Jordan, her fingers snapping in front of me.  “Yeah.”

“You’re shaking.  Are you remembering?”

I shook my head. “I can’t call Tyler.”

“Ok.”  She nodded.  “That’s ok.”

I nodded.  I needed to sit.  Except I already was.  I folded into myself, hands over my face.  And I dunno.  Then I was crying.  Like, hysterically.  I don’t even remember starting.  And I was lying down and Jordan was lying with me. 

“It’s ok.  You’ll get through it.  It’s gonna be ok.”

That wasn’t reassuring.  I appreciated that she wasn’t pushing for details but then she never really pushed for those.  She just knew shit was bad and she could imagine the rest that went down.  Except this time it wasn’t like that at all, and I couldn’t even explain.  I wanted to tell her that he hadn’t done anything wrong.  And I couldn’t seem to stop crying long enough get it out.  Why did it have to be this way?  Why did I have to be this way?  What if he never came back? 

“Allison.  Breathe.  You’re going to hyperventilate…”

“Why?” Was the only thing I got out.

She shook her head against the pillow, her hand moving hair out of my face.  “I dunno, honey.  Because men are assholes.”

I shook my head wildly. “It wasn’t Tyler.  Why me?”

Her brow furrowed. “Why you what?”

I couldn’t get out what I wanted.  It felt like there was no air, like there wasn’t any left in the room, and it kind of felt like it was spinning.  And sweet, blissful darkness was narrowing in like it was tunnel that was closing.  Wanting the tunnel to close probably wasn’t healthy, but I’d take what I could get when I couldn’t drown it in addictions, and I welcomed the darkness.  This darkness was safe.

~ ~ ~

I think I preferred skanky, dirty hotel rooms where the sheets were never clean and rooms could be rented by the hour instead of the night.  At least you knew what to expect.

This room was nicer than anyplace I’d ever lived.  The walls and carpet were a tan color that I’d never again erase from my memory.  The art on the wall was not something you could get lost in.  

Lights low, flat screen above the mini bar in the cabinet across the room playing some Tom Cruise movie.  Curtains pulled to shut out the rest of the decent world from what was going to happen here.  

I sprawled out over the bed; huge and so comfortable.  Four feathery pillows to rest against.  The sheets were such a pure shade of white that it was almost uncomfortable to look at them.  They were too nice, too pristine.  They wouldn’t be by the end of the night.

Damon strolled over to the mini bar and poured himself a drink.  Vodka, neat.  A brand that I’d never heard of, so it was probably as expensive as this room.  It was too bad really, this place was amazing.  It would have been fun to check out the games.  I’d probably never set foot in this hotel again.  Or if I did, it’d be for the same thing.  Funny how the MGM Grand turned a blind eye to Damon and his business.  They were probably getting a cut.  Probably more than I was.  

“So who’s the client?”  He liked the term client better than any other.  He though it sounded more professional.  As if he was one.  

He took a long pull from the glass and eyed me on the bed.  His eyes were always hooded like this just before.  Lust.  But it didn’t matter.  He wasn’t the one fucking me today.  He wouldn’t after either.  Maybe tomorrow.  Depended on his mood and how well we did tonight.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “I wanted to talk to you about that.  Little change of plans.”

Ugh.  I sighed. “What kind of change?”  

“Just a few friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“S’no different than any other night.  Just a few extra.”

I sat up, shaking my head. “No, Damon.”

He leveled his gaze on me.  “No?”

I didn’t answer.

He nodded. “Right.”  He set the glass down on the bar and moved over to the bed, sitting next to me.  “Listen, they’ve paid good money for this.  And I’ll be here to make sure everything stays on track.”

I shook my head.  

Nice with him had a way of flipping quickly.  “Hey, you’re welcome to leave.  I can always get some other bitch to do this.  Hell, there’s probably a bunch right in the lobby.  I wouldn’t have to go far.  So you’re gonna do this…” He shrugged. “Or you’re done.”

I stared at him uselessly; it didn’t really matter.  ‘No’ was never really an option.  

He flipped again. “Hey, I’ll make it worth your while, ok?  I’ll throw in a little extra for your cut.”  He moved a stray lock of hair behind my ear.  “And we’ll do breakfast in the morning before we head out.”  His finger traced over my cheek. “And if you promise you’ll be a good girl, I’ve got enough Special K to last you all night.”

This is why there was never an option to say no.  And exactly why he did this.  Because he knew he had me.  And all things considered, he treated me better than most had it.  I took a deep breath. “Yeah, ok.”

He pressed a kiss into the side of my forehead.  “Good girl.  I’ll get you a drink and we can do a line…”

I still get goosebumps when I hear Jack Nicholson’s voice.   The reason I loved Ketamine was the way it made everything feel like a dream.  I could float above everything and by the time it had warn off, it was over.  Memory loss was common.  And that was usually better.  

Everything else was in flashes.  Dim lighting.  Soft sheets.  Too soft.  Blurred faces.  Expensive suits.  Stained sheets.  Rough fingers in my pussy.  Hands grabbing my tits.  Sudden fullness as the first cock pushed inside.  My grunt being cut off by the first in my mouth.  The burst of saltiness.  Hands changing their hold.  Take it.  Gagging from too much cock, too far down my throat.  Can’t relax enough to take them in.  No reprieve in between.  Jerking cocks of guys I can’t even see.  Faceless.  Just cocks and nothing else.  Sounds of guys coming, grunting.  Yeah, you know you want it, baby.  Skin slapping.  Fronts of thighs slapping into the backs of mine.  Legs over shoulders.  Legs spread wide.  Legs in a V.  Legs bent back.  Legs to the side.  Incredible soreness.  Bruises and hickeys.  Rough fingers.  Fighting for places in line.  Small dicks.  Careless dicks.  Thick, stubby dicks.  All using me.  Great cunt.  Damon floating in and out, making sure all of his customers were happy.  Sticky come.  Too many cocks.  Endless line of waiting dicks.  Waiting their turn.  Trying to be somewhere else.  Too high to care.  Suck that cock.  Come splashing over my chest.  Always a hard dick waiting.  Wanting to be jerked, sucked, squeezed.  Too many to please.  Not enough drugs.  Too loud.  Like it was a party.  Cheers and yelling.  Bitter taste.  Some kinda mouth on this one.  On my back, sweat pouring from too many guys to count.  Losing count.  Losing myself.  On all fours, balls slapping into my pussy.  You want my cock all up in you, don’tcha?  Too enthusiastic.  Too hard.  Finger marks on my hips.  Holding my tits while plunging away.  On my side.  Held up in the air.  More like a doll than anything else.  Position her here.  Put her there.  I want her sitting on my cock.  Bounce on me.  Only one mouth and too many cocks wanting to be sucked.  Pussy raw and sore and hot.  Tits and nipples over-stimulated.  Hair a complete nest of knots.  Pulled hair.  Legs screaming from too many positions.  Pinched nipples.  Laughter.  Dull ache in the pit of my stomach and abs.  Carpet burn on knees.  Bite marks.  Always a cock in my mouth and one in my pussy.  Endless.  Not coming once.  You can’t handle the truth!  Not so much fighting as giving up.  

Allison!

I woke covered in sweat, shaking again.  Jordan pulled me until she was cradling me, and all I could think was how much I would have rather had Tyler’s arms than hers.  And this wave of hopelessness hit because I might never have them again.  

~ ~ ~

I slept again after that, dreamlessly this time, thankfully.  When I woke up, Jordan was flipping through a magazine next to me.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

My voice was complete shit.  Too much crying and emotion.  “Hey.”  She handed me a bottle of water.  “Thanks.”  I downed half of it in one go.  

The magazine lay open on her lap now, ignored.  “How’re you doing?”

I shifted to sit next to her. “Ok.”

“Haven’t had a nightmare like that in a while.”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“You hungry?”

I shook my head. “Not right now.  Don’t feel like eating.”

She sighed. “You should eat something.”

“I don’t want to fucking eat, Jordan.  Ok?”

Her eyebrows rose and her mouth set in a line.  Another page of the magazine flipped.  

I sighed. “I’m sorry.  I’m just…” My hand flailed uselessly.

“Tell me what happened.”

Fuck it.  Might as well just get it over with all at once.  There was really no reason to string it along for the rest of the fucking day.  I let out a deep breath loudly.  I brought my hands up and let them slap down on the comforter.  “I’m a freak.  That’s basically the problem.”

She tossed the magazine on the floor, shifting so her body was angled towards mine.  “Why are you a freak?”

“Because!” I said that way too loudly, too angrily.  I pulled myself back.  “Because, Jordan, I finally meet this really great guy and I can’t be normal.”

“What’s normal?”

“Having sex with Tyler is normal.”

“I thought you were gonna wait.”

“We were.”

“So…what happened to waiting?  Did he push or something?”

“No,” I said quickly.  “He never pushes.  He never pushes anything.  He totally lets me set the pace.  Anything I want to do is fine.  Anything I don’t want to do, we don’t do.  It just kinda happened.”

“So…you…did have sex with Tyler then?”

“No!”

She let out a breath. “I’m confused.”

I dropped my head into my hands.  “This shouldn’t be that complicated.  I was a fucking whore.  All I did was have sex.  Having sex with Tyler should be just as easy.”

She chuckled. “You know that’s bullshit as much as I do.”

“I don’t want it to be bullshit.  Why do I have to make it so hard?  What’s wrong with me?”

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Allison, just tell me what happened.”

“We just got caught up in everything.  I started blowing him and I was actually gonna bust out some dirtier moves just to see what he’d do, and he stopped me and was all…” I struggled for words, “him and shit, and wanting it to be about me, too, because he’s amazing like that.  So we were both getting off, and he’s always so…gentle.  And tender.  And really sweet, and like, stopped me from making it all about him…” I paused, thinking.  “I mean, Christ…he was being so nice and I still freaked… What if this is just how I’m going to be forever?  What if I can never just get over being a hooker?  What if I’m really nothing but a whore?  I can’t do anything normal!  And I keep lying to him.  I’ve never told him the truth and he still sticks around, and I still fuck it up because I can’t even be normal for him!  God, I hate this!  He deserves someone normal.  Someone who doesn’t completely freak out when we’re not even having sex yet, and zone out after she makes him pull out.  I’m never going to be normal!  It’ll probably be better if he just doesn’t come back.  God, I wouldn’t come back.  If it was me, if I were him, I’d cut my losses with the crazy chick and move on.”

“Allison.”

“I’m serious!”

“That’s why it’s hard—because it’s not something you know.”

“But it’s great!  It’s wonderful.  It’s amazing.”

“You’re not used to great and wonderful and amazing.”

“That’s completely insane!  I’m insane!  What’s wrong with me?  Why can’t I control it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Yes, there is obviously something wrong with me, or I’d be fucking Tyler again right now!”

“Well–”

“What if he never comes back, Jordan?  What if he realizes that I’m not worth all this waiting and patience and everything?”

I could tell there was a comment forming.  Something sarcastic and probably pointing out that half a minute ago I’d said it would better if he didn’t come back.  But she was nicer.  She took a breath. “I think if he’s stuck around this long, putting up with not only you, but me when I give him shit, that he’s probably not going to go anywhere.”

“I’m such a freak.” I covered my face with my hands again.  “How am I ever going to explain this to him?”

“I’d probably leave out the gangbang.”

I cut my eyes to her, glaring.  

She put up her hands. “Just trying to bring some humor into the situation.”

I sighed, frustrated.  “That’s not even why though.  I don’t even know why.  I mean the nightmare was just because I was all fucked up anyway, but that’s not why I made him stop.  I don’t even know why I made him stop.”

“You weren’t ready.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?  I was a whore!  Who’s not ready for sex?  Even if you aren’t a whore?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know that you need an answer.  You just knew it wasn’t the right time.  You knew that you weren’t ready.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“Well, maybe it’s because he’s different you really want to wait or something.  I dunno, Allison.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean because you haven’t had a decent guy, like, ever, when it happens for you and Tyler, you want it to be at the right time.”

“But why was tonight not the right time?  How do I even know when the fuck the right time is?  What the hell is the right time?”

She shrugged. “Maybe when you’re not so caught up?  I dunno.”

I thought about that for a minute.  “So, like, we have to plan to have sex?”

She chuckled. “I dunno.  I’m just saying.  Maybe for you, you need it to be different from just being caught up.”

I didn’t say anything back to her because I had no fucking idea what that really meant.  Planning sex seemed like more pressure—like knowing when it would happen or setting a date or something would make it that much more difficult.  Because you’d know it was coming.  How could anyone really plan on having sex for the first, technically second time, and not have that become this huge thing?  It would probably make it worse, or I’d be thinking about that constantly when we were doing other shit.  But how the fuck would I know I was ready?  And how could I ask him to just set everything aside and wait for me?  

“Hey, there’s something else I wanna say to you,” Jordan said after we were both silent a while.

I turned to look at her, cautious, because sentences that started like that didn’t always end well.  

“I need to apologize.”

Not what I thought was gonna come flying out.  “What?  Why?”

“I’ve been a real bitch lately.  And I haven’t been supportive at all.  And if I was being the kind of friend you need, maybe this wouldn’t have happened because you could have talked to me before.”

I shook my head. “No, I need you to be the voice of reason when I don’t have any.  But I think you’re wrong about Tyler.”

Her head moved back and forth a few times, considering.  “I think I’ve misread things.  I dunno about him yet, but I don’t think he’s what I thought he was.”

“What did you think he was?”

She smirked. “Basically a different version of Damon.  A pimp of a different kind.  He wasn’t selling you out or anything, but, I dunno, it just seemed like he was influencing a lot of things.  I thought you might have been falling back into old patterns.  That you’d do what he wanted because he wanted it, and because you liked having him around.  Or you liked the idea of having him around because he seemed different.”

“He’s nothing like Damon.  At all.”

“I know.”

“And he doesn’t influence me unless I want it or I already agree.”

She nodded. “I can see that now.”

“I do appreciate that you care that much.”

She chuckled. “Well someone’s gotta look after you.”  She sighed. “I think you’re probably right that I was a little jealous, too.  And mad that things around here were changing to accommodate him.  And if he was really a nice guy, then I didn’t know where that left me.  I’m supposed to be the one with the answers, someone you go to when you wanna know shit.  And if you’re figuring things out before me, well… yeah.  So that made me angry.  And I’m sorry I took it out on both of you.”

Wow.  The last few days were just filled with blindsiding emotions.  “Thank you.  And thanks for helping me out today.”

“No problem.  Tyler looked a little out of his element.  He doesn’t have the experience I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“He came and got me this morning when I got in from work.  Because he didn’t know what to do for you.”

“God, that makes me feel even worse.”

“I can tell he cares about you.  That’s clear.”  She paused. “He looked pretty lost.”

I sighed. “This is so fucked up.”

“It’ll be ok.”

“I don’t even know where to start.  Part of me just wants to tell him everything, but…every time I want to or even if I want to start, I just can’t.  I can’t get it out.  I keep thinking that’ll be the thing that makes him leave.  That’ll be the final thing he can’t take.  And now this—I don’t know how to tell him.”

“Well take some time to figure it out.  I’m gonna make us something to eat.  You should check your phone, though.  It’s been ringing.  It’s on the floor somewhere.”

“Fuck.”

“What?” she poked her head back in the door.

“I have to work tonight.  I really don’t wanna go.”

“You’re not working tonight.”

I jerked my head in her direction.  “What?”

“I called and talked to Anatoly instead of Yev.  You can call when you wanna go back.  He said there won’t be any problems.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Just that you had some shit you needed to sort out and you couldn’t do it while stripping.”  She shrugged. “You know Anatoly; he didn’t ask any questions.  He just said take all the time you need.  The job isn’t going anywhere.”

Well that was a relief.  I’d never had that either; people that held your job if you were having a rough time.  I found my phone under a pile of clothes and listened to the first message.  

Hey… I just… I just want to make sure you’re ok.  I know Jordan’s with you and everything, but… just call me or text me or something so I know you’re ok…

God, I couldn’t listen to the second one.  Or the third one.  Jesus, how many messages did he leave?  I sat down on the bed again and tossed the phone aside.  I didn’t know what to say to him.  And I couldn’t make myself pick up the phone no matter how much I wanted to reassure him.  

~ ~ ~

I managed the art of avoidance for an entire week until I cracked.  I kept myself busy with making sure I showered, dressed, brushed my teeth, did laundry, made meals, cleaned my room and the rest of the apartment… three times, and hung out with Jordan, which probably made things more bearable than they would have been otherwise.  I went back to work a couple days after, and realized what a horrible idea that was when I was trying to get changed to go on stage.  Jordan wound up taking me to Anatoly and asking if I could just work the tables for a few nights.  

He agreed without any questions, and I suspected had some pact with Jordan already to keep me as close to them as possible, because he had me help him behind the bar just as much as I was out waiting tables.  The problem was everything made me think of him; even the fucking strip club where he’d barreled in and forced me off the stage when I barely knew him.  

Everything in the apartment made me think of him, too.  And they were all good things.  The flowers that we tried to preserve that failed miserably, only one had turned out, but I kept them anyway.  Reading was no use because all I could think about was Jonathan Livingston Seagull and how we hadn’t gotten any father in it, and it was useless for me to even pick it up.  Even stupid things, things that weren’t directly related to him, became so: the kitchen table, where I ate shittons of meals before he ever came into my life, now just seemed incredibly quiet and sad and not full enough if he wasn’t grunting through the meal.  The pie that was only half eaten.  The couch where we made out frequently or where he just sat with me and cuddled and watched bad TV.  Even the laundry wound up being miserable, because I stole his shirt and it wound up in the pile to wash.  I took it out, not ready for it to lose the scent of him, which made me cry for a half hour, because that was the scent that I came to associate with every day.  The shower was useless even though I kept forcing myself in there every morning.  Even my room, which should have been a safe haven, was just not.  Because while the last memory on the bed might not have been as pleasant, everything before that had been.  And even the memory of that night—the last part seemed like such a small section of the whole evening.  It was just one little fluke in an otherwise amazing night as usual with him.  And it hurt to be in my own room.  It hurt to think about how happy I was with him.  How happy he made me.  How much of a difference in my life that was.  All the little things.  I missed holding his hand, and watching him smile, and the way his hair felt under my fingers, and the feeling of his arms, the gentle way he touched my face, the feeling of his scruffy cheek as it nuzzled all over my body, the way his head would tip to rest against mine when I hugged him.  I missed his voice.  I missed us.  

How could I call and risk losing that?  What if he was really pissed off or something?  What if he was just done?  Why hadn’t he come over?  I mean, he called at least once a day.  Towards the end of the week, he stopped leaving messages and that scared me more than anything else, because eventually he’d stop calling altogether, and then I wouldn’t even have the connection of One Missed Call—Tyler anymore.  I didn’t blame him at all, I’m sure my lack of answering was stressing him out, and I couldn’t even imagine what he must have thought of me by then.  Shit, of course he wasn’t coming over.  He hadn’t cut me off at all—he was trying to keep contact open and it was on me to make sure they stayed that way.  Of course, if I just sat here in the fucking apartment stressing about losing it, it would be gone.  The only way I could fix this was to call him.  Or go to his apartment.  Yeah, that was better.  In person was better.  Now I just had to figure out how the fuck I was going to get up the courage to do that.  And how did I do that after a week of ignoring his calls?  

I spent several hours debating with myself, trying to think of what he might say or what I could say when I got there.  I finally got tired of arguing with myself, and just forced myself out the door.  It didn’t matter.  I didn’t want to put it off anymore.  Whatever happened when I saw him, I’d have to deal with it.

I took a deep breath and stood in Jordan’s doorway when I announced. “Hey, I’m gonna go over to Tyler’s.”

She looked at the clock.  “Now?”

I nodded. “Yeah.  He’ll be up.  I just have to go.  Now.  Before I lose my nerve.”

She nodded. “Ok.  Be careful.  Call if you need me.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Allison?”

I poked my head back in. “Yeah?”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I said, ducking my head and heading for the door before I chickened out and scrapped the whole idea.  

I had no plan the entire way there.  Nothing was going through my head except that I needed to keep going.  I had no idea what I was going to say when I was standing in front of his building.  I wondered if I should have called first.  For all I knew, he could have had someone else over already.  I sighed and began climbing the stairs, my legs feeling heavy and my heart racing until I could hear the pounding in my ears.  There shouldn’t have been this much nervousness.  It was just Tyler.  I kept telling myself that all the way up the stairs.  I knocked before I had a chance to run.

Potentially superfluous additional note: One of our biggest frustrations with WttR the movie is that we felt like it traded on the trope of 'teenage prostitute' without in any way exploring *what* that meant and what it would look like for a 16-year-old girl to be having sex with strange men to make rent and the awful, dangerous situations in which she'd likely find herself.  Even the episode in the hotel room, which is sort of glossed as attempted rape, becomes more about her connection to Doug and his reaction, and he talks to her about bank accounts when she needs a lot more than someone teaching her how to make a bed.  That moment always felt cheap because it was like, we need this really bad thing to happen to Allison to push her closer to Doug but we don't want to take the time away from his story to explore what that might really be or its impact on *her*. So we sort of wanted to rectify that here because when you trade sex for money, really bad shit happens more often than not.



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