I woke up the next morning with a horrible headache, and I wasn't even hungover. Pain stabbed through my temples; I groaned and tried to get up, holding my head as blood throbbed through my skull. I hadn't been in such a sorry state in a very long time.
A hangover would have been a blessing. At least then I could have pretended that my suffering was just the result of one night's bad decision. Instead, I'd actually made myself sick over what had happened the night before.
I sighed, staring at my bleary face in my bedroom mirror. It had been so late when John's driver finally dropped me off last night that I'd merely stripped the gown off and collapsed in bed. The remnants of my makeup were smeared across my face. My eyes looked like I had gone one too many rounds in a boxing ring.
In short, I looked about how I felt, which was shitty.
I dragged myself into the bathroom, scrubbing the crap off my face in the hope that clean skin would rejuvenate me. I forced myself into my running clothes, moving so slowly I doubted I'd make it more than 50 feet before I collapsed.
More than anything I'd needed in a while, I really needed a runner's high.
The gala had multiplied my previous trepidation by a factor of 50. John had not exaggerated when he had said that he wanted to use me as a shield to fend off all of the gold-digging harpies of Spring. They'd dogged him all night.
What I hadn't expected was for them to be quite so nasty.
I had spent the entire evening fighting the urge to look over my shoulder and verify that no one had actually stabbed me in the back, their glares were so sharp. At first, I had thought that John kept offering me his arm out of his characteristic politeness, but I'd been wrong. It was protection. He was looking out for me as much as I had been for him.
This became painfully obvious the instant I'd been stupid enough to believe I could escape to the bathroom for a small reprieve. No sooner had I entered than two women pushed their way through the door, so closely on my heels there could be no uncertainty they knew I was inside.
"Did you see that dress? Positively whoreish."
"So true. I've never seen such a high slit in my life. I cannot believe John would bring someone like that here. He should be with a woman his age, someone respectable."
"Oh, and I'm sure the 'someone respectable' in this scenario would be you, Margaret?"
"Well, if the shoe fits, or in this case, the dress that leaves at least a little to the imagination." They both cackled overly loudly in the small bathroom. I held still, praying they'd leave soon. These old crones were lambasting a young woman in the bathroom, and somehow I was the person with little class?
"In any case, this won't last long," Margaret's friend said. "It's not as if John will put up with such classless behavior forever. I'm sure by the time the civic center is finished she'll be long gone. You just hang in there."
I could practically hear Margaret preening. Nausea and fury warred for dominance; I physically had to stuff a fist in my mouth to prevent myself from giving them a piece of my mind. But that really would have been classless; I refused to give them the satisfaction. These women really were nasty, and I wasn't going to make it worse for John by giving people an actual reason to pressure him into dumping me.
I was making out on the better end of this arrangement. My ego could take a few nasty remarks—I dealt with those on a daily basis. I vowed to make it my mission to become the perfect companion to John, just to spite them. Bullies like them deserved to be put in their place, and the way to do that was for me to continue to act without reproach until it angered them so much that they finally let their nastiness show to everyone around them.
Eventually, they waltzed out of the bathroom. I stayed for another few minutes in the stall, shaking in anger when I realized something else.
Margaret. I knew that voice had seemed familiar. She'd been the owner of the boutique where I'd picked up my gown. The same boutique whose owner had known exactly who I was, and that John was arranging the outfit for me.
Now I knew why she'd selected the gown. She had seemed so friendly, assuring me that John had specifically requested that particular dress, that he'd be so pleased if I wore it. She'd surely told her friends all about me and my inappropriate gown long before I'd even entered the ballroom. And while the dress showed a little more skin than I normally liked, I'd worn it because I'd thought John had requested it, and since he was paying for the dress, it was no big deal for me.
Thinking back on it now, I had been stupid to actually believe he would have had any input on my outfit. John was way too busy to be care about any such inanity; he seemed to prefer a woman who actually had a brain, or at least one developed enough to dress herself.
The evening had gone downhill from there, right up to, and including, the grand finale of not one, not two, but three confrontations with Travis, if one counted staring up at him on-stage in horror, which, of course, I did.
I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been. I'd naively believed he was just some normal guy, upset that his asshole neighbor was making his physically demanding job even more difficult. Here I thought I'd finally been interacting with a normal human, not one of those wealthy assholes who always thought they could push me around just because I had a pretty face.
I shuddered, remembering that both Travis and his company, as well as John, had each donated a million dollars for this project. I doubted I'd ever come close to having a million dollars in my entire life, let alone donate the entire sum to a civic center.
Although, to Travis' credit, he didn't wear his wealth obnoxiously, parading it around as did people like Jared. No, it was more in the way he carried himself, the absolute surety that he would be listened to and obeyed. Respected. Here was another man used to getting his way, and fully prepared to leverage his intellect and various resources if necessary.
What a disappointment. I'd truly hoped I would be able to avoid all that nonsense in such a small town, but apparently some things were universal.
And judging by the way he'd reacted when I'd blurted out in shock that he worked in construction, he probably thought I was some gold-digging loser who thought he was beneath me simply because he worked "in construction."
I couldn't blame him for it. After all, pretty much the only things he knew about me were that I was an Instagram model, was in some sort of romantic relationship with an older man, and had sucked his face in a clandestine makeout. Any reasonable person would conclude I really was the "shallowest bitch he'd ever met," as Travis had so succinctly put it.
The worst part had been that I couldn't defend myself. I couldn't have said, "Well, actually, Travis, my relationship with Mr. Masterson here is really more about me helping him beat off those nasty bitches who are after his ring finger. What do I get out of it, you ask? Oh, not much. Just a free place to live and hopefully a shitload of money to start my company." Saying anything even remotely like that would have called into question my relationship with Mr. Masterson.
No way would that have gone well. And frankly, the truth didn't really make me look any better, anyway. Although, now that I thought about it, Travis probably figured I was sleeping with John. Who wouldn't?
And as gross as that thought was, he had probably also concluded that I had cheated on John when I made out with Travis. No wonder he thought I'd used him.
I winced, knowing I wouldn't ever have a chance to explain myself. Not if I actually wanted to keep the details of my agreement with John private, anyway. I doubted he'd continue to honor our arrangement if literally everyone knew it was a complete sham. That would be kind of defeating the point.
My lungs threatened to burst as I sprinted the last few feet of my run. More than anything, I wanted to explain myself to Travis. I hadn't kissed him because I was bored, or a gold digger, or whatever horrible term he probably deservedly thought of me.
I'd kissed him because the moment his lips had touched mine, my brain had simply shut down, and I couldn't think of anything but how tightly I could wrap myself around him, how deeply my tongue could thrust inside his mouth.
I was still thinking about it, eight days later. I'd never experienced such chemistry in my entire life, but our circumstances had pretty much precluded anything else from happening. That much was clear, after last night. What a wasted opportunity.
Perhaps it was for the better. Something told me getting involved with Travis would be the destruction of everything I knew. I just couldn't take that risk if I wanted to accomplish my goals. Even if he kissed like some sort of god.
Collapsing on my front lawn, I stared at his house while I dragged air into my lungs. Sometimes things just ran their course, and it looked like our relationship had already reached the finish line before the starting gun had even gone off.
I pushed those depressing thoughts aside and worked on my cooldown and stretching. At this point in my career, I couldn't afford to injure myself like I had when I first began working out intensely. Not to mention I relied on my spin classes to feed myself.
Minutes later, finally convinced I wouldn't wake up tomorrow unable to move from stiffness, I headed up to my bathroom to wash the grime off my body. I peeled the disgusting clothes off and twisted the knob, already anticipating the additional soothing sensation hot water would provide my sore muscles.
Brown sludge shot out of the faucet. I shrieked, frantically jerking the knob as I gagged at the smell emanating from the disgusting liquid quickly pooling in my tub. After an eternity passed, I managed to stop the flow, falling back on the bathroom floor as I stared in horror at the mess before me.
What the actual fuck had just happened?
I peered cautiously over the edge of the tub. The smell intensified the instant I peered inside, and I clapped a hand over my mouth and nose to prevent any liquids of my own from further ruining my formerly pristine bathroom.
Heart racing, my eyes flicked wildly around the bathroom as I tried to identify the source of the problem. The only thing I knew with certainty was that somehow, raw sewage had gotten into my tub.
Wait. Did that mean ALL of my water had gone bad?
I crawled in front of my toilet, slowly lifting the lid and peering inside against my better judgement.
I was greeted with the delightful sight and smell of yet more human waste bubbling to the surface. The toilet lid slammed down as I slid away from the toilet. Not good. Climbing to my feet, I slowly crept toward my sink before finally twisting the knob and then quickly turning it back, needing no further confirmation that I was well and truly fucked.
I dragged my shirt and shorts back on, not bothering with my gross underwear and sports bra, and then padded downstairs and out the back door. Making for the concrete pad I'd noticed the day I moved in, I glared at the house, shaking my head in frustration.
I was 10 feet away when I shrank back in horror at the most disgusting sight I'd ever seen.
I woke up the next morning with a horrible headache, and I wasn't even hungover. Pain stabbed through my temples; I groaned and tried to get up, holding my head as blood throbbed through my skull. I hadn't been in such a sorry state in a very long time.
A hangover would have been a blessing. At least then I could have pretended that my suffering was just the result of one night's bad decision. Instead, I'd actually made myself sick over what had happened the night before.
I sighed, staring at my bleary face in my bedroom mirror. It had been so late when John's driver finally dropped me off last night that I'd merely stripped the gown off and collapsed in bed. The remnants of my makeup were smeared across my face. My eyes looked like I had gone one too many rounds in a boxing ring.
In short, I looked about how I felt, which was shitty.
I dragged myself into the bathroom, scrubbing the crap off my face in the hope that clean skin would rejuvenate me. I forced myself into my running clothes, moving so slowly I doubted I'd make it more than 50 feet before I collapsed.
More than anything I'd needed in a while, I really needed a runner's high.
The gala had multiplied my previous trepidation by a factor of 50. John had not exaggerated when he had said that he wanted to use me as a shield to fend off all of the gold-digging harpies of Spring. They'd dogged him all night.
What I hadn't expected was for them to be quite so nasty.
I had spent the entire evening fighting the urge to look over my shoulder and verify that no one had actually stabbed me in the back, their glares were so sharp. At first, I had thought that John kept offering me his arm out of his characteristic politeness, but I'd been wrong. It was protection. He was looking out for me as much as I had been for him.
This became painfully obvious the instant I'd been stupid enough to believe I could escape to the bathroom for a small reprieve. No sooner had I entered than two women pushed their way through the door, so closely on my heels there could be no uncertainty they knew I was inside.
"Did you see that dress? Positively whoreish."
"So true. I've never seen such a high slit in my life. I cannot believe John would bring someone like that here. He should be with a woman his age, someone respectable."
"Oh, and I'm sure the 'someone respectable' in this scenario would be you, Margaret?"
"Well, if the shoe fits, or in this case, the dress that leaves at least a little to the imagination." They both cackled overly loudly in the small bathroom. I held still, praying they'd leave soon. These old crones were lambasting a young woman in the bathroom, and somehow I was the person with little class?
"In any case, this won't last long," Margaret's friend said. "It's not as if John will put up with such classless behavior forever. I'm sure by the time the civic center is finished she'll be long gone. You just hang in there."
I could practically hear Margaret preening. Nausea and fury warred for dominance; I physically had to stuff a fist in my mouth to prevent myself from giving them a piece of my mind. But that really would have been classless; I refused to give them the satisfaction. These women really were nasty, and I wasn't going to make it worse for John by giving people an actual reason to pressure him into dumping me.
I was making out on the better end of this arrangement. My ego could take a few nasty remarks—I dealt with those on a daily basis. I vowed to make it my mission to become the perfect companion to John, just to spite them. Bullies like them deserved to be put in their place, and the way to do that was for me to continue to act without reproach until it angered them so much that they finally let their nastiness show to everyone around them.
Eventually, they waltzed out of the bathroom. I stayed for another few minutes in the stall, shaking in anger when I realized something else.
Margaret. I knew that voice had seemed familiar. She'd been the owner of the boutique where I'd picked up my gown. The same boutique whose owner had known exactly who I was, and that John was arranging the outfit for me.
Now I knew why she'd selected the gown. She had seemed so friendly, assuring me that John had specifically requested that particular dress, that he'd be so pleased if I wore it. She'd surely told her friends all about me and my inappropriate gown long before I'd even entered the ballroom. And while the dress showed a little more skin than I normally liked, I'd worn it because I'd thought John had requested it, and since he was paying for the dress, it was no big deal for me.
Thinking back on it now, I had been stupid to actually believe he would have had any input on my outfit. John was way too busy to be care about any such inanity; he seemed to prefer a woman who actually had a brain, or at least one developed enough to dress herself.
The evening had gone downhill from there, right up to, and including, the grand finale of not one, not two, but three confrontations with Travis, if one counted staring up at him on-stage in horror, which, of course, I did.
I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been. I'd naively believed he was just some normal guy, upset that his asshole neighbor was making his physically demanding job even more difficult. Here I thought I'd finally been interacting with a normal human, not one of those wealthy assholes who always thought they could push me around just because I had a pretty face.
I shuddered, remembering that both Travis and his company, as well as John, had each donated a million dollars for this project. I doubted I'd ever come close to having a million dollars in my entire life, let alone donate the entire sum to a civic center.
Although, to Travis' credit, he didn't wear his wealth obnoxiously, parading it around as did people like Jared. No, it was more in the way he carried himself, the absolute surety that he would be listened to and obeyed. Respected. Here was another man used to getting his way, and fully prepared to leverage his intellect and various resources if necessary.
What a disappointment. I'd truly hoped I would be able to avoid all that nonsense in such a small town, but apparently some things were universal.
And judging by the way he'd reacted when I'd blurted out in shock that he worked in construction, he probably thought I was some gold-digging loser who thought he was beneath me simply because he worked "in construction."
I couldn't blame him for it. After all, pretty much the only things he knew about me were that I was an Instagram model, was in some sort of romantic relationship with an older man, and had sucked his face in a clandestine makeout. Any reasonable person would conclude I really was the "shallowest bitch he'd ever met," as Travis had so succinctly put it.
The worst part had been that I couldn't defend myself. I couldn't have said, "Well, actually, Travis, my relationship with Mr. Masterson here is really more about me helping him beat off those nasty bitches who are after his ring finger. What do I get out of it, you ask? Oh, not much. Just a free place to live and hopefully a shitload of money to start my company." Saying anything even remotely like that would have called into question my relationship with Mr. Masterson.
No way would that have gone well. And frankly, the truth didn't really make me look any better, anyway. Although, now that I thought about it, Travis probably figured I was sleeping with John. Who wouldn't?
And as gross as that thought was, he had probably also concluded that I had cheated on John when I made out with Travis. No wonder he thought I'd used him.
I winced, knowing I wouldn't ever have a chance to explain myself. Not if I actually wanted to keep the details of my agreement with John private, anyway. I doubted he'd continue to honor our arrangement if literally everyone knew it was a complete sham. That would be kind of defeating the point.
My lungs threatened to burst as I sprinted the last few feet of my run. More than anything, I wanted to explain myself to Travis. I hadn't kissed him because I was bored, or a gold digger, or whatever horrible term he probably deservedly thought of me.
I'd kissed him because the moment his lips had touched mine, my brain had simply shut down, and I couldn't think of anything but how tightly I could wrap myself around him, how deeply my tongue could thrust inside his mouth.
I was still thinking about it, eight days later. I'd never experienced such chemistry in my entire life, but our circumstances had pretty much precluded anything else from happening. That much was clear, after last night. What a wasted opportunity.
Perhaps it was for the better. Something told me getting involved with Travis would be the destruction of everything I knew. I just couldn't take that risk if I wanted to accomplish my goals. Even if he kissed like some sort of god.
Collapsing on my front lawn, I stared at his house while I dragged air into my lungs. Sometimes things just ran their course, and it looked like our relationship had already reached the finish line before the starting gun had even gone off.
I pushed those depressing thoughts aside and worked on my cooldown and stretching. At this point in my career, I couldn't afford to injure myself like I had when I first began working out intensely. Not to mention I relied on my spin classes to feed myself.
Minutes later, finally convinced I wouldn't wake up tomorrow unable to move from stiffness, I headed up to my bathroom to wash the grime off my body. I peeled the disgusting clothes off and twisted the knob, already anticipating the additional soothing sensation hot water would provide my sore muscles.
Brown sludge shot out of the faucet. I shrieked, frantically jerking the knob as I gagged at the smell emanating from the disgusting liquid quickly pooling in my tub. After an eternity passed, I managed to stop the flow, falling back on the bathroom floor as I stared in horror at the mess before me.
What the actual fuck had just happened?
I peered cautiously over the edge of the tub. The smell intensified the instant I peered inside, and I clapped a hand over my mouth and nose to prevent any liquids of my own from further ruining my formerly pristine bathroom.
Heart racing, my eyes flicked wildly around the bathroom as I tried to identify the source of the problem. The only thing I knew with certainty was that somehow, raw sewage had gotten into my tub.
Wait. Did that mean ALL of my water had gone bad?
I crawled in front of my toilet, slowly lifting the lid and peering inside against my better judgement.
I was greeted with the delightful sight and smell of yet more human waste bubbling to the surface. The toilet lid slammed down as I slid away from the toilet. Not good. Climbing to my feet, I slowly crept toward my sink before finally twisting the knob and then quickly turning it back, needing no further confirmation that I was well and truly fucked.
I dragged my shirt and shorts back on, not bothering with my gross underwear and sports bra, and then padded downstairs and out the back door. Making for the concrete pad I'd noticed the day I moved in, I glared at the house, shaking my head in frustration.
I was 10 feet away when I shrank back in horror at the most disgusting sight I'd ever seen.
