Page 39 of Love Marks
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
She turns to look at the broken glass, avoiding my eyes.
“Are you…why did you flinch away from me?” I ask.
She has to know. She has to know that I’d never hurt her. I might be a stubborn asshole, but I can’t believe we’ve taken our feud so far that she’s actually scared of me. The thought makes me feel sick.
“I thought—” She’s still avoiding my eyes. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”
She hops off the stool and beelines for the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. I put the bandages back into the first-aid kit with a sigh. The time seems to pass impossibly slow as I wait for her to return. Before she does, my phone rings and I pick it up.
“Wes, it’s George. I’ve got accounting on the other line, there’s an issue with the latest numbers.”
“Again? Jesus Christ.” I run my hand through my hair.
“Do you have last quarterly report in front of you?”
“It’s in my office. Hold on.”
I press the phone to my ear and go into my office, shuffling through my files until I find the report George is looking for. After a few minutes, the issue is resolved and George agrees to report back to me later with an update, so I hang up.
When I get back into the kitchen, it’s silent. A small piece of paper rests on the counter. I pick it up and read it.
Left for the day. Hope you’re okay with takeout tonight. I cleaned up the mess. Sorry again.
Replaying today’s events, I feel a pit in my stomach. Who has that kind of reaction to a simple mistake? Part of me is scared to find out the answer, but the other part needs to know. I feel this overwhelming need to protect her, like I should run out of this apartment and track her down to make sure she’s okay.
Instead, I just stare at the empty room in front of me, replaying the image of Quinn’s huddled figure flinching away from me. It plays over and over until I can do nothing but crumple the note and throw it away.
Chapter 19
Quinn
The first time I had sex for money was when I was twenty years old.
Mom had just been diagnosed and lost her job in the same month. She was at an all-time low, and if I’m being honest with myself, I was too. I knew I had to drop out of school because I couldn’t afford the classes anymore with mom’s medical payments and the amount of loans I’d already taken.
It was in one of my classes when I overheard two girls talking about it — some website where you could find Sugar Daddies. The idea had never occurred to me before. At first, I felt myself judging them, wondering how they could do that. Until I heard one of them say she made $500 in an hour with one guy.
I’d never really been in a relationship before, and honestly, I didn’t really get the hype around sex. It was always just okay for me, and I figured if I wasn’t going to enjoy sex with men, I might as well get paid for it. Take something of my own. I could finish my degree and figure out my mom’s medical payments.
I worked up the courage to talk to the girls in my class and ask them a few questions about the website. After that, I made a profile on Seeking Arrangements. At first, I only went on a couple of first dates, making $100 here and there. Eventually I found a guy who was interested in something more long term. He just wanted to masturbate while I said degrading things to him, and I thought I’d hit the jackpot. I didn’t even have to touch him. Unfortunately for me, he broke things off after a few weeks. That’s when I found someone else.
His name was Derek, or at least that’s what he told me. I doubt it was his real name.
He was one of the more attractive guys I’d seen on the website. I couldn’t believe he needed to pay for sex. That should have been the first red flag. If they’re handsome, there’s something they want to do to you that their girlfriends won’t let them do.
Derek had an extreme degradation kink. He warned me in advance the types of things he wanted to do to me, but the money he was offering was more than anyone else had ever given me, and I was lost in it by then, lost in the illusion that I was somehow reclaiming myself, my body. I know it feels that way for some people, but it never felt that way for me. Not really.
So, every few weeks, I’d travel to the Upper West Side and meet Derek at his apartment where we’d have sex, and every time, he’d tell me I was worthless, tell me I was nothing, less than nothing. I realize now I would disassociate while it was happening. I wasn’t there, not mentally. Somehow, I would just float away from myself until I could pretend it was happening to someone else.
I thought it was fine. Each time I’d leave his place, a cold sort of numbness would pass over me. I would sit on the train and stare at the faces of the strangers around me, feeling more alone than ever. But then I’d count the bills later that night and a sort of giddiness and shameful pride would overtake me. This cycle would continue for a few months.
We’d been seeing each other for almost six months when it happened. One night he was undressing me and calling me a horrible name when he slapped me across the face. I immediately shoved him away, livid. We had not agreed to that. I scrambled off the bed to leave when he suddenly grabbed me again and shoved me further onto the bed.
I told him to stop, but I felt a shift. I knew. I don’t know how, but I just knew then that he wasn’t going to stop, that words weren’t going to be enough for him. Somehow, I managed all my strength to push him off. When I hurled myself across the room, grabbing my bag in search for my keys and the pepper spray on them, he shoved me into the table and the glass vase next to it shattered next to me on the hard floor, a shard cutting into my leg. I managed to get my pepper spray and ran out of there before it could go any further. After that night, I vowed that I was done.
I didn’t tell my mom. I didn’t tell anyone. I went to the free clinic at the hospital and got my leg stitched up, making up some lie about tripping with a glass. Wore jeans so my mom wouldn’t notice. Buried it deep inside and never touched it again.