Page 18 of Find Me

“Rhett …”

He interrupts me. “I’m trying to help you, Evi, really, I am. I’ve never steered you in the wrong direction before, so why would I now? So just say thank you, accept our deal, and take the money.” He sits on the couch, watching me quietly.

My thoughts race as I try to make sense of what I’m agreeing to, trying to piece together why he might want a deal like this, but I can’t figure it out. I wonder if it could really be all that bad borrowing money from him, letting him have this sway over me until I pay him back. But with rent due tomorrow, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, so I shove my pride and common sense aside, needing the money more than anything else right now.

“Thank you,” I murmur, wanting this conversation to end and for us to go back to normal again, or whatever version of normal I just agreed to.

“Ah, she has brains, after all.” He snickers, rubbing his hands together as he wanders to the kitchen. I try to ignore the hurt in my chest resurfacing, focusing instead on the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing, the clink of ice, and liquid pouring. I stare at the money beside me, a bit of relief mixing with the rest of my feelings, knowing that I’ll be able to pay off my loans in full today and will only have to worry about rent from here on out. Rent, and paying back Rhett.

I try to push the feelings of guilt aside after accepting his support, the sheer amount of cash beside me showing just how much I was in over my head, but I’ve never felt so wrong asking for help before.

Rhett returns a moment later, walking over to me with a swagger that only a man who has gotten what he wants could have.

He hands me a glass of what smells like a very expensive bottle of scotch, and it burns as I throw it back quickly, calming my nerves and quieting the thoughts swirling in my head, giving me some relief from the emotions I’m trying to make sense of.

He sinks onto the couch beside me, taking off his watch and placing it next to the money, before taking a sip out of his own glass, his eyes never leaving mine.

His glass clinks as he sets it on the table, freeing his hand so he can reach into his pocket, producing a bag of white powder.

He smiles at me broadly. “Since we’re officially in business together, we should celebrate.”

“Rhett, I can’t …”

He cuts me off. “That’s not very amicable, Evi,” he states blandly.

“Right.” I hesitate.

“A deal is a deal, so let’s just have some fun. Plus, it’s just coke… It’s not like you haven’t done this before…” He trails off as he cuts lines for us, reaching down and snorting one first.

Despite the uneasy feeling in my stomach, I follow his lead, bending down and inhaling the white powder quickly, the burn in my nostrils immediate. I cough, trying to clear my throat as drips begin to coat the back of my mouth.

He leans towards me, unbuttoning his shirt and carelessly throwing it over the arm of the chair adjacent to us. His hands reach for me, his touch firm against my soft skin.

“Just give me a second, Rhett…” I start.

“Oh, come on, Evi, we’re just having fun remember? Money in exchange for more… enthusiasm.”

I don’t even know how to reply, unsure of how I feel about this part of the deal.

“Now, want to be amicable and open your legs for me? Coke always makes me want to… well.” There’s a predatory look behind his eyes as the words come out of his mouth, an order disguised as a question. He moves a hand from me down to his waist, and moments later, his belt buckle clatters open and his fly unzips under his quick fingers. Pushing my shoulders back so I’m lying on the couch, I can’t help but wonder how big of a mistake I made borrowing money from him. I rack my brain, trying to make sense of his sudden change in behavior.

Was he always like this? I think to myself as I remember bright blue eyes looking at me with interest and care, not with greed and want.

Have I seen flashes of this side of him before but was just too busy drinking and smoking weed to notice, or is it the lines of cocaine making him act this way?

Or maybe the tangible shift in energy was due to the power dynamic, me now owing him money, I think. I know at this point I’m just looking for an answer.

“Open your legs,” he says, his voice bored at having to ask again.

I don’t know what I’m more ashamed of, the drugs, my choice in men, or the fact that I am so malleable in his presence that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to stand up for myself.

I consider doing just that, pushing up off of the couch, explaining how this was all a mistake, and leaving as if it never happened.

But I need the money. I remind myself. And he’s had this before. I think solemnly. My knees part and he lowers himself down on top of me, no gentleness or care as he pushes my dress up and pulls my underwear to the side.

In one quick thrust he’s inside of me, and I gasp as he busies himself taking what he wants.

“Oh, fuck baby, you feel so good. Maybe you are worth the cost of coke these days.” He chuckles. I flinch, both at the lack of pleasure and the insult. As his pace quickens and his touch roughens, I can barely breathe as he takes me, not bothering to keep some of his weight off me.

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