Page 7 of The Price of My Sins

“You know your father and I would have given you the money.”

I nodded. “I know.” I gave her a small, quiet smile. “But I wanted to do it on my own.”

“Well, the offer still stands. I don’t like you taking off your clothes in front of strange men.”

“I know, Mama. Soon, I’ll give it up. I promise.”

Stripping gave me something ballet never did: fire. That raw, unfiltered adrenaline. On that stage, I didn’t have to be the quiet little girl from the broken neighborhood with the perfect pirouette. I got to be bold. Unapologetic. Alive.

But even with all that excitement, my heart always circled back to ballet. To the dream of pouring into little girls who need more than just choreography, they needed hope. A safe space. Someone who sees them. The way I needed someone to see me.

I still want that. I still believe in that dream. I just had to take the long way around to get there. And when I open those doors one day, nobody will be able to say I didn’t earn it.

My mom and I talked for a bit. I hung around until my father got home before I left to go home. I needed to get a nap in before I had to go to the club tonight. When I got home, Josh was in the living room, sitting on the couch like he had been waiting for me to come home. It was the same as always when he wasn’t out running the streets. The TV was on, the volume low on ESPN.

“You brought me a plate?” Josh asked, licking his lips as he eyed the Tupperware in my hand like it was the last meal on earth.

I didn’t even look at him. “Nope.”

I kicked off my heels by the door, my feet screaming from hours in stilettos, and made my way to the kitchen. I knew I’d be starving by the time I got home from the club, so I made sure to bring something back for me.

Josh trailed behind, with all attitude and an empty stomach. “So what, I’m just supposed to starve?”

I popped the fridge open and slid my containers inside before turning to face him. He was leaning against the counter like he paid bills in this house—which he didn’t.

“You were home all day,” I said, leveling my voice. “You could’ve cooked. Ordered something. Hell, made a damn sandwich.”

He crossed his arms, jaw tight, like he was ready to argue. I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my future without him.

“DoorDash exists, Josh,” I said, brushing past him. “Figure it out.”

And with that, I walked upstairs. I was over his bullshit. I was halfway up the stairs when I heard him behind me. “You've been getting real slick with your mouth lately,” Josh muttered.

I stopped, one hand on the banister, the other on the wall, but I didn’t turn around. “No…” I said, my voice low. “I just stopped shrinking myself to keep the peace.”

Silence.

I kept walking.

When I got to the bedroom, I peeled off my dress, letting it fall to the floor, and stood there in just my bra and underwear. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I noticed how tired I looked—tired of the routine. I was tired of pouring into someone who showed up empty every damn day.

I saw him in the mirror before I turned. He leaned against the door frame like always, that fake calm he used when he was trying not to look guilty.

“You’ve been acting differently lately,” he said, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed like he was the one owed something. “You been coming home late. That’s if you bring your ass the fuck home at all. You think I ain’t noticed we ain’t fucked in months? What’s up with that?”

I let out a sharp laugh, not because it was funny but because it was always the same with him. Sex was the only way he knew how to measure love. Or control it.

“Whatever, Josh. You're always looking for some bullshit to be mad about. We ain’t fucking because you are not my nigga. You and I both know the real reason that I’m even here.” I shook my head and walked past him into the bathroom, flicking the light on.

He chuckled, but there was nothing playful in it—just that low, guttural sound he made when he thought he had me cornered. “You still don't get it, do you?” he said, stepping into the bathroom, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet. "You're mine, Olivia, until I say otherwise. Doesn't matter what you think. I decide when this ends.” Stepping closer, he added, “And I'll be at the club tonight. You better act right."

I stared at him, my jaw tight. “Fuck you, Josh. I'm not yours—I haven't been in a long time. Whatever we had died and got buried, and I hope it's rotting somewhere dark.”

His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes flickered like a switch flipping from cruel to dangerous. He stepped even closer, the heat of him pressing against my skin like a threat. “This was never about love, sweetheart. Love’s for weak niggas. I don't need you to love me. I need you to obey me.”

Then, without warning, he grabbed my face and shoved a kiss against my cheek. It was too hard and rough, as if he wanted toleave a mark. “I gotta run. But don't worry... I'll be watching.” With that, he left the bathroom.

For the past few weeks, Josh has been lurking at the club, always in the shadows, thinking I hadn’t noticed. Always watching. Always tracking. This was his twisted way of reminding me he still had eyes on me. I needed a way out and fast. I was done playing it safe. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d put him in the ground myself without losing sleep over it.

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