Page 27 of Brat Baby
They are so confusing. It’s okay to send me a laptop and for Xavier to eat my ass out like I’m his own personal snack, but they can’t acknowledge me as a student in their classrooms? The push and pull is giving me whiplash.
I shove through the door and go to put my stuff down on the dining table, pausing when I see a gift box with a Post-it note from Oakley.
Hey, this was delivered after you left this morning. Another gift from your not-daddies?
Slowly, I slip out of my backpack, gently lowering everything as I take a seat and stare at the white box with a huge yellow bow. A tingling numbness starts to spread out from my chest, and for a second, I’m a little terrified of what’s in the box.
It’s another reward. I know that. They clearly stated they would be sending the rest in the previous note. But what the hell does all this mean?
Fucking confusing. And frustrating. And I’m tired of not understanding.
I wish I had the rewards chart with me so that I could keep filling it in. Wait, are they filling it in? Is it like before? Are they taking turns, or has one of them taken ownership of the list?
Does it matter?
This was a part of the weekend contract, and this is them fulfilling their obligation. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe I just need to look at all of this through that lens? No more wondering, no more trying to figure it out? From now on, I’ll follow the contract, follow the do-not-contact demand, stop questioning everything, and just see how things go.
Carefully—like it’s a bomb—I reach for the bow and gently pull until the entire thing unravels. The box isn’t much larger than my thickest textbook, but I discover that it is far lighter when I pick it up to unloop the ribbon.
Lifting the lid, I stare at the two beautiful bottles of perfume, laying in a bed of white satin. The first is a clear glass and shaped like a square with a pale half bow just below the lid. And then there is a crystal heart with a crown for the lid. Miss Dior and Princess.
Is this from Darcy?
Not that the others couldn’t buy me perfume with the nickname he uses for me. I just… And fuck, how did they even get my address? Surely my personal details aren’t a part of my course enrollment details, right?
Fuck, I hadn’t even thought of that.
I put the lid back on the box and stare at the entire thing without really seeing it.
How the hell is this fair? It’s like a gentle tease of everything I’m not allowed to have. And just as I work on deciding how to move forward, another reward arrives and ruins my progress.
Should I send the rewards back to them?
I instantly reject that idea. I’m strong enough to admit that I’m weak when it comes to the four of them.
And aside from the emotional aspect of it all, there is the financial to consider. Not only do I need the laptop, but if I don’t have to touch the ten K sitting in my account, I’d prefer not to. I already dipped into it for the Uber back from Thai Orchid.
So, okay, keeping the rewards, then. If they want to spend their cash on me, I’m not going to stop them. It’s their money. And hopefully they keep sending me shit I need-slash-don’t-own so that I don’t have to buy it for myself.
Since I don’t have my actual rewards chart, I dig my phone out of my bag and open the notes app and start a new note, labeling it appropriately. On the next two lines, I write Laptop and Perfumes.
A weight lifts from my chest at seeing the beginning of my list. It’s kind of like a countdown until the end. When it’s full, we are actually, completely, done.
Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t hurt as much as I expect it to. It’s not like I’ve experienced any different. Every placement had an invisible countdown clock until they would return me.
These men leaving me is just the pattern of my life.
No one ever picks me.
Chapter 16
Emery
“Is it really only Thursday?” Oakley asks as she flops down onto the couch beside me, having just finished a phone call with one of the many sugar daddies she entertains.
She told me yesterday that she is strictly a daddy’s girl. No mommies for her. Which I can totally appreciate. Chicks are hot and everything, but I don’t want to get naked with one.
“Yeah,” I reply absentmindedly as I stare at my phone in confusion, a forkful of mixed plate Thai.
