Page 39 of Brat Baby
What the hell did they send me now?
From the kitchen, I pluck a knife from the cutlery drawer and cut through the packing tape. Still feeling mostly dead on the inside, I unfold the flaps of the boxes and peer inside. There is something white, but it’s obscured by clear plastic.
Carefully, I reach into the box and gently take hold of the item. Whatever the crinkly plastic is protecting, it’s incredibly soft and squishy. As soon as I see the first squished but fluffy ear, I know exactly what I have in my hands.
Once I have the entire thing out of the box, I rip the plastic off and drop it onto the floor. A small piece of paper and one of those sachet things that keep stuff dry flutters to the ground, but I ignore them.
A perfectly white bear, with fluff so soft that it feels like it should be a part of a baby’s blanket. His eyes are little dark beads, but his nose… his nose is a cute, stitched blue heart.
Hands wrapped around his body, I rub my thumbs over his tummy, staring at the heart.
They’ve sent me three hearts now.
Perfume.
Necklace.
Teddy bear nose.
I close my eyes, the backs of my eyelids used to the familiar prickle of tears now. Why are they doing this to me? It’s fucking torture. This push and pull—I can’t keep doing this. It hurts too fucking much.
Maybe I should send them a message and tell them to stop sending the rewards? Just end it now. Tell them to stop contacting me? To lose my number?
The mere thought of losing this connection shoots a violent pang through my chest. The feeling is so violent, I’m the tiniest bit worried that my heart actually did beat out of rhythm for a second.
But I have to, right? For my own sanity. I can’t live in this state of limbo anymore. It’s too fucking hard.
Carrying my new bear—Blue—I go to my room to retrieve my phone from my bag. I sit on the edge of my bed, Blue tucked under one arm, quickly update the note with the rewards list, and then open my messages.
It opens to my thread with Xavier and my photo from this morning. Because, even without any of them showing up, I’d still been a good girl for him and sent the pictures all weekend.
I exit out of that and tap on the group chat but pause. What do I even say?Stop sending me gifts, assholes? Fuck off? You broke me, now leave me alone?
Inhaling, I try to clear my thoughts. Try to think past the feelings. I don’t want to come across as a pathetic child. I also don’t want to sound like a hysterical female. I want cool, calm, deliberate.
Words start to come to me, and I turn them around in my mind. As I’m thinking, my phone vibrates, and I glance at the top of the screen to see a SugarLife vault notification. My vault is empty, the last of the transfers clearing on Friday. Why is it sending me notifications now?
Frowning, I tap on it and wait for the app to load, log in, and open my vault.
And then I stare. And stare some more.
SugarLife
Your vault balance is $2,310.
Two-thousand, three-hundred-and-ten dollars?
A light bulb turns on inside my head.
That is sixty-thousand dollars divided by twenty-six weekends.
Did they just pay me for the weekend? Are they honoring the contract?
What the fuck? What the actual fuck?
Sweat forms down my back, nausea churns my stomach, and I feel like I’m going to pass out.
I don’t get it. Like really, really don’t get it. Fuck, I wish Oakley was here. I need someone to talk to.
