Page 29 of Pretty Mess

“Nah. The bloke in charge said it’s nothing to do with me now.”

I hesitate. “Have you heard from Tyler? He didn’t text me last night. That’s the first time all week he hasn’t sent a message to say he’s okay.” That had kept me awake in the early hours of the morning with worst-case scenarios running through my head until I felt like I’d scream.

Her voice, when she speaks next, is conflicted. “He came round last night.” I relax a little. “I told him he had to give me some space.”

“What did he say?”

“He’d respect my decision, and he was going to make it right again.”

I massage my forehead where a dull headache has begun to bloom. “God, I hope he doesn’t try to do that through betting.”

“You and me both.”

“He wouldn’t do that, would he? He said he was going to get a payment plan in place and sort everything out.”

I wince at the eagerness in my voice, and the silence stretches a little too long before she says, “Yeah. I’m sure that’s his plan.” There’s a pause. “He told me about the credit cards. I’m so sorry.”

“You really donotneed to apologise to me.”

“That’s the thing though, Wes. I think he’s got even more debts he isn’t telling us about.”

I swallow hard, a shiver running up my spine. “What makes you think that?”

“He wouldn’t tell me even when I asked.”

“Shit. You’ve always been his conscience like the little cricket inPinocchio.”

“Well, look how that worked out. I’d have done better with the fucking puppet.” There’s a noise in the background, and she says, “I’ve got to go. Mum’s home help is here.”

“Okay, babe. Take care.”

“Love you,” she says fiercely. “Always. You take care too.”

The line goes dead, and I throw the phone down on the bed. I think of my brother having more potential debts and then stuff that to the back of my mind. I can’t help Tyler at the moment, so I need to brush it away. I’m compartmentalising so well I should work in a cupboard box factory.

Getting up, I go into the bathroom and rest my hands on the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I look the same—messy hair, thin face, and the same gap between my front teeth. I push my hair back and eye my reflection.

Should I look different? I took money for a sex act last night. I shake my head. If you’d asked me a month ago how my life was going to pan out, I’d have laughed in your face if you’d mentioned sex work. And yet here we are.

The sound of the flat front door opening is a welcome distraction. I go to call out but then hesitate. What if it’s Julian’s bloke and he finds me here in the flat on my own?

“Wes?” Julian shouts.

“In here,” I call, relaxing. I’m walking out of the bathroom as he wanders into my bedroom. He’s still wearing his suit from last night, but the tie is missing, and his shirt is unbuttoned atthe neck. His hair is damp and free of product and flops over his forehead, making him look young.

“Hey,” he says, sliding into the armchair by the window. “How did it go last night?”

I lick my lips as images fly through my head. “It was good.” He stares at me, and I flush. “It was really hot, okay?”

He eyes me as I pull on a pair of shorts. “And I bet that’s currently fucking up your head.”

I hesitate. I’m not sure if I want an answer to my next question but I ask it anyway. “Truthfully, was it wrong?”

“Of course not,” he says simply, and I relax a little. “Sex is like any other interaction we have in life. As long as the people involved come away happy and satisfied on both sides, where’s the harm?”

“I don’t think sex is in quite the same ballpark as talking to the checkout person at the supermarket.”

“Do you regret it?”