Milked

Meghranush | coping.

I finally felt like I had a hold on my situation. I had turned in some of my homework, and I had a working plan for what I was going to say to Richard the next time we saw each other, which was soon.

Walking to the coffee shop, I thought about my plan. I am sorry, Richard, but I can't see you anymore. I don't feel comfortable with what we've been doing. I apologize for taking your money, especially if I gave you the impression that I was going to serve as more than a companion. I fully intend to give you back everything you have bought for me, and I will pay you back for everything else. I can't pay you everything right now, but we can start a payment plan.

The words ran through my head as I got in line at Cups. I knew I shouldn't be buying a latte, especially if I was going to start paying Richard back, but one last latte would keep this confidence going.

Someone touched my shoulder.

I turned to find Bret, who I detested almost as much as Richard. I saw the similarities between him and his father, and my heart went into my throat.

"I'm glad to see you, Meg," he said. He put his face close to mine, whispering in my ear, "I know we haven't seen each other for a while, but I just saw you the other day. You were wearing a tiger outfit. Meow." When he backed away, he had a smug, satisfied expression, one to counter my own.

My own expression was probably one of complete horror, which was what I felt. "What are you talking about?"

He came close again to whisper in my ear. "Oh you know what I'm talking about. You're a little star, Meg. Don't worry. Nobody else will see you. My dad just thought I'd appreciate the aesthetic value of his film. You know all about aesthetic value, don't you, Meg?" He began to touch my hair with his fingers. "Our little interior designer."

My eyes filled with tears, and I turned and escaped as quickly as I could, feeling my hair fall through the loose grip of his pointer finger and thumb.

As I walked on the sidewalk, I took my cell phone out of my purse and called Skylar.

"Yes?" she answered.

Trying to make myself sound like I wasn't crying, I said, "Where does Loren live?"

"Why do you want to know where Loren lives?"

"Can you please just tell me?"

"Um...okay. He lives in the blue and yellow apartments on Gladson. Apartment 3140. But I should warn you that I just went to see him the other day, and he was in a state. So don't expect hugs or anything."

"Thanks."

"Don't hang up!" She sounded suddenly frantic. "Are you okay?"

Could she tell I was crying? "I'm fine."

"I'm just...worried about you."

"I'm fine," I said again through gritted teeth, and hung up. Where had this worry been the morning I first came home from Richard's house?

After finding Loren's apartment using my phone's navigation, I rang his doorbell. When he didn't answer, I tried again. He finally answered after the third try.

He looked even worse than normal, asking, "What the hell are you doing here?"

I walked in without being invited, and silent sobs escaped my throat. "How do you cope?" I managed to ask.

"With what?"

"Being used."

"Being used?"

"You're a porn star, Loren. You're a prop. An object. You get used, all the time."

"I don't get used," he said adamantly, and I wondered if he really believed that, if he let himself buy into that lie to make things easier on himself.