What I Wouldn't Do (Hunter Hayes - Rated R)

Love for Sale

"Hunter? Did you move the laundry into the drier?" Frankie finished applying her mascara and closed the bottle, running her fingers through her hair and staring at her reflection with empty eyes. Three months had passed, and she was getting so good at her charade that sometimes even she believed she was okay. Why did it matter that some of her clients were cruel, that she'd lost her appetite, and that her body was sore all the time? Hunter was happier than ever, and that made it worth it.

Right?

Hunter appeared in the bathroom door just as she was turning to leave. He looked her up and down appreciatively, saying, "Hey, there, hot stuff." 

She smiled and shoved his shoulder playfully. He let her out of the bathroom, and she walked into their room. "Seriously, did you?" 

He nodded. "Yeah, babe. They're on the couch." 

She kissed him and reached around to grab his ass. "You're so good to me."

He laughed and kissed her forehead. "Yeah, I know." She smirked at him as he pulled away and shrugged into his coat. It was just starting to get chilly outside, even though it was nearly November, and Hunter had always loved his jackets. Frankie watched him ties his shoelaces, feeling her eyes go in and out of focus. I am so tired. 

He finished with his shoes, got up, and kissed her nose. "I'll be back late tonight, sweetheart. Don't wait up for me."

She nodded, smiling at him feebly. "I won't." She walked him to the door and waved at him as he walked down the front porch steps. "I never do."

She sighed and headed back into the house, her bare feet padding softly on the carpet. She sang tunelessly to herself, the same song that had been stuck in her head for months. 

"Who's prepared to pay the price for a trip to paradise? Love for sale. Appetizing young love for sale. If you want to buy my wares, follow me and climb the stairs. Let the poets pipe of love in their childish way. I know every type of love better far than they. If you want the thrill of love, I've been through the mill of love. Old love, new love: every love but true love."

She sat down at the kitchen table and dialed the first number on her list. She went through the motions, not paying much attention to the man on the other end of the line, or to the words that were coming out of her mouth. She tallied up his price, had him wire the money to her bank account, and hung up the phone. She checked her watch; she had about three hours to herself this morning. 

She pulled a ragged, paint-splattered apron from the cabinet beneath the sink and sat down at the easel Hunter had set up for her in the tiny back yard. She breathed in the sweet November air and picked up a brush, dabbing it in the paint. The Nashville skyline was just gorgeous, as it always was. The clouds were moving so fast that she could almost see the wind whipping them about. 

Before she knew it, her few solitary hours were ended, and her painting had to remain unfinished until later. She looked at it carefully, admiring her work, before she drew the plastic cover down over it for protection. 

She refused to let Hunter see what she'd been painting. He would be frightened to see them. She was frightened of them herself. Though she was far from being Picasso, the strange, grossly realistic paintings were straight out of the nightmare of her life. The strokes were not intended to create such ghastly images, but instead simply seemed to form them of their own volition. She had no control over the paint's destiny; she sat down and let her mind flow free of any barriers, and let it become anything it desired.

She headed to the bathroom to brush her hair and check that she was decent (or rather, indecent). She stripped the tight-fitting black dress over her head and stared at the easy-access lingerie, lacy and red and the nicest thing she'd owned only a few short months ago. 

*The day Frankie moved in with Hunter*

"All right," Frankie said, standing timidly just inside the door. "I'm here." 

Hunter pulled her in for a hug and practically dragged her through the house, his excitement bubbling over as he gave her the tour. He held her hand the whole time, reaching over and draping her coat on the rack by the door, and taking her one small bag and stowing it in an empty drawer in his bedroom. 

"I really hope you like it here, Frankie." He took a deep breath and smiled at her, leaning down to kiss her lips. She smiled, too, for what seemed like the first time in years. 

"I think I will," she replied, though her nervousness was still at an all time high. What would her parents say? What would Hunter's neighbors think? 

"Come on, Frankie. Let's go out. I want to celebrate!" She had laughed, loving the unfamiliar feeling bubbling up from her throat. 

They ended up in a mall, simply window-shopping and talking like they'd known each other forever. She let him hold her hand, so when she paused momentarily to gaze longingly at a manikin, he noticed. 

"Which one are you looking at?" he questioned, looking at the display of three life-sized dolls dressed in various states of advertised "Sexy Wear."

Frankie laughed and leaned into him, her head on his shoulder. "The red one. I remember when I first came to live here, I made friends with a girl down the street, and we came here to try some things on. I'd never worn lingerie before, but...you know, it made me feel beautiful for the first time...well, ever." She sighed. So much had gone wrong since then. 

His smile soured. He hated what she'd been through. He had to find some way to fix it.

"Would you like it?" 

She looked up at him with a flash of excitement, but just as quickly bit her nail in indecision. "It's so expensive...no, no. I don't want it."

"Oh, come on, Frankie. Let's get it!" 

"No, Hunter, it's so expensive. Come on, we'll get something somewhere else."

He scoffed and headed straight into the store, took the manikin off the display floor and purchased the lingerie. The whole time, Frankie gazed at him with wonder. Why did she, tainted as she was, deserve such a man? 

She had tried to avoid wearing this particular suit for anyone but Hunter, but her next client had called to specifically request red lace. She had tried to lie and say she didn't own a costume of such a material, but the customer had been adamant, saying they'd even pay an extra $200 to see her in such an ensemble. 

She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear and powdering her nose quickly as she heard the doorbell ring. She strolled reluctantly towards the door, mustering the strength to stand in front of the man and act like a sex goddess. 

She turned the doorknob and opened the door...

Her hand flew up to her mouth. This was not a face she'd ever wanted to see again. This was not a man who would take her and leave. 

This was not a man at all. 

The song "Love For Sale" is by Ella Fitzgerald, since Frankie has an affection for jazz. Thanks for reading! Leave me a comment or vote if you liked it! Thanks!