“I’ll pay for ya,” he says. Not really something that you expected from him. You look over curiously, a smile creeping onto your face, 

“Really?” you ask, “Why?” you realisse that might sound aggressive, so explain, “Just ‘cause, ya know, like why would you pay that much? We haven’t known each other that long.” 

He shrugs and you can see him contemplating. Like whatever it is he’s thinking about might be damning. He rolls the thought about in his head a couple times, his mouth scrunched up, making his moustache you never really liked sit a bit too far over his lip; it makes you cringe. Finally, he says, with a shrug you deem to be more internal than for your benefit, “Well, how about I’ll pay if ya let me...hit.” 

“Hit?” 

“Yeah, yanno?” you do know. You just can’t believe that he’s said that. “It’s more than a hundred bucks, and ya don’t have to put much effort in. Just, sit there or whatever. Not a big deal, yeah?” 

“You know that I have a boyfriend,” is your only defence. You’ve heard the stories, the ‘friends’ at parties that take advantage of a girl being a little drunk, or a lot drunk.  

He shrugs, nonchalant, “What he doesn’t know can’t ‘urt ‘im.” 

You decide to commit, “No. I’m not gonna fuck you if you pay,” You’re annunciating each word, like a class presentation, you need him to hear you as clear as you can be. 

“It’s not a big deal, mate,” mate? Like you’re gonna be friends after this? “All you gotta do is lay down and I’ll do the rest.” 

“Is this...” hard to get out? Yes. “This all you wanted?” 

He shrugs, “Ta be honest, afta ya talked about ya boyfriend I jus’ wanted to get out. Like, I like you n’ all, ya pretty cool, and chill. But I talked ta you ‘cause ya hot, yanno?” 

“So right from the start, all you wanted was to fuck?” you’re standing now, readying yourself to leave. He doesn’t seem to realise; good. 

He shrugs, “Nah, yeah, I mean, ya hot. Like I said. I talked to ya ‘cause I wanted to sleep with ya, like, not a big deal. That’s why most guys talk ta girls, no?” 

“Is it?” He shrugs and smiles, that’s enough of an answer you decide, and you turn around, he calls after you, but you ignore him, and you’re out the door walking to your car.  

When his hand slams the door of your car shut you only look at him out of the corner of your eye.  “Look,” he begins, “ya don’t have to do it now, but if ya break-up with ya boyfriend, yanno? I’m around.” 

———— 

You wait up for your boyfriend to get home. He works late on Thursdays; they do a deep clean ready for the weekend – and Friday – and you’re usually asleep when he gets in. So, when he does, and when he sees you sitting up, he smiles and does a little dance towards you. You can’t help but grin. He gets down on his knees in front of you and rests his head on your lap, you say, “Work alright?” 

“Yeah, same as always,” that’s his usual response, and you know it’s mostly because he doesn’t enjoy it, he’d rather be at his computer, or playing games, or making the little sculptures he makes; and doesn’t sell. “Why’re you up?” he asks, craning his neck awkwardly to see your face. 

You debate telling him, but then that is why you stayed up, so, “Ya know Marc?” he nods, “He offered to pay for that thing at uni I told you about,” 

“Oh, yeah? That’s nice of ‘im, wasn’t it like a hundred bucks?”  

You nod, “Yeah. He said, though, that he’d only pay if I slept with him.” 

You watch his eyes dart about, his mouth screw up, and he says, “And you...?” 

“And I? What?” your mouth screws up now, like he thinks that you would do that? That you’d cheat on him at all, let alone for a measly $100. You shake your head, “I didn’t fuck him, Cal.” You move out from under his head and stand up, still shaking your head a little while you look at him, on his knees, looking up at you.  

“I mean, yeah, sure,” he shrugs. 

“That’s your first thought? That I’d do that?” he leans his elbow on the chair and shrugs again, 

“Not like we’ve got a lot of money, I dunno.” 

“All he wanted, the whole time I’ve known him–” 

“What–a couple weeks?” 

You clasp your hands together and lean on the cart you use as a bookshelf, it moves slightly under your weight and you readjust, “Not the point,” he nods, telling you to get to it then. “He said he only spoke to me ‘cause he thought I was hot.” 

He nods. Adds nothing. You make a face, and it swirls about as you try to come to a conclusion on what exactly it is you’re feeling at his reaction. He must notice your indiscernible turmoil written across your face, because he says, “I mean, yeah? What’d you want ‘im ta do? That’s why I talked to you,” he points at himself with all his fingers out, “that’s why anyone talks to anyone, they think they’re hot, so they wanna get to know ‘em.” 

You open your mouth with your brows furrowed and say, after a moment – while he sits there still with his eyebrows raised – , “So, you only talked to me ‘cause you wanted ta fuck me?” 

He makes a face that you recognise as his annoyed face. It's subtle, but the lack of an eye roll gives it away, like he’s trying his damnedest not to roll his eyes, “That’s what we all do, we wanna fuck because we’re monkeys, right? It’s not some hidden agenda, and it’s not like I don’t like you now. But yeah, like uh...Marc? Then, yeah like we just talked to you ‘cause we wanna fuck you, but then we get ta know you and we like you.” 

“But he didn’t stick around, after I said no. I mean, he didn’t wanna stay friends.” 

He shrugs, “Some people don’t like ya that much, that’s life.” 

Your hands are clasped tight on the cart now, and you say, without looking back up at him, “Fine. So, what? If I didn’t fuck you, then...?” 

He audibly sighs, “I dunno, maybe I wouldna dated you, what’s the big deal? Like you woulda dated me if I hadn’t fucked you.” 

“I wasn’t just thinking about your dick,” you spit out, leaning forward somewhat and offsetting the balance of the cart. You have to readjust again, but as you get back into position you decide that standing straight would get your point across better, so you’re standing when you continue, “I liked who you were, the things you were interested in,” you point to one of the sculptures he made early in your relationship, “the weird little art things ya do. I didn’t really think too much about how good you could fuck me.” 

He sighs again and almost crawls up and onto the chair where he flops into it like he’s suddenly so exhausted, “I dunno, babe, men and women; best I got.” 

“Fucken ‘ell,” you shake your head, “You can sleep there tonight,” you say and point to the couch adjacent to the chair he’s on.  

“’Ey, come on,” he leans forward while you go to walk away, when you don’t stop, he reaches out and grips your wrist, “Come on, babe, it’s not that big of a deal. We’re here now, aren’t we? Like, I stuck around when you had those episodes, ya know?” 

“Episodes?” 

“Yeah, yanno, the periods where ya wouldn’t let me...yeah.” 

Un-fucking-believable, “You mean when I was depressed?” you struggle at his hand but he’s stronger than you are, and he’s not letting go.  

“Yeah, whatever, the point is I didn’t go out and cheat on you.” 

“Like it was hard?” you almost scream at him, leaning down to be eye-to-eye, and you press your nails into his fingers, “Let. Go.” 

He lets go after a second of eye contact where you can see his tongue brush across his top teeth under his lip, “Ya can’t just leave me out ‘ere like we’re some married couple. I’m not gonna stay ‘ere and ya know it. I’ll just come in when you’re asleep.” 

You’re not focused on him anymore, you’re focused on the red around your wrist. You hadn’t realised how tight he was holding it. Your eyes meet his after a moment and you say, “Fuck off. I’m going to Becky’s then. You can wank yaself to sleep.” 

He leans back in the chair and almost cracks his head against the brickwork, “Babe, you’re overreacting. Marc was just bein’ a dick, and anyway, what’s all the fuss? He outted ‘imself as a dick, so now ya know you don’t have ta deal with ‘im anymore.”  

“Are you serious?” 

He smiles, a wicked smile, and he says, “Ya gonna break up with me now, aren’tcha?” 

You say nothing, but you don’t break eye contact, and you clench your jaw. You hadn’t thought about it yet. Yet. All your stuff is mixed up with his, it would be a hassle. But... 

He adds, right before you’re about to say something, “Least let me get once last fuck in?” and that wicked smile has returned, so, he’d planned on saying that; he knew where it was leading, so he took a chance. You’ve got tears in your eyes as he stands up, “Come on, you coulda fucked Marc and I wouldna known, least let me fuck you instead. You gotta be horny talkin’ about sex all night.” You gesture with your head to the bedroom, and his smile reveals his teeth, “Hell yeah, knew you’d be wet,” he reaches out and brushes your pants like he’s testing to see if his theory is correct. You flinch but keep your composure as he does that little dance again while he heads for the bedroom.  

The door that was at your back is opened and closed before he can turn at the noise. You almost run down the hallway, down the two flights of stairs, out the automatic doors of the foyer, and the three blocks to Becky’s place. She lives with her other friend you don’t know too well, but at least she’s a girl.  

————

A few weeks later, once uni starts up again, you sit in a new class, a whole bunch of new faces. Some guy comes in late, sits in the empty spot by you, and says, 

“Hey, I’m Andy,” followed by, “What’s your name?” and you take a moment. He doesn’t look like the type to want to pay you to fuck him, but what do you know?  Historically, you’ve been terrible at knowing who wants to pay you for sex. He looks nice, like he could be your friend. Up until you tell him you’ve got a boyfriend – even if it’s a lie – , or you tell him you’re only interested in being friends. Then you’d go home and see he’s blocked you on all the social media accounts you’d given each other. But really, in class, you’re gonna have to talk to him, for group assignments, or whatever, you don’t have a choice, do you? So, you say your name,