Selling Satisfaction (26 page)

I'll never forgive myself if something bad happened to her.

I try to call one more time, but when it's only the voicemail, I hang up and shut the engine off to the car. I go inside to see if maybe she already has a table. The hostess helps me look for her, but neither of us can find her. I leave a message with the hostess, in case Hillarie does show up, asking her to call me. I leave my number just in case as well, then I go back to the car.

I'm not sure what I can do. I don't even know where in Clearwater she resides. I'm not a detective, I can't figure out clues that easily to determine her whereabouts or Travis's last name, or anything else of importance. The only thing I can do is file a missing persons report.

Except... I know a detective.

Fuck.

Shit.

Dammit.

Racing back home, I park my car next to Everett's truck. I trudge inside, straight for his door. With a deep inhale of breath, I give myself the courage it takes to pound on his door. My fist hurts, but he doesn't answer, so I continue to bang on it. "Everett," I yell. "I know you're in there. Open the damn door."

I can hear him again. I
know
he is inside. I know he knows this is me. What I don't know is why he can't at least tell me face to face what is going on. But I'm not here for myself, I'm here for Hillarie. I need to find her. I need to make sure she is okay.

"You need to open the damn door," I yell. "I'm not leaving until you do." Using both fists this time, I pound as hard as I can, probably pissing his neighbors on the first floor off. Probably even whomever lives above him. "This is an emergency. It isn't about us, this is important. Open the door. Please!"

A second later the door opens, Everett stands in the way, crossing his arms. His jaw rocks back and forth as he stares at me, non-too amused by my loud persistency. "I'm busy, I have shit going on if you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, I've fucking noticed," I hiss back at him. "This isn't about us I said. This is... I need your help."

He rolls his eyes. "With what?"

My lip starts to quiver before I can speak again. He isn't just breaking my heart, he is shredding it to pieces. "I... I know you're a detective. And my friend. My friend Hillarie... I think something happened to her, Everett. Help me, please?" Tears start rolling down my cheeks despite trying to keep my emotions in check. I can't hold them back, especially seeing him look at me the way he does, and the fact I'm still here begging and pleading for his help, it's all too much. Yet I continue, because I
need
to find Hillarie. "I need to find her," I whisper through the pain.

"What happened?" The lack of sympathy reminds me why I don't trust the police.

"She mentioned the other day on the phone that her fiancé had hit her. It was bad enough she lost her baby. And when she was telling me about it, I think he showed up, because she got all awkward on the phone. We were supposed to meet for lunch just now, and she didn't show up. Her phone is off, and I... I just have a bad feeling Everett. Please? I wouldn't be here begging for your help if I didn't need it."

His body relaxes as he runs his hands over his face. With a low rumble under his breath, he looks at me once more. He stares for all of a second before he says, "Let me get my things. I'll be right out. We're taking my truck though."

"Thank you." I turn and race for his truck. Checking my phone once I get out there in case she's called- and when I have nothing from her, I try her phone once more. It's still off.

He climbs into the driver side when he comes out, not saying a word to me as I hop up into the passenger seat. He revs the engine before pressing some buttons on the GPS, finding his way to Clearwater.

It's going to be a long, awkward six plus hours in the truck with him. Maybe we can talk about what is going on between us- or maybe it'll be this way the entire drive.

I stare out the window while he turns up the music- country of all genres. I honestly don't know if it to be sad, angry, frustrated, scared, or.... everything rolled into one. Whatever it is I'm feeling, it's nothing I want to feel again.

After thirty minutes of exceptionally awkward silence, he asks, "What is her full name?"

"Hillarie Trapp." I look at him instead of the out the window.

"Do you know her date of birth?"

"I know she's twenty four, and her birthday is in February, I'm not sure the day."

"Who is her fiancé?"

"His name is Travis. I don't know his last name. All I know is he's wealthy and has a yacht. I'm in the dark about everything else."

"And you're good friends?" He gives me a sideways look. "Doesn't sound it."

"We used to be best friends, and we're still close, but not like before. They haven't been together long, they got engaged fast. When she told me about him, we got in a fight, okay. I don't need to know that I'm a horrible friend, or a horrible person in general, I just need to find her."

He glances at me for another quick second, then picks up his phone to make a call.

"Hey... Sorry man, I'm heading out to Clearwater for a side investigation... Yes, name Hillarie Trapp, age twenty four, fiancé Travis. The information I have is limited, but I need to find one of them... Yes, she's missing... No, no report has been made yet... Yeah man, that is why I said a side investigation. It's for someone I know... Yes... Yes... Thank you, Jeff."

He hangs up the phone. "My partner Jeff is going to try to help from the office." After a second pause, his voice drops an octave. "You knew I was a detective? How long?"

Everett continues to stare ahead. I watch as his knuckles turn white from gripping harder into the steering wheel while he waits for me to tell him the truth. "This past weekend. I was looking to see if you had gum while you were cooking breakfast, I opened your drawer and saw your badge."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Would it matter?" I ask. "Once you found out about my past you decided I was no longer worthy of you." Crossing my arms, I lean back into the seat, unable to look at him any longer.

"You think that is what has been going on?" His voice rises again. "You think I'm going to hold your past against you, Brenna?"

"It's the only explanation," I mutter.

"Fuck that," he shouts. His voice echoing around the cab of the truck. "Brenna, I don't hold anything that happened to you in your past against you. What happened to you, what you did to cope. If anything, it made me fall for you harder."

I'm so damn confused...

I stare at Everett once more, unsure if I know what is going on with my life right now. "This is how you treat someone you're in love with? You ignore them, and toss out the flowers they sent you, and make them feel two inches tall?"

"Dammit, Brenna, that isn't how I treat the girl I'm in love with." He pulls the truck off to the side of the road, shoving the gear into park with a speed that causes both of us to jerk forward. He turns his body towards me, and it’s all happening so fast, my own head is spinning. "That is how I treat the woman I fell head over fucking hells in love with, then found out the following morning was a God damn prostitute!"

Reality comes crashing into me hard. Vomit to rise in my throat. Swallowing against it, I watch Everett closely, waiting for him to burst out with laughter... but he doesn't, so I know I'm not being punked. Now I understand. "You're... Michael?"

"Yes,
Chasity
, I am." Settling back into his seat, he slides the truck back into drive, pulling back out onto the road behind a minivan, passing it a short time later. All the while I'm debating on what to say, or how to act, or... if I should apologize or not.

Before I'm able to say anything to him though, he decides he wants to know about me. I'm not sure if for his investigation or for his personal reasoning’s, but at this rate, I guess it doesn't exactly matter too much. "Why would you do that to yourself, Brenna? Why would you allow people to use you, and fuck you like some kind of whore, and treat you like shit? Why would you fall to such a low, when I know damn well you're a better person than all that? Huh?"

"It isn't like that, Everett. It was a decision I made at seventeen, a way to make myself feel powerful. I enjoyed that feeling. Then the money I made, and the ability to get away from my demons, even if for a little while... it was a benefit to a lifestyle I fell in love with."

"You sell yourself for money," he states coldly.

"I'm not selling myself... I'm selling satisfaction."

"What is the difference?"

"That I've never allowed anyone to own me. No one knows
me.
They don't know my name, where I came from, what I like, where I rest my head at the end of the day. They don't know my routines or addictions, what I love nor what I hate. They know Chasity, someone made up, someone I pretend to be. I don't sell them myself, I don't give any piece of me, I give them satisfaction, that is what they're buying from me. Sometimes it's to talk, sometimes it's for sex, yes, other times it's for lunch or dinner dates, or something else altogether."

It takes Everett a few minutes to say anything, but it isn't at all what I had hoped for. "For three years you've sold sex for money. Those bruises you got? That was from a client, I assume." I nod slowly, and I know he sees. "And you're okay with that? You're okay with making love with me one night and fucking a different guy the following night? How many times did we have sex together on a night you had sex with someone else first?" Before I open my mouth he adds, "Don't answer that. I don't want to know. It doesn't matter anyway. I can't be with a whore."

The burning hot pain in my chest expands. For what feels like the millionth time this week tears spring from my eyes. I deserve it though, every single thing he says to me. I should have been honest before now. We both should have been honest with each other.

According to the ETA on the GPS, we have five hours remaining until we're in Clearwater. This is definitely going to be the most miserable ride I've ever experienced, but if I'm going to sit here with Everett, I may as well tell him my side of the story. He doesn't have to understand, he doesn't have to forgive me- although I want him to- but I need him to at least listen.

"I thought I fell in love with one of my foster brothers at fifteen. He protected me against my foster dad who would hit me every time he got drunk, which were more nights than none. He'd sneak me out in the middle of the night to go up to the roof and watch planes fly over us. He treated me so sweet and kind, and I became head over heels in love with him. At least, I thought I did. If I had nightmares he'd hold me for hours while I sobbed, if I couldn't find access to wash my clothes, he'd steal quarters and bring me to the laundry mat. He helped me when I didn't have anyone. I mean, I had my friend Lisa, but it wasn't quite the same.

"I lost my virginity to him, and he promised me that one day we would run away together. I thought I'd marry him, until I came home one day and he was naked, in bed with my best friend. It only added to the amount of pain I went through day in and day out. I had tried drugs before, I had tried drinking. None of it made me feel better, but I went out that night to get drunk anyways. I didn't care what had happened to me, I just needed to erase the pain."

"Where is this getting at, Brenna?"

"Let me explain," I urge. "That night I got insanely drunk, I was throwing up, I felt like shit both physically and mentally. Then I met someone who was attractive- at least, drunk me thought so- and it felt powerful that it didn't take much to seduce him. The following night was a different guy. The next weekend was another guy. I realized that I actually enjoyed it. That I could sleep with attractive guys at any age and they didn't stick around to break my heart. I could flash my boobs to get money for laundry, or show a little leg to get free food. The power of seduction and sex was all-consuming, and I became addicted to it.

"Eventually I saved enough money to buy a bus ticket. When I got to the Greyhound I purchased the first trip out of there that cost under forty dollars. It brought me to Pensacola. Less than a week in town, I was in a nightclub where I met a wealthy man who offered to pay for my services. The woman who is now my proxy overhead our exchange, in fact I think she was fishing for new girls, and she found me that way. Told me what she did for a living, how much I'd get paid most nights, and it all went downhill from there.

"I never thought there was anything wrong in what I did. You basically paid for me. I mean, think of all the dates we've been on. How much money you've spent to make me happy, then you took me to bed. It's the same concept, but with being an escort, I don't fall in love. I don't reveal the true me. I don't hand my heart over to someone who doesn't understand quite how fragile it is, only to allow it to disintegrate. So you may see a million things wrong with what I do, but I never did. Not until I fell in love with you. I told you this past week I was looking for a new job. I told you I wanted to change. I wanted to tell you the truth about what I did, but I was waiting. But damn you if you hold it against me, especially when you, too, were lying to me!"

"I'm not angry you lied." His voice sounds defeated, so hopefully that means I got to him... even if a little bit. "I lied too, and I'm sorry for that. I really am sorry. I'm angry that you were still screwing guys after we confessed our love to one another. After we
made
love."