In The Dumps

It feels like a dream, not real at all, but it is. Standing here, my heart is beating slowly, my breathing perfectly relaxed, and I never thought that would be possible. I look down at the large metal cuffs around my ankles fastened to the wall, my hands tied with the rope above my head. If anyone saw me now, they would think I was here unwillingly; my friends would freak out if they knew I agreed. 

Marcus Mancini stands before me, his leather chaps slightly open as his hand grips the leather whip and his wicked smile melts my heart, I should have ran, I know I should have. I am falling in love, and even I know Marcus Mancini is not a man you want to love.

I never thought a month ago, that walking into that interview room would have the end result of me being here, not at all. He saved me in so many ways, and while I enjoy every aspect of this relationship, I know he will never truly be mine, somewhere, somehow, he will always be hers. 

A month before...

Another rejection, I sit outside on the curb, the rain pouring down as my tears fall, I am grateful for the rain, it hides the fact I am crying from the world. A world that is quickly passing me by. The tears are burning down my cheeks as I wonder how I am going to get by, how am I going to even live life anymore? I don’t want to go back, but it seems like right now my only choice is to go back. Go to college they said, go to university, you will find it easier to get a job if you do. Well, here I am at 26, I graduated from university two years ago, and no job, still. Okay, I may have messed up my life and only started college at 18, but I still did it. What do I get told though, at interviews?

"Too experienced, sorry." Sometimes it isn’t even about my experience, sometimes I feel like it is me, like they can see I am living down to the last penny and they say. “Sorry, but not this time" because they can see I am losing in life.

Everyone seems to want someone they can train so that they can start on the lowest pay possible. Some want those who are already known in the company by someone else who works there. Others take one look at me and see I am not rich; I don’t have parents high up who can be an achievement to a company. They look at my cheap suit and decide no as soon as they see me.

So here I am, the bitter tears burning my cheeks, my body shaking from the cold, and I have no idea how I will afford to eat this week, how I will even live.

I laugh to myself thinking maybe now it is time to accept I can't get a job, and just become a hooker, why did I even go to university? The fact is, even becoming a hooker sounds more appealing than going home back to those who made me lie and hate myself.

"Excuse me, are you okay?" My body jumps as I look up and nod in response. The man stands there, holding his umbrella over my body, a gentle look on his face. I try to smile but I can’t, he is looking at me weirdly, maybe because I am sitting on a street that is full of expensive businesses, and I probably right now look homeless.

"You don't look it, everything okay?" He questions me again looking at me and waiting for my response, what's the harm in telling him? Heck, it isn't like I will ever see this guy again. 

Here I am Anaya, getting ready to tell a strange, random guy in the street my issues because let's face it, I have no one else to talk to.

"Life, you know how it is. My dad pushed me to go to college and university, even left it in his will, well I did and no job, and two years later, and no job, everyone said no." He doesn’t say anything as I continue.

"I wasted my life going to college then university and for what? Nothing, nothing at all." I feel my anger rise as the tears fall quicker. Anger towards everything and everything right now, the whole world. He stretches out his arm towards me.

"I'm Marcus, look, I need a personal assistant, and usually it is one of my many workers who pick and choose them but not today. If you're willing to come to an interview, I will guarantee you get a yes at the end of it, if you want the job that is." His words are quiet and quick as I laugh, my head shaking at him, I am not a fool. Personal assistant? Yeah right!

"Yeah, sure let's do it. I mean where do you live? Because I am guessing that is the address you will give me for the interview. Maybe a hotel or is that too expensive, possibly a motel that you can pay for just the hour. Sorry, but no." My mind screams at me, there I was thinking about how it doesn’t seem like too bad of an idea to become a hooker and I just shot him straight down.

Maybe I was wrong, and I am not willing to even consider it. I hear him laugh, it slowly getting louder as I look up at him, Passersby’s turning to see. His laugh is amazing, truly amazing. I watch as his hand slips into his pocket as he shakes his head. He pulls out a card on holds it out to me.

"No, by personal assistant I mean someone to help me with personal things yes, but not sex, not in any way at all. I am Marcus Mancini." I take his card. I stay sitting on the floor looking up at him, his name doesn’t stand out. So, no doubt a small firm. I look at his card. Marcus Mancini Enterprises, no indication as to what he actually does though.

I hear my mind now telling me off, I was so quick to assume he was trying to pay me for sex, why the hell would he even consider giving me his business card?

"Sorry, hard few years, I would be very grateful if you would be willing to still give me a chance, even after what I just accused you of." I am a fool, of course, I am, he isn't going to.

"Sure thing, the address is on there, I will see you tomorrow at 10 AM?" Is he questioning me? Surely, he should tell me when I should be there. I can’t afford to question him though; I need this job.

"That is fine thank you." He nods and reaches out again, my hand taking his, as he pulls me up from the puddle, I was sitting in.

"This is for you to read through, it is about the job in more detail." He hands me some papers in an envelope, nodding I take it from him. I should get home and read, so there is nothing I get wrong tomorrow.

"Thank you." I turn to walk away, his hand still grasping mine.

"Take this, you are very wet, and well I would rather if you didn't get wetter walking home." He hands me his umbrella and walks off, my eyes watching him walk and get into a car, not a cheap one either. One I see as being a waste of money.

Okay, I can do this, of course, I can. Walking home I get in and change out of my wet clothes straight away. I hang up his umbrella, I will return it tomorrow. I walk in and sit down. Grabbing the envelope, I look at it. I should read them, so I know what I will be doing as his personal assistant. There could be things in there he will ask me about to check I read it, so that is all I will do tonight.

My hands pull out the papers, ignoring the cover I flip to the second page, my eyes widening at the words “The Brat consents”. I quickly turn back to the first page, my eyes catching the words.

"Brat And Master Contract."

My hands begin placing it down. I hope that is not what he intended to give me. He said personal assistant and the first three words I read in this contract; tell me it is not a personal assistant job form. Surely it was a mistake? I accused him of trying to pay me for sex, surely, he wouldn’t have given me this if he had known?

I can't stop myself though; my hand picks the papers back up as I begin reading more and more of it. Each time I read more I become more nervous and anxious and I should not go to the interview, yet I need the money. It isn’t like this is the first time I have heard some of these things. However, it is the first time I have seen it so in-depth, real and not just like something to play around and test.

Tomorrow is going to end in me having the job, but, I am unsure if I will mention to him that he gave me the wrong papers. I need to sleep, going there and looking worn out, while looking like I am starving and homeless won’t be a good look. 

Rolling over, I go to sleep, the words from the contract flying through my mind, my dreams shifting into brief visions relating to his contract. I feel myself turning and unsettled. Waking up I feel far more tired than before I went to sleep. My mind instantly thinks about that contract, why am I so obsessed with it? I try to forget about it, my mind telling me questions he might ask, and how best to answer them.

I get ready and begin the walk to the address on his card, the contract in my bag. Why I brought it I don’t know, but I felt I should have. I am still not sure if I am going to point out he gave me the wrong one or not.