My Sweet Boy 2: The Keeping

Jason POV

It was just money. I needed it, she had it, it was a fair exchange. Nothing else!

The first few days after it happened, that's what I kept telling myself on repeat.

I chanted it in the shower. I chanted it while I was getting dressed. I chanted it under my breath while I made coffee like some pathetic fucking mantra I was trying to turn into a spell. Maybe, just maybe… if I said it enough times, it would start feeling true.

On the first day, I woke up late and zoned out for a long time, just staring out the window and just laid there, the sheets had twisted uncomfortably around my waist. I physically felt exhausted, worse than I ever had after a full day at the gym followed by a double shift. I didn’t want to move.

There was this weighted pressure that sat low in my hips, the kind that made me aware of every joint that connected to it. I could tell it was partially my own guilt manifesting into literal pain but a tiny part of me also knew it was from fucking her the way did. I went to roll unto my side and noticed I had woken up hard. With a frustrated groan, I threw my pillow across the room and slowly sat up. Oddly enough, during my shower, I was grateful to be back under the shitty water pressure because it was nothing like hers. I stood under it longer than I needed to, watching the thin stream run down my chest, then I soaped the same spots twice, three times, before forcing myself to stop because my skin had begun stinging.

I repeated the mantra again.

It was just money. I needed it, she had it, it was a fair exchange.

Now, I didn’t expect the memory of her to disappear just like that, especially not overnight but fuck, what I didn’t expect would be the constant reminders. They came when I rolled over and caught the faint scent of her perfume still latched unto my skin. They came when I stood under the shower and my hand wrapped around myself. They came when I was in bed alone and nearly jumped out of my skin because I could have sworn I heard her whisper. But every time they threatened to choke me, I didn’t let myself think for too long. Instead, I grabbed my phone and texted Katie.

Her unread texts from that night were still on my phone but I couldn't bring myself to think of ten more lies so I ignored them and sent a generic good morning text saying I had hoped her night was more restful than mine. I tried my best to keep the tone normal, you know, laughing when I should have, gasping dramatically when she’d share a story, things like that. Nothing that demanded more from me. I waited after every response for the stupid little delivered checkmark before putting my phone away. As usual, she responded when she had time and I kept the day going just like that and by the time she finally answered, I was already at The Daily, smiling at customers like everything was fucking peachy.

I kept doing that for the next two days. I was calling alot more than I should have, texting her on my break even when I didn’t really have anything to say. It felt like if I stayed connected to her, if I kept reaching out, then maybe the other thing wouldn’t feel so loud in my head and the guilt that had yet to settle, would ease off. It was hope that I could balance the scales somehow if I flattened the memory. Katie had seemed surprised at first which was natural, but she didn’t question it, she just sounded happy to hear from me and really that should’ve made me feel better but it did the opposite.

Working shifts between The Daily and Darque helped a lot, it kept me distracted. They allowed me to get lost in the rhythm of it all, I was going above and beyond, offering support when it wasn't needed. At the cafe I was sharper, more attentive, it even earned me a pat on the back from Mr. Ruiz, even mentioning a potential raise. But every time my hands slowed for even a second the hotel suite tried to climb back up behind my eyes and it would all flood in instantly. The feel of her plump, perfectly-shaped red-stained lips, the weight of her looking at me, the exact way her fingers had closed around my wrist, the sounds I couldn’t keep muffled even while my throat was locked around the word stop.

These gave me chills every damn time.

My heart was permanently on speed.

I texted Katie on my first break, then again two hours later when she still hadn’t answered the first one. I was telling myself a lot of shit just in different fonts. This time, I told myself it was because I was trying to be a better person, a better boyfriend, a better employee, but that felt empty... I knew I was just scared that if I slowed down, my mind would drag me back to that hotel room. To the way it felt being so deep inside of her, the words that came from her mouth, her smile as I had nearly fallen off the bed, and oh god the worse of it all was how hard I finished just for her.

When I got home from Darque, the silence was worse. I’d lean against the counter and stare at my phone, fingers hovering between opening chats and the games folder to help pass the time but instead I had opened my banking app just to look at the number. Then I closed it, then opened it again. My balance was exactly what it should have been, no surprise deposits, no extra zeros, nothing that could prove the whole night had been a long fever dream. Obviously the money was gone, already sent to the school, but I still had to make sure. I knew I didn’t deserve it but I kept waiting to feel something normal. Regret, maybe. Or relief. Instead, I just felt… off. Like something inside me had been misplaced and I didn’t know where to look for it. I wanted to convince myself it was because I was tired and that once the stress of the money was gone, I’d go back to normal but that was just fucking wishful thinking. Plus, I was tired already of lying to my reflection.

The sleep demons in my room laughed at me whenever I tried. Every time I drifted I felt the ghost of her palm against the back of my neck and jerked awake with my heart going too fast.

On the third night, I caught myself staring at nothing while I was wiping down the last table. The newest evening manager at Darque had to say my name twice before I snapped out of it. I laughed it off, told her I was just zoning out, but the truth was I’d been thinking about her. About the way she’d looked at me when I walked into that suite. About how her tongue tasted in my mouth while my fingers brushed against that fleshy part inside her walls. About how easy it had been for her to get me to do exactly what she wanted.

That was the most embarrassing part. I was easy… For her.

Damn it, stop it! Repeat the mantra!

It was just money. I needed it, she had it.

After a slow and drawn-out shift, I stopped by the convenience store a block away to stock up on milk and eggs and then headed straight home. After putting them away, I sat on the couch with my phone in my hand for almost twenty minutes before texting Katie. Just an innocent “hey, you still up?” She called me instead of texting back. I answered on the first ring and tried to sound like a decent boyfriend who was present. We didn’t really talk much about anything, she flipped topics every few sentences, bringing out some genuine laughs from me which I appreciated. A few “I miss yous” here and there, and some vague plans about date night next Wednesday. She told me about her day, some story about a coworker she had to fire, how tired she felt, and the usual soft back-and-forth. Her laugh was the same one I’d been hearing for two years and for a few minutes it almost worked. The sound of her filled the quiet corners of the apartment and the other thing receded just enough that I could breathe around it.

After we hung up, I didn't move, the lights were still out, the darkness was beginning to feel comfortable. I had a sickening realization that while I was answering her, some colder part of me kept noting the difference in how I went out of my way to be careful with every word. How the space between us felt thicker yet fragile, like glass I could see through but couldn't physically past and from her angle, everything looked as perfect as it could be, meanwhile my point of view was far from.

I kept repeating my mantra.

It was just money. She needed me and I needed her.

Wait… no… that’s not how the script went.