TW: transphobic slurs, sex work, sex worker antagonism, food, implied stalking

CHAPTER TWO

a river in egypt

"I, uh... I..." Blushing cheeks, awkward glances, and a smile that seemed ready to fly off of his face. My last customer of the night was a good one, for a change. Even if it was painfully obvious why he had to pay for his dates.

Sorry, did I say date? I meant fucking.

Still, though. The awkwardness was cute. I pinched his cheek. "Will I be seeing you again?" I asked in my favourite sultry voice, pairing it with wide eyes and and a little bit of fluttering eyelash.

"I – uh -" He avoided my glance at that, and I could feel my heart sink a little. Either he couldn't afford it, or he'd decided one tranny fantasy roleplay was enough for him - "I had a good time. So – maybe." He smiled, and I felt a little better. He was pretty cute, after all. He was about my height, which usually made me a bit self-conscious, but he had the messy brown hair and the puppy-dog smile that made it work.

He leaned in a little, as if he were going to kiss me goodnight – and then instead, squeezed my hand, and turned away. "H-have a good night!" he called over his shoulder.

"You too," I whispered, even though the sky was lightening and lights were already flickering on in the motel rooms above my head. The envelope in my purse felt ridiculously heavy, even though two hundred dollars didn't really come out to much when it was in twenties and fifties. I didn't know why I was getting so bothered today. It's not being a hooker that bothers me, or even the fact that I'm living out a fucked-up stereotype. I don't know what it is.

Well, whatever it was, it was money. I'd made six hundred dollars tonight, enough for rent and groceries even if I struck out for the rest of the month. Even better, I'd made contact with a couple new potential clients. Maybe they'd come back. Maybe they wouldn't. I'd made up my mind not to care.

I made my way down the road, high heels clacking against the asphalt as I walked away from the motel. It was only five minutes from here to the coffee shop near campus, and by now they'd be opening their doors, waiting for the opening staff to straggle in, closely followed by the bright-eyed morning people who'd decided for some godforsaken reason to take 7:30 classes. You know the kind of place I mean. That quintessential campus-adjacent coffee shop.

By the time I got there, it was already filling up, but I managed to sneak to the front of the line, and snag my corner table before some idiot freshman could steal it – the chair braced against two walls, below something that looked like a Jackson Pollock painting and a photograph of Sylvia Plath. The whole place is like that – arthouse nightmare. I'm quite happy spending my mornings (evenings?) here, reading a horror novel and drinking bad campus coffee. If that was the only reason to come here, that would be fine. It's a place to rest my sore legs a little bit, before I have to go home and wash off the smell of sex.

I pulled the book a little higher over my face, eyes darting up over the edge to watch the people coming in. It was almost eight. Goldilocks was late.

And then through the door they came, a gaggle of them, loud and spirited and smiling – well, most of them. It was a group of teenagers, some of them maybe in their 20s, all of them clearly fresh out of bed and not quite ready for class. I don't know. They all looked like teenagers to me.

"I swear to god, if he's taking us through another basic function -"

"Aw, stop your whining. It's not his fault you read the whole textbook in the first week."

I lowered my eyes back to my book. I could still hear his voice.

"If they didn't want me to read the whole fucking book, they shouldn't have made it so easy!" he complained. A chair scraped against the floor. "Gimme a sec. I got my change somewhere here."

"How many pockets do you have?"

"As many as I fuckin' want to, Ling. Shut your face."

A smile crept onto my face at that, even though I kept my gaze stubbornly down at the words that I hadn't actually started reading. My chest was doing strange things again, and I pulled the strap of my dress back up my shoulder, fingers lingering a little. Let people think I was laughing at Pet Sematary. Who cared what they thought?

The conversation died down, and I could hear him in the background, ordering his coffee. Black, three sugars, and two chocolate croissants. Same thing every day. The others were talking about other things, tapping away on their keyboards or smartphones, some of them flipping through textbooks.

Then, suddenly, one of his friends was making his way towards me, and I raised my head, sipping my coffee and making eye contact.

"Hello, Ling." I couldn't help but sound a little sultry. Having to listen to someone's really wild sex every day when you're trying to sleep makes it hard not to tease.

He smiled in return, although his dark, narrow eyes didn't give anything away. "Envy. Last time I checked, you weren't even in school."

"And last time I checked, you couldn't be bothered to give me the time of the day. Can't a girl get some coffee in peace?"

"You've been in here for two months, every single day. I don't think you even stepped foot in the place before that."

I shrugged. "I like the coffee. I like the atmosphere." And the view. "Somebody's cranky. Thought you'd be in a better mood with all the screaming you were doing last night."

He shifted at that, obviously uncomfortable even as he affected a certain carelessness, hands in his pockets and his long fringe falling into his eyes. "I can't do anything about thin walls," he retorted, smile unchanged. "Just because you live below my boyfriend doesn't mean I have to be comfortable with you being here."

"It's a free fucking country -"

He sat down on the chair next to me, eyes still unreadable but the muscles in his neck taut. He was dressed pretty normally today for a change, black skinny jeans and a yellow hoodie for the November weather, and whether it was fair or not, it made me more wary of him. I trusted people who looked like I did. The minute they dressed to fit in, took off their makeup and high-heels and barrettes, I found myself a little more cautious, feeling a little less safe.

Or maybe I just didn't like Ling. That was also a possibility.

"I'm going to make this very clear," he murmured, voice low and silky, but with a tone that left no room for argument. "Stop following him."

"I'm not following him." Technically, true.

"Whatever it is you're doing. Stop it." He crossed his arms. "Ed's been through enough bullshit without somebody showing up every day ogling him, or stalking him, or..."

"Drinking coffee?" I replied with a raised eyebrow, and tried not to grin when he glared back in frustration. Instead, I curled my lip at him, closing my book and leaving my thumb inside to mark the pages. "I'm not going to leave just so you can feel like your favourite hang-out is hooker free."

"That's not going to work on me."

"Really? You look pretty guilty," I shot back. "Besides, I don't rob cradles." I poked him in the chest with a manicured finger. "Now are you going to let me finish my coffee or not? I had a long night, ya know."

"Don't worry, I know. I can smell it on you."

With that lovely comment, Ling got to his feet, tightening his ponytail as he walked away. I watched him go, and felt my lip lifting into a snarl – but I lowered my face back to my book, steadfastly not looking in that direction.

It didn't last long. Before a minute had gone by, my gaze was drawn inexorably back upwards. Ling was ordering coffee, so he didn't notice. And Goldilocks himselfwas sitting at the table, ranting about something or other, mismatched hands waving wildly in the air, wisps of blond hair escaping from his rushed and messy braid.

It was something out of a romance movie, on the surface of it. Except I wasn't some cute girl in a coffee shop, and he wasn't a mysterious stranger. I knew his name. I knew plenty about him. His name was Edward Elric; he was seventeen years old, he was a genius who'd gotten into university early...

I don't think I've ever hated someone so much before.

Mid-sentence, he glanced up, and I found myself making eye contact with him. He blinked in surprise, and I averted my eyes, hoping he hadn't noticed, blood rising to my cheeks.

Have I mentioned how much I hate romance movies?

A buzzing emanated from my purse, and I dropped the book on the table, happy for the distraction. "Who is it?"

"Envy." Lust purred, and a shiver ran down my back. Whoops. "Mind explaining why there's a strange boy in your bed, with 'Don't Call The Police' on a piece of paper taped to the pillow? It's even got your sad attempt at a signature at the bottom."

Believe me or not, I'd actually forgotten. "...Well, did you?"

"Did I what?"

"You know. Call them."

She sighed. "Of course not. I'm not that stupid. But as much as I've gotten used to strange boys in your bed, this one's on the young side. He looks like a toddler."

"I found him outside."

"So we're picking up strays now?"

"You saw his face." I caught sight of Ling, giving me a measured stare. I turned my face away, pushing down the urge to throw something at him and tell him to stop fucking spying on my conversations. And he called me creepy. "What did you want me to do?"

"Why is it you only stop being a psychopath when it's inconvenient for me?"

"Because it's how I show my love."

"I don't remember asking for that."

"Too bad. You're stuck with me." I stretched, feeling my shoulders crack and my spine stretch, and wondering idly if Edward was watching. "I'm coming home in a minute, so hold your horses."

"What if he wakes up? Children scare me."

"Just do what you do with adults."

"I'm pretty sure that'll get me arrested."

"Har de har. I'll be home soon. Bye." I hung up, snorting as I tried to imagine Lust being motherly. It wasn't that hard of a stretch – she managed it with Gluttony – but he was also kind of a special case. And besides, she got paid for that.

I slung my purse over my shoulder and picked up my coffee, pushing my chair in with one foot. I'd forgotten all aboutthe kid – I'd only dimly remembered last night that Lust wasn't working today, and beyond that I think my brain hadn't woken up yet.

And now I'm half-asleep again. Fantastic. I grumbled something undecided to myself as I headed for the door.

"Careful!" The door opened in my face, I staggered backwards – I'd been too lost in thought to pay attention to my surroundings, and the long night hadn't helped – and I could feel myself falling. A hand brushed ineffectually over my shoulder, someone's attempt to help, but I landed on the floor ass-first anyway. The coffee I'd been savouring sloshed all over my top, and I winced, setting the cup down on the floor and trying to shake the still-hot liquid off my hand. Graceful. Real fucking graceful.

"Oh, nice one, Ed. What was that, practice for the slow-motion Olympics?"

"Would you shut up, Russell? I'm kind of two limbs short."

Oh. Oh no. Fuck this shit. I staggered to my feet, and there was a hand on my arm helping me up - "I'm fine, I'm fine," I stammered out.

"Are you sure? You should be more careful," Edward said with a frown, eyes fixed firmly on mine even as I tried to look away. Then the frown disappeared into a sheepish grin. "I was trying to catch you."

"...Yeah. Cool."

The movies fucking lied to me.