Their Paid Girl

Their Paid Girl - Part 46

Part 46

SIX MONTHS LATER  

I leaned back against the headrest of Adam's car, and watched nature blur outside my window. Adam was sitting relaxed in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, pulling it smoothly around the gentle bends in the road.

Just like the last time we'd made this trip, we barely talked. But unlike the first time, our silence was comfortable and content.

Well, sort of content. I still couldn't get rid of the vague nervousness that would occasionally give my stomach a sudden twist, leaving me feeling on edge. The anxiety was left over from the talk that Adam and I had had with his parents three days ago.

Mr. and Mrs. Ferrell had come to our campus at my request, and, in a small coffee shop, the four of us had sat down and I had told them my entire history. I hadn't wanted to keep it a secret between us, nor between Adam and his parents. But my anxiety had been awful; I hadn't known how they would react to the revelation that their son's girlfriend had been lying to hundreds of other families for the entirety of her undergraduate studies, pretending to date boys she had no feelings for, all for the sake of money.

When it came to Jaime and explaining my reasons for going on paid dates, I had calmly given them the facts. But I didn't try to justify my way of generating extra income; doing something wrong could never be fully justified, so I didn't make any excuses for myself.

The only thing I didn't tell the Ferrells was Adam's involvement in the payment of Jaime's surgery. I figured that it was his decision when and if to tell them.

Overall, they had been very polite. They had listened in almost total silence, which had been nerve-wracking beyond words. And when I had finished talking they had been very nice, thanking me for telling them, then proceeding to ask me how my finals were going.

The lack of a proper reaction and the abrupt change of topic had utterly confused me, and overall, I had no idea how to feel. I couldn't tell if it had been a good idea to tell them or not, except for the fact that I knew I would never have felt entirely comfortable with them if I hadn't been honest. But I couldn't tell if they had been shocked, or disgusted or angry with me. I couldn't gauge them at all.

And Adam was, of course, utterly unhelpful. After his parents had left and we walked back to my dorm, I had questioned him, trying to figure out if he knew what his parents had thought of the whole thing. I might as well have been asking the stone gargoyle that stood at the main entrance to our campus; Adam gave me a vague "it was fine, don't worry about it," and that was all I could get out of him. His vagueness only increased my sense of unease.

But the climax of my anxiety had arrived yesterday, when Adam had suddenly informed me that his parents wanted to talk to us both, and had invited us out to their countryside estate – the scene of my nearly-disastrous evening with the Ferrells, the Westons, and Adam himself who had orchestrated the whole thing.

Why did they want to talk to us, and why was it something that apparently couldn't be discussed over the phone? I took it as the worst sign possible, that they had processed all the information I had dumped on them three days ago, and now I was going to get a taste of their true thoughts and feelings.

The knot in my stomach grew.

Suddenly, Adam placed his hand on my thigh and squeezed. I glanced over at him, and he gave me a cheerful wink, the ultimate picture of ease and contentment as he kept his car in an easy glide.

Well, at least one of us was happy. It was clear Adam wasn't thinking about the impending doom that we were drawing ever nearer to.

At least I had this time with Adam, and at least there was no screamo metal blasting from the radio, tearing both our nerves to shreds. Ever since Adam's confession that he hated screamo metal, I kept appreciating the fact that he had gone to such great lengths to annoy me back in the days when we had been confusing our passion with hatred. It was flattering, really.