Unconventional // z.m.

v. In Which She Is Used

Above: Diamond (but also me bc Harry and Liam are taking so damn long to release their solo shìt kmt)

"Hey," Diamond greets.

"Hi," Sophia says into the phone. "Got a call from one of your many admirers tonight."

Diamond rolls her eyes. "Name?"

"Zayed," Sophia reads from her list. "Zayed Malak."

Diamond knows immediately that the caller is Zayn. Aside from the fact that it's the same pseudonym he used last time, it's stupidly close to his real name. Plus, he asked her what her name was after they were done. Nobody else has bothered doing that if they didn't know it already. "Oh."

"Yeah. Listen, there's another call I need you to handle, too."

Diamond sighs, her dreams of a relaxing night in shattered. "Where?"

"84 Oakham."

"By the oldies' bar?"

"That's the one."

"Alright. Did he ask for anything specific?"

"He wants you at his door naked," Sophia laughs.

"Oh god, he sounds like an old guy," Diamond groans. "Is he an old guy?"

"Sure sounded like it."

"Oh fùck, what if he goes into cardiac arrest mid-òrgasm and dies inside me?" she worries. "What if he does his back in or breaks his hip and I have to call the ambulance and they come in and I'm in nothing but a trench coat?"

Sophia only laughs harder.

"This isn't funny!" Diamond growls. "I hate you."

"I promise that whatever you have to charge him, I'll give you double that amount next time you come in to the office," Sophia vows, barely containing her giggles.

"You'd better."

"Oh! Oh, yes, that hits the spot!"

That hits the spot? Diamond mentally snorts. What the fùck?

"You like that?" the old man breathes, the stench of cigar smoke hitting her directly in the face.

"Yes," Diamond fake moans. If she makes it realistic it will be over faster. "Oh, yes, give it to me."

On cue, the old man's jittery thrusts turn into tired half humps before he stills completely as he releases into the condom. Diamond gives a sigh of relief, resisting the urge to cringe as his wrinkly body slumps on top of hers, trying to catch a breath. She sends a prayer to whoever is out there that he isn't having a heart attack, silently counting the seconds. A few painful minutes later, he rolls off of her and lights a cigar.

"How much?"

Diamond names her price (exagerrating a little as compensation for the traumatising experience) as she pulls on her trench coat, buttoning it whilst she waits for the old man to count out the notes.

"Here."

She pockets the cash and nods just once, feeling dirty. She's just been used by an old man who cannot be younger than 65, and she feels like scum. How'd he even get it up?

"I'll let myself out," she croaks. The old man doesn't hear her; he's fallen asleep mid-drag of his cigar and is no snoring loudly. Diamond considers taking the cigar out of his mouth and putting it out in case he chokes or the house burns down, but then she leaves it. She doesn't want to be in this house a second longer.

The night is chilly against her bare skin as she walks, the breeze diving beneath her trench coat. Somehow she thinks that people will know she's not wearing a stitch of clothing beneath her coat. She is afraid that a particularly strong gust of wind will blow past and she will find herself exposed, her intimate parts on show for all to see. She walks a little faster.

Soon, she passes a familiar building, and her feet stall. Zayn lives here. Zayn called for her earlier tonight. He could be up there right now, Diamond thinks. Maybe he simply ordered a different prostitute; Sophia didn't exactly mention whether he had. What if he didn't? She could go up there.

Wait, what?

No, she can't. She doesn't sleep with clients twice. She doesn't sleep with anyone twice. Ever. So why does
she feel such an urge to go up there?