IVORY LOOKED at her phone for what
seemed to be the millionth time tonight. Her eyebrows dipped in confusion; she thought that Spencer would at least send her a text message of some sort maybe thanking her for the food. She drove a whole thirty minutes to go to his favorite place, for him, and he didn't even ask her how her day was going.
But the man was probably busy, Ivory told herself. This was always the problem with her—she overthought every possible problem and solution, making her obsess over tiny little acts and insecurities.
Which was exactly why people constantly let her down. Because Ivory Arden couldn't help but expect the best out of others—because she tried her hardest pleasing everyone. But rarely they ever reciprocated.
She thought Spencer was different, but she supposed that it was only her who went lengths to impress others.
"Something bothering you tonight?" Her client asked. Ivory's head snapped up and she frowned, shaking her head.
"You know you can tell me. You know everything about me, I don't see why I can't know anything about you." The man responded; his name was Richard Seavers, the CEO of a large car company that she didn't care enough to remember.
"Nothing big." She said, smiling. "So, what's the plan tonight?"
"You tell me." The man responded, reaching into his bag.
/
Ivory winced, rubbing her blistered wrists as she sat on her couch inside her home. She closed her eyes—but immediately opened them again, her eyes darting around her home.
Her heart was racing, her throat dry. Ivory couldn't stop thinking about her client tonight. Richard Seavers was aggressive, not giving account her pain tolerance. She gritted her teeth, painfully looking down at her purple wrists—in which the cracked skin had dried blood welled up in it.
She was pissed; pissed, upset, and scared. Ivory hated these terrible nights when she came home feeling like a toy to others, and nothing else.
It was disgusting. Men were disgusting. She was disgusting.
She grabbed her chest, telling herself to calm down repeatedly, drawing in deep breaths slowly. When the woman realized she couldn't take it anymore—she broke. Crying, sobbing, piercing her fingernails into her palms by accident, with no one else around.
She didn't cry in front of others, because no one would listen to her anyways. No one would comfort her—why would they?
Ivory let out a choked sob, followed by a strangled scream, lifting herself onto her feet and heading to the bathroom, her cries echoing louder when she saw her own reflection.
Slut. Whore. Home-wrecker.
That was what she saw. Ivory saw a woman she didn't even recognize—someone completely foreign and so ugly.
She hated everything—she wished her life was normal. She wished that people could just be normal, quit reaching out to her. She wanted to stop.
Ivory wanted to stop so badly, but she couldn't. She was scared.
After hours sitting alone on her bathroom floor, Ivory stood up, her fingers curling around the edge of the sink counter as she regained her balance. She stared at herself one more time, wiping away her tears and putting on her strong face, straightening her shoulders.
The woman left her bathroom a different one than the woman who came inside. That was what she was good at—faking everything about herself. Being someone she truly wasn't.
Ivory climbed into bed—not even thinking about the man who had so diligently thought of her all day. But when her phone dinged, she reached for it quickly, heart jumping inside her chest knowing who it was.
SPENCER:
Are you still with your
client?
IVORY:
I'm at home now
Ivory tossed her phone aside, her mood rapidly changing when she remembered Spencer's lack of communication all day. But it began to rang out, and once again, the woman's heart started beating fast again as she raised her phone to her ear.
"I hope I didn't interrupt your sleep." Spencer said sheepishly on the other end, and she could just imagine his shy smile and the blush on his cheeks.
"No, I wasn't." Ivory said, clearing her throat when she realized how nasally her voice sounded.
Spencer seemed to notice it. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Caught a cold I think." Ivory lied, biting her lip.
"Need medicine? I have a plethora of treatments for you, and also homemade solutions as well. I can come over and make sure you don't have the coronavirus." Spencer said in a fast voice, and she heard shuffling on the other end, assuming he was already taking action.
"Maybe not tonight—I-I just need to sleep it off and I'll be okay." Ivory replied, but her voice was distant. She looked down at her bloody wrists, rubbing her bruised neck as well. He would definitely notice it all, and Ivory didn't want Spencer to see her like this.
"Oh—okay." He said, voice tinged with disappointment. "I guess I should leave you to sleep then—"
"No. Can-can you just stay on the call?" She quickly asked him.
"...yeah. Yeah, I can stay." Spencer muttered. "Are you sure everything is okay? You sound off."
"I'm fine." Ivory said, but her answer was emotionless as ever; that was a clear sign for Spencer what she really wasn't. The woman gulped, feeling a lump in her throat.
"...was it a client?" He asked her carefully.
Ivory bit her lip—she couldn't lie and tell him it wasn't, because it was. "Sometimes, it feels so wrong."
"What is?"
"Doing this. I don't know if it's worth it, Spencer." She said truthfully, the reality beginning to settle in.
"Ivory, then why are you doing it?" He asked her softly.
"I-I don't know." Ivory responded; she couldn't tell him why. She couldn't tell him that she was lonely, and that she needed some kind of somewhat supporting figure in her life—which happened to be her clients.
"Are you sure being an escort is what you want? In life?" Spencer asked her.
"I don't know." She responded, sighing. "I...don't think this is a conversation I really want to have."
"...okay." Spencer said. "But Ivy, you can't hide from reality. If you think you need help, I'll help you. Whatever is going on, you're not alone anymore."
Ivory felt the corner of her lips turn up, regardless of her crappy mood. "I know. Thanks." She muttered.
The truth was, escorting made her feel the tiniest bit more in control. It was a moment of peace from her constant insecurities, a moment where she knew that these men needed her. A moment where she felt slightly more wanted.
But it didn't last long. Because like tonight, she would come home feeling worthless once more.
"Ivy, I don't think you know your worth." Spencer said, chuckling softly.
She said nothing, not really knowing how to respond to the half-compliment. Spencer took it as a cue to explain himself, as he always did.
"The fact that you go so far to support and be there for others, even people you don't know or enjoy being with, is incredible." He said.
"It's my job to." Ivory said, her voice a little weak.
"Is it your job to deliver me food at lunch?" Spencer asked her, chuckling.
"Spencer, one: I enjoy you, and two: you're not even close to being one of my clients, so you can't compare yourself to them." The woman said bluntly, her voice sharp.
Spencer smiled—feeling a bit better after his coworkers' constant disapproval of Ivory's motives. "Well, you didn't have to, but you did. And I know it would've taken you thirty minutes to drive there, so don't even say it wasn't a big deal."
Ivory flushed, embarrassed that the man had caught on so quickly. "It wasn't. I was repaying you for last night."
"Ivory, I was the one who made you drive over to my apartment in the first place." He said. "You don't owe me a thing."
"Well, I felt like I did." She replied stubbornly.
"I know, Ivory." Spencer replied. "Which is why I think you should just be the mean one once in a while. Make me do things for you."
"Why would I want that?" Ivory asked him.
"Because then I get a chance to show you how much I appreciate you. Obviously." Spencer said nonchalantly, and Ivory madly blushed, her stomach fluttering madly at his kind words. She bit back a smile, sliding under her covers and finally grinning widely at the ceiling.
"Maybe...I'll try that sometime." She told him.
"Not sometime. Now." Spencer said.
"Hm?" Ivory asked him.
Suddenly her doorbell rang, and Ivory was shocked to hear the noise echo from her phone as well.
Shit.
The woman jumped up from her bed, ending the call immediately as she began to panic. Ivory ran to her closet, ripping it apart as she found a turtleneck to wear that covered up the bruising on her neck. The woman pulled on her bathrobe afterwards, glad that the sleeves were long enough to cover her wrists.
She checked her reflection, cursing when she saw the small cut she had on her lip—Spencer would definitely be noticing that. But when the doorbell rang another time, Ivory almost screamed in frustration, bolting downstairs and composing herself quickly, before swinging it open. She forced a smile for the awkward man standing there, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he eyed her up and down.
"Spencer, a warning would've been nice." She deadpanned, and he cheekily grinned.
"The thing is, I've been standing out here for fifteen minutes while calling you. I-I wasn't being creepy, I was going to surprise you but then you said that you wanted to go to bed, so I really didn't know what to do because I mean I'm already here and it'd be stupid of me to suddenly leave, so—" The man paused, noticing her eyes bore into his, blushing. "—yeah."
Ivory's heart melted into a puddle, her bad day suddenly being left in the dust. "You wanted to surprise me?" She asked him, chuckling as she stepped back, letting him through.
"Yeah." He said softly, stepping inside and gazing around casually. Spencer's eyes finally landed on hers, shifting back and forth.
She paused, awkwardly standing there staring back at the man, the words being blown out of her mouth.
Spencer snapped out of his trance, his eyebrows shooting up. "If you're tired, I can go."
"No. You're already here." Ivory responded, turning around and walking to her kitchen. "Thanks for coming."
"Yeah..." He mumbled. "So, you're sick?"
She nodded, letting out a fake cough sheepishly. "It's not that bad, though—"
"Nuh-uh. You never know what kind of bacterial infections or viruses are inside of you until it they take full effect." Spencer said, waving her out of the kitchen. "Go to the couch. I'll make you soup. Unless you don't like soup, I can make you herbal tea—"
"Spencer, it's really fine—"
"No it's not. Go." He ordered, and Ivory scoffed, being pushed to the living room by him. "Ivory, it's the least I can do."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't feel like eating, Spencer."
"Then I'll make you herbal tea." Spencer said, pulling out a pot—all whist making the biggest ruckus he possibly could.
Ivory sighed, dropping her head back on the couch. She felt guilty, because she wasn't actually sick—at all.
When the man came back with a mug in his hands, he plopped onto the couch next to the woman as she stared at him.
"Thanks, Spencer." Ivory replied tiredly.
"Mhm." He murmured, blowing into the liquid to cool it down. She blushed at the small action, itself meaning barely anything but at the same time meaning everything, to her.
"How was your day?" She asked him, rubbing her face.
"Honestly, quite bad." Spencer said.
"Why?"
"My coworkers can be jerks sometimes. And today was a paperwork-only kind of day so my butt hurts a lot." He said sheepishly, a laugh escaping her lips.
"What were they being jerks about?"
"...can't really remember. I just remember being angry." Spencer lied, not wanting to tell the woman about how they were trashing her.
"Then it's probably not a big deal." Ivory replied, smirking.
"I suppose." Spencer said. "How was yours?"
"Uneventful." She said simply, eyes diverting to the table, where she grabbed the remote off of, turning on the tv.
"How so?"
"Nothing happened." Ivory lied, shuffling closer to him. She felt their knees touch, but then suddenly backed off. "Sorry, I forgot I was sick—"
"You know, smaller microorganisms and viruses can only travel with skin to skin or direct contact and exchange of fluids." Spencer said blankly, his own head not registering his words.
"Uh—okay?" Ivory cocked her head to the side.
"Okay, so come here." He told her, and she chuckled, returning to his side where he side-eyed her, continuing to blow on the tea.
"You've been blowing on that thing for minutes now." She said, raising an eyebrow.
"I can't have you developing ulcers." Spencer said.
"Why would it matter? Are you going to kiss me or something?" Ivory asked him, not even noticing her own slip up.
His eyes widened, and Ivory too, realized what she had said. The woman blushed, diverting her eyes and coughing into her shirt awkwardly.
"Why? Do you want me to?" He asked softly.
/