Song Prompt Meme: Something Rotten by Placebo.
Warning: ... I always go back to the whoring.
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Sometimes it’s easy. Sometimes you’re a machine, and you can be reduced to rhythm, and movement, and technique. Get them off in minutes flat, the cash rough and real in your hands. Lips swollen. Jaw aching. Knees sore. But a machine. A damn good one. No one can reach inside and short circuit you.
But sometimes, one says, “I miss you something rotten.” Then it’s not so easy. Because you’re not a machine. You’re a boy. A boy he wants to hold after it’s over. Face down on his chest, his arms around you, whispering into your hair, a finger tracing the top of your ear.
He wants to take you away from this. You’re too pretty, too soft around the edges. You’re not a junkie like the others. You could amount to so much more. He knows you’ve been dealt a hard hand, you play it as well as you can. He has a Mercedes, you’re laying in the backseat now. Face down. When you’re away, he misses you something rotten. You don’t deserve to be down here, mired in the street scene, the fast cash in the park routine. You’re smart, he sees that, and he can save you from it. All this he says with your cheek on his chest, while you stare at the fine leather upholstery. Fingertips over your scalp. Gentle.
All you have to do is give it up to him. All of it.
“Not a bad deal, eh?” he says, hands already at your belt. You would like nothing more than to see his blood leaking in giant pools on pavement. You would love so very much to show him something truly rotten.
You sit up, smile coyly, shake your head. Put on your shirt. Refuse his money. Leave.
Never return.