Chapter 7
The letter sits on my kitchen counter, its crisp edges taunting my curiosity. With trembling hands, I unfold it; this could be our acceptance or rejection from the auction. I'll admit that when Atlas brought it up, I was unsure and slightly irritated that he thought I needed to buy sex. But the more I thought about it, the more I warmed up to the idea.
A weekend with a woman, no strings attached, could be just what I need. I haven't sunk inside a warm mouth or tight pussy in almost a decade. Women complicate things; my marriage is proof of that. My mind wanders as I recall how things went from good to hell in a matter of a few years.
I met Ali at a local bar and we hit it off. She was fun, didn't bat an eye at me having a teenage son, and it felt like she understood me. We introduced each other to our children pretty quickly, and they got along fine. Sloane was kind of standoffish, but I was the new man in her mom's life, so I didn't push.
My first red flag should have been that; the second, she wanted all our dates to be somewhere she could get a cocktail, and we rarely had sex. In the little over two years we were together, I think we had sex three times. None of those times were post-wedding.
After we tied the knot, it's like she changed into a completely different person. One I couldn't stand to be around. I tried to make it work because I thought I loved her; I did love her daughter, and so did Atlas.
I figured out rather quickly she had been hiding her alcoholism. No problem, we could get her sober together. I would have walked that path with her, no questions asked. The drugs, though, were a hard no.
I went to work the morning she was supposed to go to rehab, knowing that night we were driving her to Carmire Facility. It wasn't a full day, but I wanted to at least get the drywall guys pointed in the right direction.
Two hours… I was gone for two hours and came home to her fucking some grungy-looking asshole in my bed.
There's not much I can recall after that. I saw red—both of our kids were home and she was cheating on me? I stormed into the room, ripped her off the guy, and he scrambled to get his pants on. Before he left the room, she screamed, "What about my shit?"
He froze, threw a small baggie at her, and left. She fucked her dealer in our bed… my bed for dope.
My marriage ended that day and not soon after, I realized I never loved Ali. I didn't miss her at all. I did, however, miss the family I thought I had. The idea of someone at home waiting for me. That loved me and wanted me… someone that wasn't my son.
My heart races as I read the words, confirming my acceptance to the auction as a bidder, and Atlas as my guest.
We have to sign a contract, which looms over me, a reminder of the gravity of this opportunity. It"s not just about acquiring merchandise—it"s about trust. Trust that we"ll return what we"ve bought and that we"ll abide by the rules of the auction.
There's also a key card nestled in the envelope, which is to serve as the key to the building. May 10th, 8 pm—our entry into the world where we pay for sex with strangers.
"What's that?" Atlas asks as he steps into the kitchen, opens the fridge, and grabs a bottle of water.
"Our official acceptance to the auction, along with the key to the palace." I hold up the key card, and Atlas smiles.
"Fuck yeah." He takes a drink of his water. "What do you think they'll look like? The women, that is. They have to be attractive, right? Or maybe they're not, but they're down for anything. It could go either way."
"Haven't thought much of it. I feel bad saying it, since I always taught you it's what's on the inside that counts, but I'm not buying some lady for the weekend if she's ugly. I don't care how kinky she is."
Atlas lets out a deep belly laugh and I smile. My face warms and my heart feels full. Being able to have this close of a relationship with my child is a blessing.
We"re both eager to see what this whole auction is about and how the night will unfold.
"Speaking of the auction. Jenna texted me today, going absolutely nuts." He smirks and grabs a bag of potstickers.
I shake my head in annoyance at Jenna"s attitude. I've never cared for her and have told Atlas this on more than one occasion. He knows that even though I give my opinion, he's free to make his own choices.
"Well, what did she say?"
"She bitched about us turning her in for breaching HIPPA. That she is now jobless and her dad is pissed and refusing to continue to lease her apartment for her if she doesn"t have a job." He grabs a pan and sets it on the stove, dumping some inside.
I roll my eyes. She"s always been one to dodge accountability, deflecting blame onto others instead of owning up to her mistakes. "Some people never learn. But hey, I did the right thing. Don't let her make you feel bad."
I watch as Atlas expertly flips the potstickers in the sizzling pan, the savory aroma filling our cozy kitchen. He plates the steaming golden-brown dumplings and we settle at the counter, our plates piled high.
The first bite is a burst of flavor, the perfect blend of crispiness and tenderness. Between mouthfuls, we discuss tomorrow"s workday, knowing full well that this weekend"s auction will demand our undivided attention.
"It"s going to be a hectic next few days," I tell him. "We need to wrap up as much as we can before Friday." He nods, while I'm already mentally prioritizing our tasks for tomorrow.
"We"ll make sure everything is in order before we leave," he assures me.