Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

I really don’t wantto get up for work this morning. I could launch the alarm across the room, I swear. I don’t want to put my uniform on, and I don’t want to eat my token bowl of cereal, and I definitely don’t want to bustle my way through the crowds to get to the tube.

I used to have Connor to boot me out of bed with a get the hell up, babe, knowing full well he’d have the morning to snooze away without a care, but now it’s only me. Self-regulation is becoming a lot harder. My shifts are getting busier by the minute, and the ever-coming festive jingles don’t mask the angst. My tolerance for minimum wage is threatening to jump from the window and send me sailing – either onto a comfy mattress covered in money, or onto a disillusioned patch of concrete on the ground.

I’m not ready to make the jump yet. It’s way too early. That’s what I tell myself as I set off on my way. Be sensible, Ella, be rational. Don’t put all your eggs in one goddamn crazy basket.

That doesn’t hold back my irritation, though. I’m crampy and exhausted when I get to the store, running around our special offer Christmas aisles to keep them stocked up at the speed of light. Then, out of ALL the moments she could pick to be an asshole, my manager, Tracy, chooses right now.

She huffs before she speaks to me.

“Sandra says you left the shortbread delivery unfulfilled. It got hit by one of the forklifts. Three whole crates down.”

Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t leave people alone for two minutes.

I let out a groan. “Yes, I did leave the shortbread delivery unfulfilled, and I asked Sandra to finish it off while I got called in here to stock up the two for ones.”

I’ve had this before, plenty of times. Sandra vs me. Sandra always wins – useless cow. She’s the niece of my manager’s best friend and she’s an idiot. The brand-new temp staff know how to work stock supplies better than she does.

I usually back down when I’m confronted, accept a guilty verdict and give my apologies, but today I don’t say a word, I just stand there.

“What’s with the attitude?” Tracy says, and I realise I’ve folded my arms across my chest.

“It’s not an attitude, it’s the truth. I asked Sandra to finish up for me. If she says I didn’t, she’s a liar.”

You’d think I’d slapped Tracy across the face from her scowl.

“Sandra wouldn’t lie!”

“Well, Sandra must be confused then. I asked her to finish up the delivery for me.”

I’m not taking the blame for this. No chance. Sandra was probably flirting with Billy in the forklift bay, giving no attention whatsoever to her workload, and that’s not my fault. It never is.

Tracy raises her voice over the Christmas jingles, loud enough that customers turn their heads.

“All you have to do is apologise and take more care next time, Ella! It’s a verbal disciplinary, nothing more.”

A verbal disciplinary! Is she having a laugh? I could earn a few k for taking a night of verbal disciplinary from a well-paying client.

Having a laugh or not, my work ethic still has my blood pumping with nerves, totally at odds with my rage. I’m all for keeping my head down, soldiering on, brushing off the criticism for the sake of holding things steady, but something is bubbling inside me, and it’s not just the period demon.

I’ve been relying on my job at this store for over twelve months straight now. No sick time, no staff politics, nothing but pure, hard work. And what difference has it made to the people in the chain above me? The people who pay my wages?

None whatsoever. It never will.

I stare Tracy right in the eyes, still silent, and she looks puzzled.

“Are you going to apologise?” she asks.

“No.”

“No?”

My arms are still folded across my chest. “No. I’m not. Give the verbal disciplinary to your best friend’s niece, instead. She’s the one who fucked up today.”

Tracy looks so affronted.

“What the hell?! Sandra being Ashleigh’s niece has got nothing whatsoever to do with this!”

“It’s got everything to do with it. It always has.”

My blood is pumping faster now I’ve drawn the sword of personal insults. My comments are close to the bone, and Tracy could take some fuel from them. So, what to do? Swing or yield. Put my head down and say sorry, or keep on pushing for an equality that will never arrive. The delightful Sandra will always have the top spot over me in this place, no matter how many two for ones I stack all day.

I brace myself for Tracy’s onslaught, fight or flight mode engaged and ready, but there’s no need. The sigh that comes out of her mouth is almost a let-down, it’s so puny. It’s her who puts her sword away, not me.

“Just take more care next time, will you? No need to get into a tizz about it.” She pats my shoulder as she walks on by, and I’m in shock, open-mouthed at her response to me finally standing up to her.

A tizz?

I’d usually be shitting myself at her stock damage accusation, terrified that she’d use it against me to cut my shifts or log some crappy incident on my HR record. But the whole time I’ve been scared for nothing. Sweet fuck all.

I dared to accuse her of unprofessional favouritism in front of customers, and all she did was pat my shoulder and walk on by.

Yet again, my world is reeling. I feel almost sick as the aisles start closing in…

I’ve spent so long being afraid of losing money. Of not trying hard enough. Of not working hard enough, or being responsible enough, or earning every single penny I can in this place. And it’s all been false. Fear for nothing. Tracy isn’t going to do anything to me at all.

The store seems to stand still as I watch her pace away in her clacky shoes. The customers are still looking at me, and the tunes are still jangling overhead, but I feel distant. Empty. Done.

Yep. I’m done with this place.

My tolerance for both minimum wage AND Tracy is ready to take the leap.

“Hey,” I call after my manager. “Wait a second. I need to tell you something.”

She spins back, fake grinning like nothing’s fucking happened.

“What’s that?”

“I quit.”

Her eyes turn to saucers as she clacks her way back to me.

“Sorry, what? You’re handing in your notice? Surely not! It was only a misunderstanding.”

“No. I’m not handing in my notice,” I tell her. “I’m quitting. Right now.”

She laughs like I’m having some crazy meltdown. “You can’t just quit, Ella. We’re struggling to cover shifts as it is! Why don’t you take a tea break? Take five, chill out a bit, and forget it happened. A few crates of shortbreads aren’t worth it.”

Except they are. They’re worth fucking everything right now.

Self-realisation is a portal that sucks me right up into itself, and there’s a big mirror propped up in front of me. It shows me the girl I became on Connor’s arm in vivid colours, run ragged as I tried to keep our world aligned. I’d been hiding it from everyone with smiles, corsets, and every shift at the store I could take. I’ve been fooling myself for years, just like I have with everyone else. I was nothing. I became nothing.

“Ella,” Tracy says, interrupting my thoughts. “Calm down, will you? Sandra did probably get it wrong, ok?”

“No. I got it wrong by believing in this shit,” I reply.

I’m out the back to the staffroom in seconds, grabbing my coat and bag as Tracy tries to catch up with me.

“ELLA!”

I take off my staff ID and toss it behind me at the doorway, focusing on the road that lies ahead, not the crappy job I’m leaving behind.

“ELLA!” I hear in the distance, but I don’t care. I’m not going back there.

I’m on the tube when I message Ebony, hoping she’s not with a client, because I need her. I need her right now.

Are you there?

A few seconds pass before she answers.

Yeah, I’m here. Jamie isn’t back from playgroup yet. You ok? Aren’t you at work today?

My fingers are shaking.

Not anymore, no. I just quit. I walked out of there without even handing in my notice. My manager was shouting my name, but I didn’t go back.

I’m expecting some kind of dramatic reaction. Some OMG statement, with a load of emojis, or questions of what the hell?! But again, the universe is twisting on its axis. Ebony sends me a thumbs up and a smile.

Fuck, yes! You can concentrate on your real job now.

I rest my head back against the tube seat, trying to fathom the insanity of my new life. My real job. Being Holly the whore. I can’t help but smile at the craziness of the prospect, because it’s so damn appealing. Much better than an overworked, underpaid store assistant, taking any shift she can get.

Want a call? Ebony asks. I’ve got a bit of time yet before I have to go on the pick-up run.

Yes, please. When I get home, I reply, and with that my hands are on a mission, determined to quash my inner nerves before they get the chance to show their exploited, scared faces.

I go to the app. Proposals. What have I got coming in?

I flick through some standard new ones, but don’t turn them down until I find a truly decent one. It landed in my inbox just an hour ago, and it makes me laugh out loud.

Fate is so ironic. What an apt time to get a proposal with a theme of verbal disciplinary.

This one won’t be from a store boss, however. It’ll be from a daddy.

User 762. Male. 51.

I want full roleplay, adlib and convincing. You’ll be my daughter returning home after school, impudent after writing dirty stories in her notebook. You’ll get found out by Daddy, and you’ll get told off for it. You’ll admit it’s about a crush on a boy at school, and you’ll let Daddy take your mind off him, and keep you as his sweet little girl.

Daddy will punish you for being naughty. A decent spanking, over the knee.

Daddy will show you what it feels like to be used and made to feel good in dirty ways, and he’ll be much better at it than a silly little schoolboy.

You’ll thank Daddy very much, and promise to be a well behaved daughter from now on, giving Daddy the love he needs from you. And then he’ll give you bath time, put you to bed, and make you some breakfast before school in the morning. You’ll kiss him goodbye when you leave.

Convincing actress, please. Schoolgirl outfit. Pigtails. White socks.

Oral, pussy, some anal play, bathing, spanking and being told off like a naughty bitch. An overnighter, sleeping in a girly bedroom.

Duration – 14 hours.

Proposal price – £5000.

Wow!

I read it through three times.

5k for an overnighter with Daddy. I force myself to think about it before I click accept on the proposal – I don’t want a knee jerk reaction to walking out on my job.

Daddy play. Can I do it? Can I be that good an actress for 14 hours straight? Can I give a fifty-one-year-old daddy the love he wants from his naughty daughter?

I almost miss my tube stop, reading it through again. Overthinking might be my middle name with this one. I’m straight on a call to Ebony as soon as I get home. I tell her about Tracy and how much of a bitch she’s been over Sandra ever since I’ve been there. It feels so good to vent to someone who isn’t Connor, and who actually gives a shit for once.

I do an impression of Sandra twirling her hair for Billy in the forklift bay, and the stupid giggle she puts on when she’s flirting. Hell, yeah, Billy. Take command of that gear stick, baby. Ebony is pissing herself laughing.

“Holy shit, Ella, you should be an actress. I can practically see her, the snarky little cow.”

An actress.

Those words snap me right back to my proposal from earlier.

“Funny you should say that…”

I read out the proposal and she nods along, tipping her head this way and that. She doesn’t freak out or think a 14-hour session is that weird or anything. In fact, she says sleepovers are pretty common.

“Sounds good to me,” she says. “I’m sure you can handle it easy.”

I wish I was as certain as she was. Her faith in me is astounding. I let out a breath, the reality of my job loss creeping up to bite at me.

“What if I fuck it up?”

“Fuck up Daddy play? Babe, you’re smashing it. Every single review coming in is off the charts.”

“But if I fuck it up now…”

“Ah, yeah,” she says. “More pressure. I get it. So many entertainers spend ages trying to multitask when they’re first getting started, scared their client list is going to dry up. That’s totally normal. But you’ve got to have belief in yourself. You’re soaring high for a reason.”

“Thanks.”

“But?” she asks, my expression clearly not convincing enough.

I sigh. “Taking a man mountain, or two cocks, or freaky period play, that shit came easy because I really was into it. Pretending to be a schoolgirl right the way overnight is a whole other ball game. I’m not so sure.”

“Trust me,” she says, waving a finger, “I can see you now, in pigtails and uniform, acting all coy for Daddy.”

I stick my thumb in my mouth and pull a face.

Ebony laughs. “There you go, you’re getting it already. Daddys gonna love you. I mean it. Don’t look down, girl. Click accept on that proposal and find yourself a pair of cute white socks. The sooner the better. Go on,” she says. “Do it now. Click yes, and get cracking.”

I call up the proposal window.

Can I do this? 14 hours of roleplay?

Only one way to find out.

Self-doubt can stay back in the Christmas aisle – I’m not putting up with that shit anymore.

“Done,” I tell Ebony. “Wednesday night, as soon as I’m off my period.”

“Great stuff. The sooner the better.”

She’s right on that. Less time for the nerves to make a reappearance. I’ll be a very good actress for User 762. Maybe I can even practice in the meantime. Say Daddy as sweetly as I can in the mirror. I smile as I imagine it. I’m sure I could come up with some cracking lines, all set for adlib, when I need them.

“It’s great to see you coming to life, Ella,” Ebony says. “Seriously. You’re glowing brighter every single day.”

She’s right. I am. I just have to believe in myself.

Watch out, Creamgirl, I’m coming for you. And I’ll be coming for Daddy in the meantime.