“It was fine,” I said automatically, then caught myself. That was total BS and not why I'd asked to see him. “I mean, physically, it was fine.” I looked up. Jamael just sat there, patient as ever, his notepad untouched. “But I felt... nothing.”
Jamael nodded. “Nothing as in...?”
“Empty,” I blurted, the word coming out louder than I meant it to. “Just... going through the motions. Like I was watching myself from some weird distance.” I raked my hand through my hair, frustrated I couldn't explain it better. “With those clients, I was physicallythere but mentally a million miles away. And with Julian…” I trailed off, thinking about how Vincent had stepped in. “I don't think I would've stopped him from doing whatever he wanted that night. That's messed up, right?”
Jamael's face got serious, and he put his notepad down.
“Theo, what you're describing is concerning,” he said. “Not caring what happens to you isn't just job burnout. It's like you're disconnecting from yourself.”
“Yeah,” I admitted, slouching deeper into the couch. “It's like... after Ricard left, I just hit some internal off-switch.” I struggled to find the right words. “When I first got here, I was freaking out but at least I was feeling something, you know? Now it's like I'm some zombie going through the motions.”
“Do you think this feeling is just about work, or is it bigger than that?” Jamael asked.
I thought about it for a second. “I think... I don't think I'm cut out for this job,” I said, and weirdly, it felt good to admit it. “I thought I could do the whole 'separate sex from feelings' thing. Isn't that what you're supposed to do in this gig? But I totally suck at it.”
“Not everyone is suited for every job,” Jamael said. “There's no shame in figuring out something's not for you.”
“But the money...” I started, thinking about Casey's medical bills stacked up on my kitchen counter.
“Is money worth feeling like you're not even present in your own body?” Jamael asked. “Worth putting yourself in situations where you don't even care what happens to you?”
When he put it like that, I felt kinda stupid, but real life isn't that simple. “Casey needs that fancy rehab center,” I explained. “It costs a freaking fortune. Way more than I could makeanywhere else.”
“Have you looked into other options? Financial aid? Payment plans?” Jamael asked.
“A little bit, but it all seemed so… overwhelming,” I admitted, feeling my face heat up. “When those bills started coming in, I panicked. This job seemed like a quick fix.”
“Quick fixes usually aren't sustainable,” Jamael pointed out. “Especially when they're messing with your head this much.”
His words struck a chord, resonating with something I had been feeling but couldn’t quite articulate. “I think you’re right,” I said. “I’ve been trying to convince myself I could make it work, but... I don’t think I can.”
“That’s not failure,” Jamael assured me. “It’s self-awareness. It takes courage to admit when something isn’t right.”
I managed a small smile. “I’ve learned a lot here, Jamael. I think I’ll continue therapy in the future as soon as I find a job with healthcare.”
“That would be beneficial,” he agreed. “And I’m happy to provide recommendations if you’d like. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”
I thought for a moment, then shook my head. “No, I think I know what I need to do now.”
“And what’s that?” he prompted.
I stood, feeling lighter despite the weight of my decision. “I need to talk to my bosses. I guess I’m quitting.”
Jamael rose as well, extending his hand. “I wish you all the best, Theo. Whatever path you choose from here.”
I shook his hand, gratitude washing over me. “Thank you. For everything.”
I left Jamael's office and headed for the elevator, feeling weirdly calm about my decision. The hallway didn't seem so dark anymore.Funny how making up your mind can do that, like someone flipped on a light switch in your brain. I wasn't cut out for this sex worker stuff, and faking it was just making me miserable.
Voices whispered in my head, reminding me of Casey's medical bills and how we needed the money. The specialized rehab facility in San Diego that could help him recover faster. The mounting debt that threatened to drown us both.
But then I heard my brother's voice from our last call:Take care of yourself.Even with his speech still slurred from the brain injury, the concern in his tone had been unmistakable. Casey had always put me first.
He'd hate knowing what I was putting myself through now, even for his sake.
The elevator doors slid open. Last time I rode this elevator, I was heading up to sign my contract, practically shaking with a mix of panic and relief at the money I'd be making.
Weird to think that was only a few weeks ago. Felt like years.
