So I never felt comfortable enough to share that side of myself with Miko and Harley, or with the rest of the world, on- or offline. Apart from one incident that I refuse to revisit, I haven’t felt comfortable enough to share it with anyone other than my mom and sister who didn’t even blink when I sat down for breakfast one day wearing a silk camisole. They only want to know why I don’t wear such clothes more often, but that’s a question I don’t have an answer to yet.
I hurry back up to my hotel room. As I cross the lobby, I can’t help but look around for Maeve, possibly checking in at one of the desks, or sitting and having a drink on one of the couches, but there’s no sign of her. As I push the button for the lift, I berate myself for doing even that. I really do need a distraction, and I am pleased that Miko and Harley are waiting for me in the hotel room. It’s already early evening so I wonder if they’ll wantto go get something to eat, or maybe even go down to the hotel’s casino and try our luck on a poker table. But as I use the card to open the door and walk in, even before seeing them, I get a sense of a strong, tense energy in the room and I know it’s very much the wrong time to make any such suggestion.
It’s confirmed by what I hear; Harley’s heaving sobs. And then I finally see them. Harley’s curled up in Miko’s arms and he’s leaning back against one of the bed’s headboards and his expression is one of both thunder and lightning.
“What’s happened?” I ask as I drop my bag.
“Another fucking message,” Miko spits out the words over Harley’s head.
“A death threat?”
“Yes,” he replies. “With photos, again.”
“Fuck.”
Harley falls quieter, although her chest still racks with crying.
“Jesus.” I sigh.
“So fucking sick,” Miko mutters.
“You’ve got to go to the police, Harls,” I say as gently as I can even though it feels like lava is pumping through my veins.
I watch her shake her head on Miko’s chest.
“She doesn’t want to,” Miko explains and I can’t tell what he thinks about this. I can understand Harley’s reluctance. We’ve already hired a private investigator to try and find the source of the emails and images that occasionally land in Harley’s inbox, no matter how many times she changes her email address. It came up with nothing, so it’s unlikely the police will be able to do much more. And that’s evenifthey open up a case. As Harley rightly pointed out the first time it happened, how likely is it LVPD will want to help a Black trans queer sex worker? And if they actually did want to help, how likely is it they’ll show her respect and dignity in the process?
“We can talk about it another time, when you’ve calmed down,” I say as I sit down on the edge of the bed.
“No!” Harley turns her head. Her eyes are bloodshot and moisture covers her cheeks and upper lip. “I just want it to stop. I just want it to go away. Going to the police… it will dig it all up again.”
“But it will keep happening if we don’t try and do something,” I say as gently as I can.
“I said no!” Harley raises her voice.
I hold my hands up. “Okay, I hear you. Okay.”
“It always happens after we post a video of her fucking me,” Miko says pensively. “Maybe we shouldn’t post content like that anymore.”
“That means, it’s definitely one of her subscribers, or one of ours.” I think out loud.
“Oh, it’s definitely one of mine,” Harley sniffs. “Sick fucks paying fifteen dollars a month just to torture me.”
A shiver slithers up my spine. It’s so fucked up that this is our reality.
“Have you deleted it?” I ask Miko.
“I’ve saved it with the others. But it’s hidden away from Harley. And she won’t be seeing her emails for a while now. I’ll check it.”
“I can help with that too,” I offer.
“Oh, God.” Harley groans and she turns and buries her face in Miko’s chest again. “Make it go away, Miko. Make it all go away.”
“I wish I could,” Miko says and he wraps his arms around Harley again.
That feeling surfaces again. Like I’m intruding. And I suppose that’s because it’s exactly what I’m doing.
“Do you… do you want some space?” I offer.
