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Love?
Fuck that!
Rage begins to rise once more. We’ve been duped! To be honest, I’m not entirely sure if my anger is directed at Bess, the fact that she has had to degrade herself in this way, or that we had to find out like this. After all, I respect a woman who works for a living, even if she uses her body. But why didn’t Bess tell us the truth? That’s what makes me so angry.
A few minutes later, Brandon swerves into the driveway in front of our house. It’s mid-morning and we know that Bess is usually home by this time of day, following an early morning shift at the coffee shop. Bitterness coating my movements, I climb out of the passenger side of the vehicle and slam the door shut. Brandon looks up, his own expression full of torment.
“What the hell are we supposed to say to her?” I bite out, ready to rage and scream. Brandon just shakes his head, looking fucking miserable.
“We confront her about it,” he says in a low tone. “That’s all we can do. I mean, are we going to run her out of town? Out of our house?”
“Maybe,” I grind out angrily. “Do you think it’s true?”
He heaves a tired sigh, suddenly looking older than his years.
“Who knows? We saw the pictures and the website,” is all he says by way of response.
“Yeah, but those things can be faked. Maybe this whole situation is a hoax.”
My twin merely looks down grimly.
“Except for the part where we “bumped” into her in the middle of the night at a park frequented by prostitutes. And the fact that she dropped to her knees immediately,” my brother reminds me.
“Shit,” I say. The single word carries so much emotion.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” my brother muses in a bewildered tone.
And just like that, my anger resurfaces. What did we do to deserve this? How did Bess get into this line of work? And why did she lie? Confusion and rage swirl in my head. My vision goes blurry, and I almost stumble on my way to the front door.
Too soon, we’re in the house, the large space silent and quiet.
“Bess?” Brandon calls out, his tone as cold as ice.
There’s no response. We survey the kitchen, living room, and dining room, but Bess is nowhere to be found. We head to the bedroom and immediately the strains of her sweet voice catch our ears. She’s singing in the shower, and her sheer innocence almost kills me.
But this is no time for mercy. We storm the small space and angrily, I yank open the bathroom door. Of course, Bess is in the middle of taking a bubble bath, the suds piled high around her naked body. The room is steamy and damp, and the curvy girl lounges luxuriously beneath her bubble fort. She sits up as soon as she sees us and immediately starts giggling.
“You scared me to death!” she cries, her smile as bright and mirthful as ever. “I didn’t know you guys would be home for lunch today.” Soft brown eyes flit from my face to my brother’s. Immediately, the perceptive woman can tell that something is wrong, her entire expression sinking as she takes in our expressions.
“What’s wrong?” she stammers, sitting up straighter in the bathtub. Some water sloshes over the edge, but no one moves to wipe it up. Instead, Brandon and I just glower at Bess, seething and unsure how to start. I’m doubly irked with myself that I still find her attractive, even knowing what she’s done to us.
Finally, Brandon speaks. His tone is arctic, his eyes like steel. Bess shrinks back from the tub’s edge, clearly frightened by his demeanor.
“Are you a professional?” he asks, his voice tight.
The soft brown eyes flutter. “A professional?” she repeats, tilting her head to look at Brandon with puzzlement. “A professional what?” It’s clear from her expression that Bess has no idea what we’re talking about. Either that, or she’s a very good actress.
Frustrated by her fake naiveté, I pull out my phone and type in ‘City Girls.’ The website pops up immediately, and I shove the phone in Bess’s face. Her look goes from concern to curiosity to panic in the span of a few seconds. Then, of course, tears begin to form in her large doe eyes. I try to steel myself against them, but it’s difficult because I hate seeing her cry. Every ounce of me wants to comfort Bess, but I force myself to hold back. She played us and deserves what she gets.
Brandon steps forward, his voice thick.
“You lied to us,” he says. “For months, you fed us nothing but falsehoods. Why?”
Bess begins to cry even harder, her tears dripping into the bath water.
“I’m so sorry,” is all she manages.
But it’s enough. I feel the twist of the knife dig deeper into my heart as I realize that everything Sarge said is true. Bess is a prostitute. She’s been living in a world made of deception for months now, and we’re the fools who swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. I’d hoped, in my heart of hearts, that this was some kind of horrific misunderstanding, but clearly, this is nothing of the sort. Her “I’m sorry” just confirmed everything: we’ve been duped.
