“Did he threaten you?” asks the deputy, looking bored as Bree tells her story.
“No, not exactly,” she says. “But he could be dangerous. He’s already expressed that he hates my boyfriends, and?—”
“So, no threat?”
Bree falters, and I curl an arm around her to give her strength.
“I feel threatened,” she says in a firmer voice. “You need to do something.”
The deputy sighs as he pulls out some paperwork and has her fill it out. When she’s done, though, he takes it away, sticks it in a drawer, and tells us he’ll call if they find out anything.
I know that won’t happen. It’s up to us to figure this out, to protect Bree. With Bennett and Jack’s help, though, I know we can, and we don’t need any useless police to do it.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her as we get back in the car. “I had hoped they’d be more helpful.”
She shrugs. “I knew the moment I told them I’m a sex worker that nobody would give a shit.”
I frown, even though this nugget of truth shouldn’t surprise me.
On the way home, we go to the grocery store to get some food Bree will like. She offers to make dinner, which is usually my job, but she seems like she needs something to focus on. We decide to cook something elaborate that will take us the whole afternoon, and I’m thrilled to spend hours rolling out dough and simmering meat for a fancy pot pie.
Bree is quiet, though, and I know her whole world has been rocked. I play some fun music on the speakers in the living room while we work, taking every opportunity I can to touch Bree and show her my affection. She smiles a somewhat forlorn smile as I steal a kiss.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, leaning into my shoulder. “I’m glad I have you.”
That night, Jack even beats Bennett home from work. He’s furious when he finds out about our trip to the police station, but there’s nothing he or any of us can do.
After our delicious dinner, we all pile into the SUV and head over to Bree’s house to retrieve her belongings. Jack stands watch at the door as she packs a suitcase full of clothes, then gazes forlornly at her studio.
I pat her back. “Maybe we can set it up in the office. Let’s come back again tomorrow and get your equipment.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you guys—” she begins.
“You’re not,” snaps Bennett, surprisingly vehement. “I’ll reorganize the office tonight, and we can always put some things into storage for a while.”
I’m glad to see this side of him. We are a united front in making Bree feel welcome in our home.
Once we’ve got her essentials for the next week packed up, it’s time to go. In the car, though, Jack broaches the subject I’ve been afraid to speak aloud.
“You either need to move to a new apartment, or move in with us,” he says in his bossy tone. “You can’t go back to this place now that he knows where it is.”
Bree lowers her head, and I only notice she’s crying when tears dribble onto her lap where we’re holding hands.
“I know,” she says quietly. “I know. I’ll… figure something out. Soon, I promise.”
“There’s no rush,” Bennett interjects. “Whatever you choose, we’ll be there to help out.”
She doesn’t say anything else the rest of the drive home, though, and we don’t push her. She’ll need to decide on her own what comes next without external pressure.
But I hope she picks us.
Bree
It feels like my whole world fell apart overnight. Suddenly, nowhere feels safe, even the satyrs’ home. If he was able to find my address, who knows what he’s capable of?
The next day, Bennett hears back from the streaming service, and they say exactly what I expected them to say: they refuse to divulge any private information about a user without a warrant. And no judge will issue a warrant for a simple note left on a door.
As much as I hate doing it, I announce on social media that I’ll be on another hiatus, though I don’t say why. My viewers are disappointed, as I expected, but I just don’t have it in me to perform even if we get my studio set up at Jack, Arthur, and Bennett’s house.
