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The heartbreak in his voice was killing him, but Oliver couldn’t give in. He couldn’t. He was right, and Victor was just used to getting his way, and Oliver didn’t want to give in only to have Victor realize the truth and break his heart even worse.
Victor met his gaze and held it for a long time before he finally nodded and dropped his arms. He pressed one palm to the top of Oliver’s car, then took a shuffling step to the side. “I understand that I can’t convince you when you’ve had your mind made up this whole time. So I’m just going to ask you for one thing. Just one promise.”
“Anything,” Oliver said, then regretted it, but he didn’t take it back.
Victor smiled softly, like he knew what was going on in Oliver’s head. “Keep my number.”
“Vic—”
“Keep my number,” Victor repeated, cutting him off. “You don’t have to use it. You don’t have to ever speak to me again. But just…keep it. And if you ever feel the need to reach out—even if it’s five years down the road or ten—please call me.”
It was something he shouldn’t do, but it was also something he could do.
And he would. He knew that much about himself.
It was far kinder than what he might have asked for had their roles been reversed. Oliver curled his hands into fists and fought the urge to throw himself into Victor’s arms one last time, but he’d wrecked himself enough as it was.
He met Victor’s gaze, though, and held it for as long as he could stand the ache in his chest before finally turning away. Victor didn’t ask for a goodbye kiss or parting words. He just shuffled back until Oliver could get into his car and back out without risking running him over.
He kept his gaze on the rearview mirror as he pulled into the street, and it was only when he lost sight of the house and of Victor’s shadow that he lost all composure and let himself completely fall apart.
* * *
Thank you for your appointment request. Unfortunately, I will no longer be taking bookings. Please refer to the link below for a short list of available companions. I appreciate your business and companionship over the last three years.
It was a simple enough message that felt both freeing and a little gutting all at the same time. Oliver didn’t think he was going to feel any sort of grief now that he was changing his number and letting go of that piece of his life, but something about it was crushing.
Maybe it was the fact that he was retiring on the absolutely fucking absurd amount of money he’d earned over a single week that only cost a broken heart and a missing piece of his soul. Or maybe it was the fact that becoming an escort had been one of the first times Oliver had ever felt in control over not just himself but his future.
He might have been at the whim of his clients, but he was beholden to no one. Contracts had been measured in hours. There were no loans, no interest, no debt holes dug that he’d never see his way out of.
Now, he had his defense looming, and his graduation, and then the next step. Whatever he wanted that to be.
He dreamed of Victor at night. There was no stopping that, no matter how hard he tried not to think about him during the day. He dove headfirst into research, blowing off his friends until they finally stopped texting and checking up on him, and he avoided eye contact with the other TAs in the student-teacher lounge. He answered his professors with two or three sentences at best, and he met with his advisor only when it was absolutely necessary.
In short, he felt like a shadow of himself. He had a few months to go, and then it would be over.
And then…it had to stop hurting, didn’t it? He’d only had Victor for a week, so eventually, that aching pit in the bottom of his stomach would heal.
Wouldn’t it?
It was three days before spring break when Oliver looked in the mirror and realized what a horror show he’d become. His roots were an inch thick, and he had dark circles under his eyes and acne of all fucking things.
For the first time in years, he hadn’t needed to be absolutely meticulous about his appearance, but seeing his own reflection like this felt like defeat. Even if he wasn’t selling himself to people with cash to spare, he’d always taken pride in himself. It had been one of the first things he was able to control when his young life was full of chaos, bouncing around from home to home.
And he wasn’t going to let that go now.
He picked up his phone and scrolled through his Instagram until he came to his salon page, then clicked on the message icon.
Oliver: SOS. Does anyone have time for a root touch-up and a facial?
Candi: I thought you’d ditched us. I actually just had two cancellations this afternoon. I can work on your face while your hair processes.
Oliver: Babe, you are saving my life.
Candi: See you soon.
It felt like a triumph. Like he was getting a small piece of himself back.
