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“I always knew you’d be an artist,” I say honestly, giving him a genuine smile as my chest fills with pride. “You’re so—”
A ding comes from my phone, interrupting me before I can finish. I glance at him, his eyes pleading with me to not look. But I do. I have to. It could be Oli, she might need me. Or it could be Isaac.
I swallow thickly as I grab my phone, flipping it over and staring at the message. My heart lurches into my throat, my fingers tightening around the little block.
Daddy555:
Private session. $500
He’s been getting more aggressive lately, more demanding. There’s no more requesting or asking me to do things for him. He tells me what to do, like he thinks he owns me. Like he thinks he has any right to.
“Eve?” Roman’s voice pulls me from the messages and I lock my phone, slapping it face-down on the dock again. With a deep breath, I plaster a fake smile as I look at him. His brows bunch tightly together. “Don’t do that.”
I blink at him. “Do what?”
“Pretend like you’re fine when you’re not,” he mutters, shaking his head. I open my mouth to protest, to tell him I don’t do that, but I do. I know I do.
“I’m fine, Roman,” I sigh. His gaze burns me alive, and it takes all I have not to squirm under the full weight of his attention.
“Was it him?” he finally asks.
“Who?”
He lets out a humorless laugh, one that sends a chill down my spine. “You know who.”
“It wasn’t Isaac,” I say, and he nods, but it looks like he doesn’t believe me. “It wasn’t. It was—” I cut myself off.
I may be nothing but a cam girl, and I may not know their real names, but I value the privacy between my viewers and me. They come to me, trusting I won’t out them to the world. That’s why I simply say Favorite Fans, instead of dropping Daddy’s name.
“Why do you do it?” he asks, almost reluctantly. I pause, letting the question fully sink in before I answer.
“It’s a means to an end,” I say, then shake my head. “No, that’s not entirely true. I do it because of what it represents.” I nod, liking that answer. It’s what’s kept me continuing down this path for the last few months.
“And what’s that?” he murmurs as I pick up another strawberry from the bowl. He follows suit, grabbing his own and eating it in one bite. I nibble the tip, thinking of how to explain this to him.
“I like the freedom,” I say softly, smiling around the strawberry. I turn to stare at him, finding him already watching me.
His eyes, gold and greens, browns with flecks of amber, are so familiar, so comforting. Maybe that’s why I find myself spilling words I never thought I’d say out loud. Not to anyone and especially not to him.
“I like the small, unknown rebellion that makes me feel alive in an otherwise dead life.” I take a sharp breath, releasing it slowly. “I like knowing I can be anyone. I’m not Eve when I’m camming, I’m someone else. Someone powerful. Someone…someone worthy.”
“You are worthy,” he whispers. I shrug as I take another bite, feeling the juice drip from the corner of my mouth, down my chin. Before I can move, he reaches out, dragging his thumb along my skin, gathering the sweet liquid on the pad of his finger.
My mouth slackens as I watch him bring it to his lips and suck it off. “I can’t believe you just did that,” I choke out, and he sends me a cocky grin.
“Fruit’s never tasted so good,” he says, and I feel my face flush. Huffing out a laugh, he leans toward me, gently nudging my shoulder with his.
Again, that familiarity rushes through me. This is Roman. My Roman. And, right now, sitting here while the sun sets and our favorite fruit between us, it feels like the last summer night before school. It feels like Mama’s about to come out of the house at any moment to tell us to clean up before dinner. Like we’re about to get up, Roman’s book tucked under one arm, me tucked under the other.
It feels like nothing has changed, like we’re nothing more than those kids we were when the whole world went to shit. The kids that thought they had their lives ahead of them, lives that would be colorful and full of adventure. Lives that they’d spend together, wandering from place to place, filling that map in my room with little pins.
Sadness fills me as I think about all our wasted plans, and I blink back the sudden burning in my eyes. “What is it?” he murmurs. I shake my head, unable to speak. If I do, everything I’ve wanted to say to him will tumble out and I can’t do that. Not here, not now.
Instead, I change the subject away from our dreams. Instead, I dive headfirst into the past, into a safe memory.
“Do you know what this dock reminds me of?” I ask, and he blinks.
“What?”
