Prescott texted me on this particular night. It was weird; I am usually the one that texts him first. I didn’t think much about it. He must want to talk about what happened a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t seen him since and, I can’t lie, money was becoming extremely tight. I didn’t realize how much I depended on Prescott’s money until I realized picking up “dates” was the only way I could get extra money. He hated when I did it, but I needed the money. I needed to survive.
It was cold on this particular night; the Fall was turning into the winter and the cocktail dress I wore to Prescott’s place wasn’t helping. I walked up to the front door of Prescott’s building, expecting to be greeted by his very rude housekeeper. This night, Prescott personally opened the door. He smiled at me. It was a relief that he was smiling. I smiled back.
“Hey Rosie,” Prescott softly said. He closed the door behind us and then kissed me on the cheek. I immediately smelled the alcohol on his breath. I turned around, facing him.
“Hey. You’ve been drinking?” I asked, curious at what could possibly be the reason he was drinking alone on a Friday night.
“Yep,” Prescott happily answered. I didn’t question it afterward. He simply took my hand and guided me towards the bifurcated staircase. I didn’t question his intentions. I needed the money and if we’re being honest here; I really missed his company.
He opened the door to his study. Books surround the walls of the room, a grand piano sits in the corner of the room. His blackwood-made desk is full of paperwork at the moment. I was curious on why we were in here today. I didn’t question him about it though.
Prescott went towards the mini bar area of the study, pulling out two glasses. He pours scotch in them; I know this because it’s his favorite to drink. He walks over to me and hands me one of the glasses. He lifts his glass, ready to cheer for something.
“What are we celebrating?” I asked. His million dollar flashes and my legs start feeling weak. Fuck, you’re attractive.
“You are now looking at the proud owner of one of the most prestigious companies within the Joneson firm,” he proudly said. I gasp, happy to hear that his hard work has finally paid off. I place my drink on the table, wrapping my arms around Prescott to congratulate him.
“That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!” I said and tended to kiss him quickly. When I kissed him, he deepened the kiss; his tongue slid into my mouth. It was hot of him to do. I didn’t question him. I attempted the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck and running my fingers through his hair. He broke up the kiss and walked over towards his desk and looked at all the paperwork on it. He brushed off all the paperwork, which scattered around the study. I smiled as he smiled. I walked over to him and began to kiss him again. He lifted me up into his arms and placed me on the desk. It was any girl’s dream to be fucking a multi-millionaire in his place of work. I felt on top of the world when I was on top of him that night.
Then I was thrown down when my phone rang in my purse. I was nervous; there was no reason someone should be calling me right now. Fuck, if it’s Micah I swear to God… I didn’t get to my phone when it rang for the third time. Prescott walked over to my purse, annoyed at the constant ring of the cellphone. I didn’t know who it was, but I was already scared to see Prescott’s mood immediately shift.
“Babe–” I called for him. I hoped he would come back to me. I hoped he would just want to be with me for the night, embrace me and love him the way I loved him. He didn’t.
Prescott turned my purse and dumped out everything from it. I was in shock.
“Prescott, what the fuck?” I was angry that he would invade my personal belongings like that. He grabbed my phone off the floor and looked at the missed calls. His laugh echoes the room.
“This is a new name,” he calmly says. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I panic, quickly getting up and walking toward Prescott. He doesn’t give me back my phone when I try to get it.
“Prescott, give me my phone back,” I demanded.
“Why? So you can text the next guy that you’ll be on your way when you collect your money for tonight?” Prescott mocked. I didn’t answer him back. Half of it was true; I needed his money, but I swear I was also here for him. I tried to reach for my phone again; it was no use. “So what does Hudson do? What services does he pay you for?” Prescott continued. I scrunched my eyebrows, confused. I felt the oxygen leave my head. Prescott doesn’t know Hudson.
“Hudson is my–” I started to say. I jumped up, startled when I see Prescott throw my phone across the study and shatter once it hits the wall. “What the fuck are you doing?!” I said, angry as fuck.
“I’m sick and tired of all these fucking phone calls you get from these guys! First some guy named Micah, now Hudson? Who else are you fucking for money?” Prescott spat.
“I’m not fucking anyone else, asshole!” I didn’t mean to call him an asshole. I was upset that I didn’t have my cellphone anymore and that I couldn’t afford to get another one. I was panicking; I needed the money from Prescott tonight. Maybe that’s why I didn’t leave after that happened.
Prescott grabbed me by my dress and backed me against the wall. I winced in pain as my back hit the bookshelf. He grabbed my face with one hand, never letting go of my dress with the other.
“Prescott, please! You’re hurting me!” I yelled out. He squeezed my face tighter, making it harder to breathe. “Prescott!”
“Let me tell you something, Rosie,” he began. Everytime I tried to get out of his grip, he slammed me back in place, disciplining me by slapping me on the face. “You are just a nobody. You will never mount to anything great in life, and you’re just an easy fuck.” I began to cry, not because of his words, but I was genuinely afraid of Prescott when he got this way. He grabbed my face when I wasn’t looking at him. “Do you understand, Rosie? Am I making myself loud and clear?”
I don’t remember what happened after that, all I remember was holding my face as my nose and mouth bled. I was on the floor at this time. Prescott stood in front of me. I couldn’t hear what he was asking me; my ears rang after he had punched me. I immediately felt the wind come out of me. I gasped for air. I held my stomach, choking on my own breath. I looked up at Prescott. He kneeled down at me, taking his hand and wiping the tears and blood off my face. He kissed me as I cried.
I ran over the Brooklyn bridge that night. I couldn’t feel the pain in my body at that point. I just needed to get far away as possible from the city. I didn’t know where to go. I had nowhere to go. My body was not mine that night, and it didn’t care how many fucking bridges I burnt. It was the only place I could think of for help.
I run up the stoop of a house and began knocking on the door. I began to bang on the door, crying as I felt completely hopeless in that moment.
“Micah! Please!” I called out. My voice was hoarse. I felt sick to my stomach. All I could do is continue banging on the front door, hoping he was home this particular night.
The door opened and sobbed once it did.