Samantha

Warmth. Fuzzy warmth. Floating inside me like flecks of dust in sunlight. Sheets up to my neck, Ashton spooning me to his chest. Oh, to soak in this moment forever. I hugged his forearm, nuzzling his hand.

"I need to brush my teeth," I grumbled. He was kissing the back of my neck, and I couldn't believe the rapid fire sparking through me. Oh, come on. This was embarrassing.

"Is that what you need?" He stroked the head of his demon against me, proving how wet I was.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand.

"What time is it?" I gasped, reaching but Ashton yanked me back and climbed on top of me. "Oh, no, no, no, no. Don't even think about it, mister. I need rehab. I need recovery. Not a chance. I am good for like the next ten years. I don't need⁠—seriously⁠—It's not... mmh, healthy..."

Impossible. The way his mouth lingered open-mouth kisses down my chest. Grunting, with a grumpy, puffy face. Hair a wild mess. Naked. Arms flexed as he hunched between my legs.

My phone kept vibrating, but Ashton's grip on my throat didn't let me move. Not for another thirty minutes and four orgasms. When every defense was melted and I was screaming yes.

"Go make us food, I need to nap. Go, I'm starving!" The bastard pushed my butt off the bed and dumped me on the carpet. It's okay, I was laughing. "Wear my shirt. No panties allowed."

It was Sunday, we had nowhere to go. And I'd never been excited about not having plans.

His black t-shirt fit me like a mid-thigh dress, smelling worn and spicy. I pulled the neckline over my nose and inhaled his scent like an addict. My joints cracked, bare feet padding to the kitchen when I noticed white envelopes slip through the mail slot by the front door.

I picked up our apartment bill, wincing internally. Ash had told me our rent was sixteen hundred dollars, but my budget was two hundred short... and I hadn't made any money as an influencer.

"What's that?" He moseyed out in black track pants. A chain necklace on his bare chest.

I ripped open the envelope and froze.

The bill.

It didn't make any sense.

"I think they made a mistake..." Horror struck me. What if it wasn't a typo? "How could they raise our rent a thousand dollars? It jumped from sixteen hundred to twenty-six. Isn't that illegal?"

He snatched the paper and scowled at it. A little too long. Why wasn't he saying anything?

"Ashton?" Something in my gut told me he knew.

The guilt in his flitting eyes confirmed it.

"No. Please, tell me you're kidding." I covered my mouth, stepping away. "Please, tell me I haven't been living here for two months thinking our rent was sixteen hundred dollars, but it was twenty-six all along. Please. Tell me I haven't been a total freeloader."

"What's the big deal?" He walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge.

"What's the big deal?" My voice cracked. "Ashton!"

"What?" He chuckled, looking out the window, then turning again. Opened a cupboard, set down a plate. "It's not a problem, you'll pay me back later..."

"How could you lie to me?"

"I didn't. I was trying to help—"

"By manipulating me? I'm not a helpless kid. I am an adult. I am a grown woman—"

"Oh my God, I know. I know that, baby. Relax." His eyes held amusement, like I was overreacting to this.

It made my blood boil. Heart crumble. I backed away, my voice cracking more and more.

"You're such an asshole."

I ran to my room with him behind me asking me to stop, but I shut the door and locked it. He knocked. Calm. Asking me to open.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but you wouldn't have moved in if you knew. I don't care about the money, Samantha. I picked up a second job at Vlad's hookah lounge. It's not a problem, baby. Open the door. Please. I never wanted you to get hurt. I just wanted to help you."

"Cara was right. I make people walk on eggshells." Even now. Now, I should've sounded strong, I shouldn't have cried as I put on my clothes. "I hate myself! Why do you need to get a second job? This is insane. Who does that? Who freakin' does that for someone they don't even know?"

As if I didn't feel unworthy enough. Like a clueless, weak, handicapped human being—

"Do you want to work with me?" Ashton continued. "I can talk to my manager at the club if they're looking for a waitress. We can find you another job."

I opened the door after putting on jeans and a button-down. Ignored the way his eyes raked in question over my outfit and stormed to his room for my phone.

"I can't do a night shift. Don't you remember what happened to me at your parent's house? Who'd hire a waitress who bursts into a meltdown when the lights turn off."

"We'll work through it together—" He followed me into this room, but I was speeding to the front door. "Where are you going? It's Sunday. We have nothing to do."

"I can't, I need air, I need to think." I threw my sandals on, purse over my shoulder with just my wallet and keys. No makeup, hair messy. Didn't matter. "I need to be alone."

My stupid phone vibrated again as I shut the door behind me.

"Hey, babe. Are you coming today?" An Instagram message from Erika.

Oh, right. The conversation in the bathroom at the Sephora event. She'd offered me to join her social media business. Said they made enough money to not give a crap about being an influencer or proving anything to anyone. I had no clue what that meant.

Putting my phone back in my pocket, I looked over my shoulder, expecting Ashton to follow me out. Thankfully, he didn't. Maybe he knew he'd messed up. Maybe he was trying to help, but the fact that he didn't trust me to handle my own problems only proved he thought of me as weak.

I was so sick of myself. So sick of carrying these problems. I wanted to rip them off my skin.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You piece of shit, burden!" I cried, rushing past the colorful doors of this sunny, unfitting neighborhood I never should've came to. This happy fairytale with Luka next door. Disturbing their life with my bullshit. "As if Ashton hasn't been through enough. As if he hasn't already spent his life taking care of someone! How could you do this to him?"

I needed to pay him back. I needed this guilt off of me. Now. Not later. Today.

"Yes, I'd love to! Can I have your address? :) What time should I come?"

~

Wow. Her Venice townhouse was my Pinterest dream. She was so young, how could she afford a beachside living? The crisp white building with black trims was framed in greenery. A checkered tile laid out with a welcome mat. Birds chirped and the palm trees swayed in the wind.

"You came!" Erika opened her arms, wearing a black romper that looked too good for being so simple. She smelled like coconuts and her skin glowed bronze.

I felt numb from all the crying, but managed a smile. "Thank you for having me."

"Of course. We're so excited you agreed to come, let's go say hi to everyone." She left the door open for me to follow, strutting down the hall. The ceiling was tall, with natural light bouncing on the white walls. A long, elegant stairway curled on the right. The left had an open kitchen with colorful finger foods and fruits. "Make yourself at home, hon."

"Sammie! Hiiiiiii!" The blonde friend in a wet green bikini rushed through the patio door. The ocean behind her shimmered across the sandy shore. Seagulls soaring over crashing waves.

"Wow, this place is gorgeous. I can't believe you guys live here..." I said, watching the redhead come down the stairs in a pink robe. They all looked like princesses from fairytale books.

"Trust me, we can't either," Erika smiled, offering a tray of what looked like mango juice. "There's no alcohol. We're weed smokers. Do you mind vegan food? We can order pizza—"

"I literally smoke weed every day and eat only vegan." I laughed with a dizzy head shake. "Wow. Did you read my diary or something? This is perfect."

"Wait until you see our studio."

"Oooh, can we show her!" The blonde gushed, pulling my hand in a death grip.

"I'm a little scared, to be honest..." The air conditioner raised goosebumps on my arms. I was not used to girls being so nice to me. What if they were psycho and wanted to murder me?

"Oh my God, Nat, don't scare the poor girl." Erika chided. "She just got here, let her breathe."

"No, no, don't worry!" I said. "Please, I'm just being awkward. I'd love to see it."

"Well, we want to show you what we do, but... to be honest, we're a little scared too. We don't share this with everyone. You're really special to us."

"Really? But you guys don't even know me."

"Don't you need money?" She bit on a strawberry, watching me with a dark gaze. Her black shoulder-length hair shining. "Because you can make a lot, but you need to be confident."

"Oh, no. See, I struggle in that department. Hardcore. That's kind of the root of my problems."

Why was I opening up? This wasn't safe.

Girls were my weakness. Each one a caricature of my mom that my sick mind brainwashed me to please. Like a hamster in a wheel. I exhausted myself to death. To prove I was good enough, knowing I'd always fail. But I'd never stop spinning. The wheel kept going and going.

"Babe, you have nothing to be insecure bout. First of all, you're gorgeous." She gave me head-to-toe look. "Second, you're smart. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so self-aware and third, you're hard-working. A lot of girls pretend to be confident, but they possess none of the qualities that you have. We don't want to work with fake people. We want someone real."

"What do you guys do?" I didn't mean to be rude, but impatience itched me. I didn't want to waste time. Not with Ashton on my mind. Not with guilt tearing me up. "Can I see your studio?"

"Of course." She smirked, setting the tray down. "Come on, I'll show you everything."

~A/N~
Do we trust Erika? Do we agree with what Ashton did?