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“Okay, but I don’t know them.”
“Are you sure about that?” she asks me.
“Apart from running into them a few weeks ago, I think I’d remember. Trust me, they’re not the kind of men you forget.”
“True,” she chuckles. “I think you need to give them a chance. I trust once you do, you will see all of this was meant to be.”
“Based on how you're acting, I’m gonna guess you know that I’m not here willingly.”
She says nothing, and I groan again.
“This is wrong, you know that, right?” I tell her.
“Have they hurt you?” she asks me.
My brows furrow. “No.”
“Are you locked up in a room, with nothing to sleep on, no food, no clothes, no access to a shower?”
“Well... no.” My brows furrow further.
“You have everything your heart could desire here,” she says, waving her hands around the room. “You might not have come here on your own, but I can assure you, you are not a prisoner here.”
“So, I can leave.”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Then I’m a prisoner!” I throw my arms up. “I have a life, you know. A job. Friends.”
“A job that pays you minimum wage. The one you’ve worked your ass off for. With a boss who’s a piece of shit that uses you, works you to the bone, and constantly disrespects you. A job that gives you just enough to pay your bills and feed yourself. Am I right?”
“How the fuck do you know that?” I ask, eyes widening. “Don’t tell me you’re stalking me too.”
“No,” she laughs. “These boys keep me busy enough. But I do hear about everything that they learn. They love to rant when things don’t go their way. Honestly, I’m surprised your boss is still alive. I think it has to do with the fact he hasn’t tried to hit on you. I can assure you if that was the case, he would have been gone a long time ago.”
“You're saying all this as if it’s normal.”
“For me, for the men of this house, it is. It’s part of the life we live.” She shrugs.
“You’re crazy, too, aren’t you?” I sigh.
“Maybe just a little,” she teases.
“You’re just okay with them keeping me here against my will?”
“Are you eager to leave?” she asks.
“Huh?”
“To leave? Are you eager to leave?” She repeats. “To get back to your life?”
I don’t know what to say to that. Am I?
“Yes,” I respond automatically. “I don’t want to be here. I didn’t ask to be here.”
“If you were allowed to go, what would you do?”
“I’d go home,” I tell her.
