The Professional Lover (18+) | [Complete]

Sequel : Maggie

"Penny?" I call to her. I hear the sounds of melodramatic sobbing coming from the guest bathroom. Goddammit, I do not have the patience for this shit right now.

I walk in and find her sitting on the floor by the toilet, crying her pretty, little eyes out, so stressed about whether or not she should doom the man that loves her to being with her forever. I don't get it. They're both somewhat decent humans and they have amazing sex. What is there to cry about?

She's sweet, but she's a fucking dumbass.

She looks up at me with her face a blubbering mess. She never wears a stitch of makeup, only styles her long, perfect hair into a mess on top of her head and looks goddamn beautiful all the time. Oh, and let's not even mention the genetic masterpiece she's been crying over for weeks now. Her life is perfect and she keeps trying to ruin it for herself as some sort of punishment for the "bad things she's done." She's too much like the idiot I used to be, and I can't take it anymore.

"Penny," I start to say as I sit on the edge of my tub. "You're one of the best friends I've ever had. But this is some bullshit and you know it." She looks up at me pitifully as she cries. "You have one of the greatest men in the world dying to be with you. He's human, he fucked up. Whether you two are screwed up or not, he will never find someone better for him than you, and you will never find someone that makes you as happy as he does. You two need to grow the fuck up and talk about whatever it is you're not saying!"

She hangs her head in her hands and sobs, "I can't."

I roll my eyes. "You can. You're just too pussy to do it." She looks up and glares at me. The bitch is really trying it today. "Life is fucking hard, Penny. We do shitty things, we say shitty things, we make shitty choices. But happy endings don't just happen. We have to make them for ourselves," I tell her, and try to ignore the pain in my chest at the memory. Wisdom comes from experience, and experience from failure, after all. "Just fucking call him. Tell him you want him back, and tell him why you were so scared in the first place." I stand to leave.

"But what if it's not what he wants?" she blubbers. Oh, good lord, shut the fuck up!

"Just fucking call him!" I shout. I leave her alone in the bathroom to continue cry-vomiting.

I've had enough shit to deal with this week; fired again for someone finding out I make a lot more money being appointment-only at the Ranch than I do working my ass off full-time at a hospital. Sex work scares people, it makes them uncomfortable. Being a mother on top of it, people think I'm some kind of monster.

It is very human -- albeit shitty -- to hate what we fear. People are always so quick to judge me without asking me a single question. If they'd ever ask me something as simple as "why" I'd tell them the truth; I would never make my son suffer for my mistakes.