The only time that I could ever feel in love was when I was with Marcus. Every month, I'd be so excited for my one night with him because I loved feeling in love with him.

But this month, when I'm getting all dressed up to spend my Friday night with him, I'm not nearly as excited as I used to be. Every time that I have a client, I still feel awful about betraying my relationship with Micah. I feel disgusting and terrible but I just keep thinking about Casey's tuition and I know that I can't give up the money. Especially with Davis's threats, I can't take as many clients now so I need the money more than ever.

So I wear a tight green dress with stockings, get my makeup done, put on my stilettos, make sure that everything I need is in my clutch, and I head out of the apartment. I haven't seen Micah all week because law school really keeps him busy most of the time but we talk or text every day, all of the time. He's coming over tomorrow night so that we can spend time together tomorrow so I'm pretty excited about that.

"There you are," Marcus grins at me when I meet him at our normal dinner table at my favorite restaurant. "You look great tonight, Samantha."

He's the only one who ever calls me by my full fake name instead of Sammy. I used to love that but now, I can't stop thinking about how my real name sounds coming from Micah's lips.

"You're looking pretty handsome as well," I respond as I sit down across from him at the small table. He's already starting on his first glass of scotch. "How are things with you?"

"Just the same as always," He answers me. "And what about you?"

"Busy," I sigh. "Really busy."

"Your brother started high school?"

"He did. He likes it, I think. Even if he didn't like it, I wouldn't tell me about it. Doesn't like to worry me," I explain. "What about Melony? What grade is she in again?"

"She's just started fifth grade," He answers me. "She's starting to ask about joining a volleyball team, which I think is good for her. I always worry that her mother doesn't get her out to exercise enough. She's learning the violin now too though, I'm worried that she's going to stress herself out with too many activities."

"Volleyball sounds like fun," I agree with him.

Marcus gives me a frowning look as he sips on his scotch. "Something is up with you tonight."

"Sorry," I quickly apologize. "Sorry, I'm listening."

"What's going on?" He asks me curiously.

"Nothing," I insist but he doesn't seem to believe me so I just decide to give him somewhat of an explanation. "I've met somebody. Not a client, he doesn't know about what I do, so I just feel guilty about keeping this from him."

"You're dating this guy?"

"Yeah," I admit slowly. "Listen, we don't have to talk about me all night, I'll deal with my issues on my own time."

"I'm interested," He says. "Tell me more."

"I mean, there's not much more to tell," I shrug at him. "I know that I can't stop working because I need the money but I don't want to lose him either. What would you do? If you found out that your girlfriend was a hooker?"

"I think that, at first, I'd be angry," Marcus slowly admits to me. "But I don't know everything about your situation. I would try to be understanding, if I knew all of the facts."

"All of the facts," I repeat to myself. "Well, I was abandoned by both parents when I was eight and thrown into the foster system with my infant brother. From the ages of twelve to eighteen, I was habitually raped by my foster father, and so I have just always been convinced that I need to get a better life for my brother. I have to do whatever it takes to get him where he needs to go. You know how much you pay me, and your prices are lower than everybody else's because I like you the most. I make a lot of money doing this. I'm putting Casey through school, giving him a nice apartment to live in and food to eat. Nobody abandoning him, hurting him, scaring him. So that's why I do it."

"That's a doozy," He decides after hearing my shortened life story.

"So what would you do? Now that you know all of the facts," I ask him again. The waitress brings me a martini that I assume Marcus ordered for me before I arrived. She doesn't ask for my food order so I wonder if he ordered that too. I get the same thing every month so I'm sure he could have.

"I don't know," He admits. "But I'm biased. I don't really have any room to judge you being a hooker considering I'm the kind of guy that buys a hooker."

"But don't you think that actions aren't what make you a good or bad person, that it's the reasons behind it?" I ask him. "I mean, say I shot a man. Immediately, you think that I'm a bad person because I did a bad thing. But what if that guy was a terrorist, about to blow up an entire city? Then doesn't that make me a hero?"

"Sure."

"So actions can't always be judged so black and white," I add, mostly just trying to talk myself into justifying my work to myself even though I know that I'm bullshitting it all right now. Sure, the meaning behind actions do matter but maybe they don't matter so much in my situation. At least, they won't matter to Micah if he ever finds out about what I do.

"You worry too much, Samantha," Marcus informs me. "Do you remember the first time that we met up, and what you told me that night when I was getting second thoughts?"

I do remember but that's only because it's the same thing that I tell every client when they're having second thoughts. "Yeah, I told you that sex is human nature, like hunger. And you pay for your food, don't you?"

"So why aren't you taking your own advice here?" He questions me. "You wouldn't be feeling guilty if you were a waitress or a chef, would you?"

"We both know that it's different."

"Only because society has made it different," Marcus adds.

"He's part of this society," I remind him. "So I can tell myself all I want that selling sex is basically just like selling somebody a meal but I know that I won't have enough time to explain it like that to him in the time that it takes him to get to the door when he finds out about who I really am. You know that it's different too, Marcus. Would you be telling this to your daughter in a few years? That sex is just as common and normal as eating?"

"You're right about that," He concedes. "If you were my daughter, this conversation would be going in a completely different direction."

"Listen, this is your night, you know," I try to get the conversation back on him. "We don't have to talk about me and my problems. Don't you want to talk about what's going on with you?"

"Well, like I said, nothing is really going on with me," He reminds me with a small shrug. "Your life is way more interesting."

"That's probably true, my life is very interesting," I confirm with a nod. "I would kill for a normal, boring life though. You should count your blessings."

"I could go for a little bit more excitement," Marcus sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Being with you is probably the most excitement I have all month, the only crazy thing that I do."

"How's the business doing?" I ask him. He always loves talking about his business.

That gets him going, talking on and on about how the company is doing and all of the meetings he's had. All of the mergers and acquisitions he's accomplished in the past thirty days or so. Like always, I never understand what he's talking about but I'm a good listener, so I pay attention well. I nod, I ask questions when needed, I listen to what he's saying. I'm mostly still thinking about Micah but I try not to let that show as much. Marcus is paying me to be his problem sponge. To hear all of his problems and just to listen and pay attention to him.

That's why I'm here, so I have to just do my job.

On his third glass of scotch, he asks me if I'm wearing the underwear that he had bought me. I tell him yes; I can tell that he's forgotten about the beginning part of our conversation now. He's horny and almost finished with his steak; his third glass of scotch is draining quickly.

I used to get so excited to go upstairs with Marcus. He's so much fun in the bedroom and he always treats me well. I thought that he treated me the best that I could ever be treated but then I met Micah. And Marcus doesn't even hold a flame to Micah.

I finish my ravioli and my second martini before he finishes eating. I use that time just to listen some more to him talking. He's relaxing more now, which he always does, because he's gotten so much off of his shoulders about his stressful job and the hardships of raising a kid with an ex-wife. He's buzzed too, which also helps him relax.

He gets his fourth glass to go and then we leave the hotel restaurant to head up to the room that he's already bought upstairs.

"I got a top floor this time," Marcus gloats while we're waiting for the elevator. He wraps his arm casually around my waist. "I know that those are your favorite."

"My hero," I kiss his cheek.

"It sucks though," He admits. "Knowing that I'm not your favorite anymore."

"You're still my favorite client," I promise him.

"Does he fuck you right?" Marcus randomly asks me but he says it quietly so that nobody around us can hear his invasive question. He gets crude like that when he's had some to drink. I don't mind it. "You deserve a guy who can really treat you well."

"Yeah," I admit to him after a short pause. "He's great."

When the elevator doors open, we walk inside. We're the only ones in the elevator, so I know that I'm in for an interesting ride up to the top floor because he's obviously really horny now, and pretty tipsy. He likes a little bit of a thrill that comes with the threat of getting caught in an elevator. Maybe it turns him on knowing that there's cameras in there too.

I'm not exactly sure what it is that he likes so much about getting all hot and heavy in the elevator, but it's a thing for him. He gently pushes me up against the wall of the elevator and then flips up the skirt of my dress to see what panties I'm wearing.

"Those are my favorite," He confirms, admiring the black lace panties with the garters that clip to the top of my stockings. I know that it's his favorite look, that's why I decided to wear them tonight. Just for him. He makes eye contact with me for a moment before he kisses me deeply, keeping my dress up until the elevator stops on our floor.

He helps me shimmy the dress back down before we get out and I follow him down the hallway to the hotel room.

His lips taste like scotch—they always do. I used to love that taste, used to love kissing him. Now, it burns my skin. Everywhere that he kisses me, it feels like it's poisoning my skin, my lips, and tongue. It burns, makes me feel sick to my stomach.

I'm good at masking that though, and I kiss him back every time. The moans are faked this time, which they never have been before—not with Marcus. I don't think that he notices the difference because I'm working hard not to let it show that I'm completely not into this anymore.

I fake the moans, I pretend that he takes my breath away, I squirm and I beg like I need him and only him. I'm good at my job so I make him feel the best that I can until he finishes and falls asleep in the bed. I throw away the condom and then head into the bathroom to clean up. He pays for the whole night so I have to spend the night with him but I spend some time crying in the bathroom, then fixing up my makeup again before I return to the bedroom.

I crawl into bed beside Marcus and turn off the lamp beside the bed to coat the room in darkness so that I can get as much sleep as possible. It's hard to get myself to doze off because I can't stop thinking about Micah and how afraid I am of hurting him. He's so kind and pure and he doesn't deserve to be hurt the way that I will hurt him if he ever finds out the truth.

But I can't let him go. If I could, I never would have held onto him in the first place. I know that there's not much of a chance that this will work out well but I can't give up hope because he's the only ray of light for me. The only reason that I smile anymore, the thing that I most look forward to during my day is talking to Micah. I can't give that up and I know that it's selfish but I just can't do it.

I still can't stop thinking about the fact that when I kiss him tomorrow, he might be tasting scotch.