Own Me

A.N. I've cast our favourite moody, bitchy, judgy prostitute - Danny Fletcher. He's played by Thomas Brodie-Sangster. I'm running out of famous people who easily represent my characters, I've used him before I know but I'm not arsed. Tell me if you like the casting and shit, and don't forget to vote and comment. Loads of love, xoxo, Clay.

♔ Chapter Four ♔

"And where the fuck have you been all day?" Fletcher asked, when I managed to rush myself gruffly over to our meet-up point at least an hour later than usual.

In that moment, I quickly made a decision to keep my time with Sawyer to myself. Fletcher didn't need to know about him, about what we did. I know exactly what it would look like. I was the hooker with a heart of gold and he was the rich daddy come to save me from all of my troubles, come to lift me up and away, back to his palace. Not that I even knew if he was rich. He definitely seemed rich, though. What kind of kid from Louisiana could afford to come to Britain for education? Clearly not a poor one.

Either way, from Fletcher's point of view, it would look like I was pulling a Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman - that was usually what we called it, when you started getting certain unwanted feelings for customers. So if I told him that last night, I had taken some stranger's virginity, held his hand as we slept, and given him my number, he'd go on some long tangent about how I always did shit like this and that I needed to create boundaries. And he was probably right.

After Tom, when any guy would treat me nice, I'd infatuate myself with them, believing I was lucky to even be looked at by a nice guy. That was probably the only bad thing I did as a prostitute - I had no idea how to emotionally detach myself from everything, like Fletcher could. But this time, I think Sawyer was genuinely different. He wasn't unlike any of the other tricks that I'd fucked before, because he cared, and he was shy, and awkward. In a weird and dorky kind of way, I had to admit that it fascinated me, it made me want him even more.

"Fell asleep at that party, after you went and ditched me, thanks," I replied craftily, quietly attempting to change the subject on what exactly he had been up to last night. "So, who was your lucky fucker?"

"Just... no one, just a client." Standing opposite the McDonald's that sparked up the rear end of the Junkyard, I could immediately tell that he was lying. It was how he stood differently, shifting on the spot, not looking me in the eye, and of course the blush that ran up his neck and along his cheeks.

Usually, Fletcher tried to hide his feelings, and I couldn't blame him. I didn't really know much about his past, and how he became just like me, but I knew it was because he'd been dumped on and fucked over for years. Over that time, he'd developed a kind of cold and emotionless mask that he'd put on around everyone. It was rare that the real Danny Fletcher ever came out, I'd only seen him two or three times in the year that I'd known him. For whatever reason, he liked to hide away his emotions and his feelings, he liked to lock up his vulnerabilities so no one could use them against him ever again. So, most times, he stayed cold and detached from much of life. That's probably the best way to be, when you were in our line of work.

"Yeah," I chuckled, "just a client. Okay."

"Hey!" he shouted, swatting me on the side of the arm. "What are you insinuating?"

"Dunno, what is it that you think I'm insinuating?" I asked him coyly.

"I always draw a line between business and pleasure, Darby, maybe that's something you need to start doing," he huffed, "because whatever you're thinking, it's wrong."

"What am I thinking, then?" I replied again, folding my arms and smirking casually.

"That I was pulling a Julia Roberts. Which, might I add, I totally fucking wasn't." I almost cried at the alignment of Fletcher's thoughts and mine, but that was why we clung so hard to each-other. Yeah, we argued, we were bitter with each-other a lot, but our relationship was a weird one to define. It was kind of like a brotherly bond, where we looked out for each-other, looked up to each-other, except sometimes we ended up sleeping together or cuddling, kissing, and yeah, fucking.