Good morning, America
Morning came too early. Literally. I was rudely awoken by an alarm that announced it was seven A.M.
Too early.
And too loud.
The alarm meant Steve was gonna wake up too, and to something unexpected. I’m willing to bet he didn’t count on me having slept on his chest.
I tried to figure out where the alarm was coming from, but by the time I figured out it came from his phone on his nightstand, that I wasn’t able to reach anyway, it was too late.
Steve opened his eyes and looked down at me, looking very confused and quickly letting me go.
“What the-“ He started, “Why are you in my bed?”.
“Good morning to you too.” I said, trying to make this a light conversation, “This wasn’t really my idea when you asked me to stay over, but neither was sleeping on the couch. It’s fine though.” I smiled.
“Doesn’t answer my question.” Steve said, squinting his eyes and tilting his head to the side.
I sighed before explaining, “You had a nightmare and I tried to wake you up, or at least calm you down. That didn’t work quite as well as I thought it would. You managed to grab onto me and kind of…” I tried to pick the right word, not coming up with anything better, “You cuddled me. But I don’t mind. Some clients like to cuddle, nothing new. It also seemed to help, so it's okay.” I shrugged.
Now the poor guy just looked confused.
“I really can’t remember. The nightmare, yes. You, no. But I’m really sorry. Hope you got some sleep.” He said, looking self-conscious. A little guilty even.
“I did.” I said as I gave him a flirty smile.
“Good, ehhm, so how’s your head?” He asked, blushing a little. He looked cute in the morning, but then again, he did in the evenings too.
As I stood up, I stretched, raising my arms above my head and yawning before I told him, again, that my head was fine. As I turned around, I actually caught the guy checking me out. Hmm...
“I’m starving, how about breakfast? You like eggs?” Steve asked me while he put on some clothes. A shame, really.
“Yeah, sure.” I said, smiling at him.
I followed Steve into the living room and decided to tidy up the couch while he made breakfast. After I was done with the couch I sat down at the bar, having a clear few of Steve, which had its perks, really.
He glanced sideways and must’ve noticed me staring because he snickered, “Staring is impolite.”
“Sorry.” I apologized, continuing to stare anyway.
“Alright, breakfast is served.” Steve announced, turning around with a plate of eggs in his hands. Eggs with herbs I don’t even know the name of, but damn, it smelled good.
It tasted even better.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you to be a cooking type.” I said through a mouth full of food.
“I just enjoy cooking. Learned to make do with what I have, even with food. Glad you like it.” Steve grinned.
After breakfast I dared to check the time, seeing it was already past midday. Meaning I had to get home. Meaning I had to make my way over to Pierce again soon, to show that dick I can actually make money. Not the way I thought I would, but it’s fine anyway.
“I’m sorry Steve, but I kind of have to go. I have to get back to Pierce, show him I made the money.” I sighed, feeling a little guilty to bring up the money.
The blond frowned, displeased by the fact that I was expecting a thousand dollars or perhaps a little disappointed that I had to go, I hoped.
“Okay, Buck. I hope you’ll be fine. And if you need anything or anything goes wrong, here’s my number.” Steve said, handing over his business card and a literal thousand dollars from his wallet. “Be safe, please?”
After getting over the shock that Steve has a thousand dollars in his pocket as if it’s nothing, I grinned, “Thanks, Steve. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll see ya around. And thanks again." I said before leaving his apartment.
~
“You got it?” Natasha whispered as I walked in. I nodded shortly.
“Ah, James, what have you got for me?” Pierce asked with that ugly grin of his.
“1.500 dollars. Just like you asked.” I answered, secretly a little proud of getting that much money in one night. Even if the way I made it was a little... unorthodox.
“I really didn’t think you could pull that off.” He said.
“So does that mean I can keep my job?” I asked. He promised me I could stay if I made 1.500, so why wouldn’t I be allowed to stay?
A devilish smirk spread over that ugly mug of his, “No.”
That, I didn’t understand, “Wha- what?” I stammered. What was he talking about? I did what he asked!
“I made 1.500 dollars.” I stated.
“James, can you not count? Poor boy. I told you to make more than 1.500 dollars. This,” He said, waving the money in my face, “is 1.500, which is not more than 1.500, so you failed, meaning you’re fired.”
“What?” I asked again, incredulous, anger seeping into my chest.
“You heard me. This is your final pay, now leave.” Pierce said, holding a few bills out in front of me.
“You-, you bastard.” I growled as heat started boiling inside of me. This prick! He was never planning on keeping me, I bet. I was just a puppet to his stupid games.
God how I wanted to punch him in his face, “Do you know I almost got raped yesterday! All because of your idiotic policies and rules! And that dude bashed in my head. I was gushing blood” I yelled, clenching my fists.
“That is not my fault.” He said calmly, his expression cold. He didn’t even care in the slightest. “You should leave.”
“Motherfucker.” I hissed. God I was angry. He knew how much I needed this job and he reveled in the knowledge that he’s the one that takes it from me. Sadistic fucking bastard.
“Escort mister Barnes out, please.” Pierce told his guards without breaking eye contact.
Both men, way taller and wider and thus stronger than me, grabbed my arms and half dragged me out of there.
Great.
I flexed my fingers, feeling the nervous energy pulsing through my body. I stalked over to my gym, furious. I needed to punch something. What better way than to direct my fury onto a punching bag, trying to punch it through a wall. Maybe even punch through a wall.
Storming into the locker-room I got dressed in a flurry of short, angry movements and stalked into the gym, glaring straight ahead of me as if I could kill a man. I felt like I definitely could.
Grateful the punching bags were unoccupied I started my work-out.
A small jab, uppercut, right in the kidneys, Pierce’s nose broken, his arm too, jaw dislocated by now, punch in the stomach, to the side, head.
I grunted hard, huffing while I punched harder and harder until my knuckles were bleeding but I couldn’t care less. I just wanted to punch my way through this disaster. Focusing on the burn in my lungs and the ache in my bones.
“Hey, man, stop. You’re hurting yourself.” A voice warned from behind me. Well, I wanted to punch that person too.
I decided to ignore him, thinking about breaking some ribs, his leg, a few fingers. I just needed to keep hitting the bag so I wouldn’t have to think about how I’d survive without enough money.
“Stop, you’re bleeding. Stop punching!” The guy now practically yelled.
God, I was gonna punch this guy in the face. He should just back off.
“Leave,” punch to Pierce’s ribs, “me,” knee to the crotch, nice, “alone!” I ground out through clenched teeth. And just as I was gonna punch again, two strong hands pulled me back.
I was so incredibly angry and exhausted that my vision blacked out, unseeing eyes trying to focus on the guy holding me. I could only see two hands holding my wrists so tightly that my skin turned white. Right on top of the bruises that Brock had left the night before.
Focusing on the pain made me return to my senses a little, “Let me go.” I hissed, really wanting to punch this dude now. This was none of his business.
“Buck, stop.” The voice said, suddenly much calmer and softer.
He knew my name? How? But the voice sounded familiar, and the rage slowly faded, my vision fully returning.
Behind me was Steve, slowly releasing his iron grip on my wrists as I started to cool down.
“Why are you here?” I asked, a little suspicious. Running into this guy three times in 24 hours? Coincidence?
“I was just working out when I wanted to go over to the punching bags, where some guy was losing it. Which is you, by the way.”
“Well, I just want to work out, so leave me be, please.” I snarled. It came out a bit rougher than I meant but I was still a bit more than pissed off, so let's blame me being rude on emotions for now.
“No, Buck. You need to sit down.” Steve insisted.
“No. Just-. Uhhg! Fine.” I grunted, sitting down.
“Let me look at that.” Steve said, pointing at my hands, which weren’t looking so good.
“It’s fine.” I bit out. I flexed my hands and looked at them closely. Yep, I hit that bag so good, Pierce would’ve been dead by now.
“It’s not. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He instructed.
After a few minutes Steve returned with a medical care kit. He sat down next to me and took out some bandages and disinfectant. He carefully took my hand in his and started cleaning it. Apparently, he knew what he was doing, seeing as to how carefully and concise he went to work.
Ten minutes later my hands were cleaned, wrapped up and properly mummified.
“Thanks.” I said softly, staring at the floor. An empty, almost shameful feeling overtook me. Here I was, being patched up by mister Nice guy again. What would he be thinking of me?
“It's fine. Wanna talk about it?” He asked softly.
I shook my head, “Not really.” Once I started talking about it, I knew I was gonna end up going berserk again.
“Okay. Wanna go somewhere? Have you eaten anything?” Steve asked.
“Sure, and no, I haven’t really.” I just responded.
“You should. Come on, let’s go.” Steve said before he pulled me up.