My Boyfriend Charged Me to Sleep With Him

On New Year's Eve, I wore my best dress. It was black velvet, with long sleeves and a hem just above my knees. I bought it on sale two years ago and had never worn it. I curled my hair in front of my tiny bathroom mirror and put on the gold earrings my mom gave me at graduation.

Tyler had promised me dinner. A real one. "Somewhere with tablecloths," he'd said on the phone, laughing. "You deserve it, babe."

I held onto that word the whole subway ride to Brooklyn. *Deserve.* The train was packed with people in sparkly hats. A girl across from me kissed her boyfriend like the world was ending. I smiled at my reflection in the dark window. Tonight was our turn.

Tyler Moore and I had been together for three years. Three years of "next month, babe" and "I'll pay you back." I didn't mind. I told myself love was patient.

His building sat on a dark street near the canal. The buzzer was broken, so I texted him. He came down in a faded band t-shirt and ripped jeans. No jacket. No tie.

"Hey, gorgeous." He kissed my cheek and pulled me up the stairs. "Change of plans."

The apartment smelled like old pizza. Dishes were stacked in the sink, crusted orange. His roommate's bike blocked half the hallway. In Tyler's room, the twin bed was unmade, the sheets twisted into a gray knot.

"I've been thinking," he said, in the soft voice he saved for serious things. "Restaurants tonight are a rip-off. Three hundred bucks for a fixed menu? That's our future, Esme. I want to save it for us." He spread his arms at the mess like it was proof. "This is me being responsible."

My throat went tight. I looked down at my velvet dress. Then at the sticky floor.

"Okay," I said. "That's... smart. I guess."

He grinned. "See? This is why I love you."

I stayed.

We ate cold cereal at midnight. Outside, people were cheering. Fireworks popped over the river, but his only window faced a brick wall.

Later, the bed creaked under us like it was complaining. Tyler barely looked at me. When it was over, he rolled toward the wall and dragged the blanket to his side. Within a minute, he was snoring.

I lay there in the cold. A brown water stain spread across the ceiling, shaped like a fist. My phone sat face-down on the nightstand. I didn't want to see everyone's happy photos.

*This is what love looks like when money is tight,* I told myself. Over and over. Until the words stopped meaning anything.

In the morning, gray light leaked through the blinds. Tyler's side was empty. I pulled on my dress and walked to the kitchen.

He was sitting at the counter. Next to him, swinging one bare leg, was Kayla Fernandez.

Kayla was his "best friend." His "bro." She wore a cropped sweater under one of Tyler's flannels like she owned it. She had a key to this place. I didn't.

She smirked over her coffee mug. "Morning, sunshine."

"I didn't know you were here," I said. My voice came out small.

"I'm always here."

Tyler folded his hands on the counter. His eyes were big and sad. "Babe, sit down. We need to talk."

I didn't sit.

"Last night was New Year's Eve," he said slowly. "The most valuable night of the year. You used my place. My time. I could've been out working a gig." He paused. "So Kayla and I figured a thousand bucks is fair. Like a service fee."

The fridge hummed. A car alarm wailed down the block.

"A... what?"

Kayla laughed. A real laugh, head tipped back. "Oh my god, look at her face. Don't be cheap, Esme."

"You want me to pay you," I said. "For sleeping with me."

"Why are you making this about money?" Tyler's voice went sharp, then soft again. "If you really loved me, you wouldn't make this about money."

"I'm not—" My eyes burned. "Tyler, I've covered your rent for six months."

Kayla tilted her head and pushed out her bottom lip. "Sweetie. Are you seriously upset about this?"

Something cracked inside me then. It wasn't loud. It was quiet, like ice giving way under your feet. I felt it go, and I knew it wasn't coming back.

I didn't say another word. I got my coat. I walked past them both. Kayla was still giggling when the door clicked shut.

Outside, the sidewalk was white with frost. The wind cut straight through my tights. Glitter and broken party horns lay frozen in the gutter.

My hands shook so hard I almost dropped my phone. I scrolled past Tyler's name. Down to a contact I had never once called.

Jericho Hart.

I met him six months ago at a charity gala. Tyler had gotten drunk and loud at the bar, and Jericho found me alone on the balcony. Everyone in New York knew his face. He owned half of Manhattan. People said he never smiled.

He didn't smile that night either. He just handed me a card. "If you ever want out," he said, "I'll offer you a contract. Companionship. My protection." I laughed it off. I saved the number anyway.

Now my breath fogged the screen.

I pressed call.

He answered on the second ring. "Esme."

He knew it was me before I said a word. That should have scared me. It didn't.

"That contract you offered me." My voice was raw, scraped down to nothing but rage and tears. "I'll sign it. But I have one condition. You help me make them pay."

Silence. One second. Two.

"Send me the address," he said. "I'm sending a car."