“Girl, you need to get out of this situation, and you need to get out of it right now!” my friend Mary said.

We sat across from each other at a diner across from our workplace with fries and chicken on the table between us.

“That’s easy for you to say,” I replied, picking up two fries and dipping them into the palm-sized brown recyclable bowl of ketchup before me.

“Yes, it is because you are in a dangerous situation and need to get out of it,” Mary said.

“There’s nothing dangerous here. No one is going to hurt me, and besides, where will I go? I cannot just break my contract.”

“Yes, you can because they have put you in this situation.”

“But how would I prove that? It will be my word against his,” I replied, chewing. “And I can barely afford this perfect place. I can’t leave it right now. I’m stuck.”

It all started about six months ago when I returned home from my full-time job at Shirley’s Fine Dining.

“Stop judging me,” my mom said, slurring her words.

“I’m sick and tired of living like this. I can’t live like this anymore, Mom. I just can’t.” I stood at the seven-piece dining table, still dressed in street clothes.

“You can’t live like this anymore? I can’t live like this anymore! You’re always judging me! What’s wrong with me taking the edge off with a drink or two on a weekend?”

My mom fell back onto the brown leather-like couch but managed to get up the second time she tried.

“Stop lying to yourself, Mom. You need help.”

My mom pointed at me with an unsteady hand, “There you go again, Miss Judgy.”

“I’m not judging you. I’m trying to help you, Mom.”

My mom laughed and kept laughing as she entered the kitchen.

“I’m leaving this house and you, Mom!” I yelled.

“Then go! But don’t come crying back when the world gives you a good kick in the you know what.” Mom stopped laughing long enough to say.

I angrily fled to my bedroom and threw myself onto my unmade bed.

By the following morning, as usual, my anger was gone, and again, I decided to keep away from my mom until I saved up enough money to move out. When I left the bedroom, Mom sat at the dining table with a cup of coffee.

“I’m giving you one month to move out,” she said, looking at me.

“What?”

“One month.”

“Mom, please, I don’t have enough money to move out right now,” I pleaded.

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

Angry tears filled my eyes.

“I’ll ask around and see if anyone I know is renting, but you will leave this house and me, as you put it, within a month.”

I fled to my room again, and four weeks later, I moved into the basement of a couple not too far from my workplace. I found the ad on the pinup board in the reception area of my workplace. I tapped my cell phone and punched in the phone number on the ad, and later met Olivia, who went by Livvy, and her boyfriend, Oliver, who went by Olie.

Mary and her boyfriend helped me move into the basement, but in truth, there was not much to move. The basement suite came with everything included. That is, a stove, a fridge, a new bed, everything! So, they helped me move in with my clothes, bicycle, a small bookcase with books, and a few other things. We did it in one trip.

I paid the first month’s rent and the security deposit and was given the key to the separate basement entrance from the rest of the house.

My landlords seemed to be about fifteen to twenty years older than me, and the first weekend I was there, they invited me to a “little get-together,” as they said, in the main house with their friends. There were about ten of us in total, and I enjoyed it. The following week, they offered me some fruits and the following week, bread, and I accepted them.

I called my mom once in a while to see how she was, and although she was alright, everything was still the same with her. Now, I was even more thankful she pushed me to move out. Life was looking up for me. I was happy again.

I went to work daily, except for my day off on Tuesdays, returned home, slept, and on weekends chilled out with my landlords and sometimes with their friends. This continued until one night, by their suggestion, I was chilling out with my landlords, just the three of us, in the basement. Olie’s arm brushed my breast.

The touch was accidental when we were passing each other in the kitchen, where I went to get some ice for Livvy, and Olie came to wash his hands. I knew it was accidental because he immediately said sorry, and it didn’t happen again for the rest of the night.

The following two weekends, Olie and Livvy went out somewhere, and if I were to be honest, I missed them because I had already grown accustomed to spending my weeknights with them and our overall routine.

The following weekend, after returning home from work around 11:30, Olie invited me into their house. As usual, I expected to find Livvy sitting in front of the forty-two-inch OLED TV in the living room. She was not there, though.

Olie explained she went out but would return soon, but he needed to talk to me about something. He told me that he and Livvy had an open relationship, and the previous basement tenant and Livvy had worked out an arrangement. That is, if he were intimate with her once a week for four weeks, he would not need to pay rent for that month.

It was now his turn with the tenant. Therefore, he was offering me the same deal. If I were to be intimate with him once a month, they would even continue to give me fruits, bread, and the other foods they usually give me. I would not need to pay rent for that month.

“And what if I refuse?” I asked.

“Then we can’t share our food, friends, and time with you anymore, and when it ends, we cannot renew our rental agreement,” he replied.

Then, as if on cue, Livvy returned home, singing as she walked through the door. When she saw us, she exclaimed, “Ohh, nice, just let me put these away, pop some corn, and we can watch a movie.”

She was carrying two bags of groceries.

“Think about what I said,” Olie whispered, “but I need an answer by Monday.”

The following day, before work, Mary and I sat in the diner, and I told her what was going on.

“You are in a dangerous situation and need to get out,” Mary said.

I shook my head.

“Are you sure that this is not just Olie’s doing? Are you sure that Livvy is a part of this?”

I nodded vigorously.

“Before leaving for the basement after the movie, she whispered, ‘Accept the deal; everything will be alright. Trust me’.”

“What’s alright about being a live-in prostitute?” Mary asked, glaring at me.

“Chill, chill,” I said, patting the air and looking around, hoping no one overheard her.

“You’re not thinking about doing this, are you?” she asked, frowning.

I was quiet for a few minutes as I ate.

“No. Of course not,” I finally replied, “but you need to help me with a plan because right now I do not have one.”

Mary smiled and picked up a piece of chicken. “Of course I will. I will not leave you in danger.”

The End