'Rebecca! I'd recognise that skater's arse anywhere!'
Perfect, just the message I want to find in my inbox. Very few people can make my skin crawl, which considering what I do is mildly impressive. The majority I just feel pity for, but not P. I genuinely loath him, and usually ignore / block his messages, or change my profile whenever he surfaces. But he pays good money. Money I need to save for my conversion course next year, and that will feed us and keep D in nappies for another week.
'I'm coming to town tomorrow and was hoping you'd like to hook up? I always seem to miss you.'
Translation: 'Why are you ignoring me?'
Answer: Because you're a creepy old man, make my skin crawl and when I'm with you, and for a good few days afterwards, I hate myself. Do you have any idea how long it takes to wash that kind of dirt off?
Reply I sent: 'Hi P, sorry I've been a bit snowed under with coursework, but I have a bit of a lull now. If you like we could do dinner tomorrow night. Kisses, Rebecca xxx'
I knew exactly what I was letting myself in for on Monday when I sent that, but the student loan's already disappeared in the post xmas credit repayment and the rent's just gone up by 15%, something about interest rates, inflation, and the landlord being a twat.
Needless to say last night was nowhere near worth the £700 I payed in on my way back. I love Lebanese food, and Bayswater is a lovely area, but the company was hideous. Sitting in a restaurant wearing a school uniform (sans tie) and no underwear while a leacherous 50 something visually rapes you while dipping pittas in humous is not my idea of a dream date. Nor is 'accidentally' spilling white wine down my blouse and smiling coyly at the waiter while performing a quick Sharon Stone between leg flash.
I could feel everyone in the room looking at me, they all knew what I was. What he was. But I was the object of their contempt. Yet they would feel equal scorn for me if I didn't work and leached off the state and tax payer to support myself and D. Funny world, damned if you do, damned if you don't.
Having to fawn over that greasy sleaze bag really takes it out of me. I don't even want to remember the hotel. I'll block it out, same as I did the boat show and what he did then. But in my darkest moments it'll resurface, just to remind me what I had to do to survive.
