Chapter 4

FIDELIA

What was I doing for fuck’s sake?

I shut my eyes in silent embarrassment, slipping my finger out of my pants.

“I’m okay. Just back away.”

The person was obviously among the staff with the uniform and all.

He distanced himself from me, his hands in the air.

“You screamed so I thought something was wrong.” He revealed.

I bit my lips in more embarrassment and only turned around when I felt he was gone.

I could barely meet the eyes of the cashier as I quickly paid for my grocery and hurried out of the store.

Geez, what the hell has gotten into me?

I wasn’t the girl from five years ago. I wasn't the Fidelia who nicknamed herself FunSize and made money by touching herself for other men.

I was Fidelia of now, who worked 5 to 6 part-time jobs to pay for my college tuition after my mom had a stroke and was hospitalized.

I was Fidelia, who single-handedly paid my mom’s hospital bills and fought my way through college, keeping up with all-nighters and late-night shifts.

FunSize was my past and should stay that way.

I wasn’t going to let Vincent drag me back into that past after I left it behind all those years.

If he didn’t want to give me the advance, fine.

I’ll quit. He can shove his job up his ass.

But what if he were willing to do it?

The question hung in my mind as I crossed a street into the alley leading to my apartment.

Just as I stepped on the sidewalk, something dull and heavy dropped on my head, and I shrieked in both shock and pain.

I craned my neck, looking up at the building to see the loser that was blind enough to dump some trash on an innocent passer-by.

Wasn’t there like a fine for people like these?

Then the person looked down, a man with raven hair, and since it was dark, I couldn’t see him clearly, especially since the street lamps were blinding my vision.

So I just gave him the middle finger and walked off.

Even if I wanted to go further with giving him a piece of my mind, Mom would be awake any moment from now, and I couldn’t let her be alone.

As if my fears were confirmed, I got in and found her collapsed on the floor.

Just next to the bed.

And panic struck me.

She’d obviously tried to leave the room when her legs weren’t even healed enough to stand on.

“Jeez. Mom, what happened?” I asked, kneeling beside her and groaning as I gently pulled her up to a sitting position.

I felt for her pulse and heartbeat.

They were stable.

Thanks to constantly being my mom’s caregiver I learned how to check her temperature and pulses even without aids.

By the time I successfully moved her to the bed, I was panting like I had just run a marathon.

I called the doctor and told him what happened.

“Her entire body is weak. She's going to have to stop depending on the dialysis and opt for chemotherapy, where we can monitor her pulse better.

“And I suggest you hire an actual caregiver that would give her 100 percent attention. A nurse, preferably, or her condition could deteriorate without proper supervision.” The doctor advised.

The moment the call ended, I was a mess.

In between frustration at Vincent’s threat and my conflicting feelings about him, I took a trip down memory lane.

To be honest, he hadn't just been my loyal subscriber.

He’d been my confidant.

From naughty, dirty chats to freaky sex sessions, we’d talked about school, family, friends, and even our likes and dislikes.

He’d turn into a subscriber, a sex buddy, a friend, and my biggest supporter.

He’d gifted me on my birthday with cash gifts, mostly.

At a point he’d bought my mom a present for her birthday.

Things were going fine until he asked me out on a date.

That day, that particular period, I realized I was aiming too high.

I had to come down to earth, stop being delusional, and admit that Vincent could never possibly want anything meaningful to do with a slut he met online.

He just wanted to hit and run.

Just like any other slut from OnlyFans he’d met.

That sort of brought me back to reality.

Sometimes it got harder to believe Vincent was the same as Mr. V.

Mr. V understood me and wouldn’t let me feel inadequate or constantly infuriate me.

Maybe because that version of himself was his past.

Maybe he was never real.

I was just disillusioned into believing he was.

But I was real. Being FunSize was my truth for as long as I let it be.

The next day, I opened my laptop and went on to open a plain sheet.

I’ve never felt my heart pound so hard in my ears that it hurt as my grip on the mouse tightened.

Taking a deep breath, my fingers flew across the keyboard, typing my resignation letter.

It was okay. I’d start all over again.

Set things right.

When his call came in, I wasn’t surprised, as for the past six months, he’d been the first person to call me every morning.

I picked it up on the third ring.

“Good morning, Sir, I am—“

“I’ll give you the advance. But I also have a condition.” He started.

I wet my lips, dreading his next words.

"Proceed, sir.”

Holding my breath, I waited for him to break the painful silence.

“You’ll be my mistress. I want to screw you, Fidelia.”