#urrrggh

 The last night he spent in the motel, Sam was unable to sleep. He stayed seated against the headboard of the bed in the dark, wondering how and why he had thought it would be easy. Well, not easy but certainly not that hard. Had he really taken the right decision? The voice of his father kept slipping in his head, providing him an answer. It’s because of those fucking books that put these ideas in your head. You think you can run away from your future? Grow up, Sam! His father wasn’t wrong. It had been the books that had given Sam the courage to stand up to his father, tell him who he was and what he wanted to be. Even now, as the images of the last fight he had had with him threatened to pass before his eyes, he clenched his eyelids tight, holding on to one of the few books he had been able to take with him and letting the words of Sylvia Path wash over his mind.

   There’s a stake in your fat black heart  

 And the villagers never liked you.

 They are dancing and stamping on you.  

 They always knew it was you.

 Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

   When the sun came out and made the dust in the room look like little particles of gold, his eyes were red and his muscles tense under the worry and weariness but his head was clear. He had done the right thing. Yes, he could run away from his future. He was going to kiss all the boys he wanted and go to college and his father could go to hell.

   **

   “Son?”

 Sam jerked awake and looked around, startled. He didn’t know what day it was, or where he was and a redheaded woman was looking straight at him. Needless to say, he freaked out a little and he hold his backpack closer to his chest unconsciously. During the two weeks he had spent on this bench, he had acquired some reflexes when someone entered his personal space. Some of them he had acquired the hard way.

 “Cool it boy, I’m not here to harm you. I’m here as a friend.”

 “Who are you?” He tried to sound less vulnerable than what he felt like but his husky voice and the growling that came from his stomach betrayed him. A wave of distress overcame him. He had never needed to eat a lot but the three or four days without swallowing something other than water started to manifest themselves in Sam’s body.

 The woman smiled gently. “Now that’s something we should talk about around a nice cup of tea after you’ve taken a hot shower. What do you say, child?”

 Sam didn’t give much of a thought to his options before standing up to follow the strange lady. He had nothing on him and he didn’t mean anything to anyone so there was no chance she wanted something from him. He might as well take this chance. He followed unsteadily as they left the square he had taken up residence in. He was walking as fast as he could – it was easier when the sun wasn’t here yet to burn the streets – but it wasn’t quick enough to keep up with the woman’s brisk pace.

 “Sorry,” he murmured when she stopped to wait for him.

 “It’s not far, we don’t have to rush,” she answered when he finally caught up. “By the way, I’m Rita,” she added.

 “I’m Sam. Well, Samuel but Sam is fine.”

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam.”

 They carried on. Sam could see that she made sure to follow his pace and not walk to fast. This Rita definitely wasn’t a bad person. At least for now; and that was enough for Sam. It didn’t change his mind nor did it surprise him when they walked down the street he had been wandering on what seemed like an eternity ago. In the early morning light, the empty street looked like any other one. The night was another story, but it was what it was. Who was Sam to judge?

 There was no doubt about what kind of business was held in the house they stopped in front of. It was an old quaint house, strange but refreshing in the middle of the little buildings of the street. Rita adjusted a small cactus placed on the porch railing with a fond smile before opening the door. He stepped in just after her, a silly apprehension growing in his belly.

 The interior of the house was decorated in good taste. Paintings of more or less naked women hung on the yellow-beige wallpaper above several side tables scattered around the room, most of them with little statues on them. In the middle of the hall, right in front of the entrance, was a big wooden staircase, the middle of the steps covered by a red carpet. Sam had to admit that this house had a lot more class than he expected a brothel to have. He turned to Rita, who was double-locking the door behind them.

 “You have a really nice house.”

 Rita laughed warmly. Her ginger waves bounced on her pecan-nut-colored skin. Sam tried to guess how old she was but right now she looked ageless, timeless.

 “That’s sweet of you, Sam.” She patted his arm and added more seriously: “Alright, we gotta clean you up child. You should use the bathroom of the last floor. You’ll find soap and shampoo for men there. I don’t reckon you’re especially fond of lavender, right?”

 Sam smiled. He was grateful for the efforts Rita made to make him comfortable. It worked, as the exhaustion he previously felt was starting to wear out. “Right.”

 “It will be the first door on your right. Join me in the kitchen once you’re done.”

 Sam nodded and winced when the stairs creaked under his weight. He stepped on the next step as slow as possible but it produced an even more terrible, agonizing sound. He looked down at Rita, who was watching him with a bright smile.

 “Don’t worry about that dear, we’re all used to it by now.”

 He tried to ignore the squeaks on his way up to the second floor. There, he had to turn back and walk in front of several doors before reaching another staircase, above the first one, leading to the third and last floor and not less creaking. He found the bathroom easily. It was neat and clean, as the rest of the house seemed to be. He resisted the temptation to look at all the different products and bottles of pills on the shelves and went to the sink instead. Above it, the mirror showed him someone he did not know. His face was emaciated, darkened because of the dirt and the facial hair that had finally but strangely started to grow above his mouth and on his chin. The white of his eyes had turned red, giving him a crazed looked. Why Rita had approached him instead of running away was something of a miracle.

 The first water drops on his skin were divine. He looked up at the shower head and let the spurt of hot water wash away worry and filth alike. He stayed like this for a few minutes before eventually, at the thought that he was only a guest here and was waited for in the kitchen, using the soap and shampoo on the second shelf of the shower stall. He scrubbed clean every part of his body, twice, and did the same with his hair. He had never thought once in his life that a shower could be that fulfilling.

 He got out with a clean towel he had found in the closet feeling like a new man, sensation that improved even more after he had taken care his growing mustache and beard with the razor on the edge of the washstand. This time, when he looked up at the mirror and closely inspected the reflection, he still didn’t recognize himself but at least he didn’t want to get away from it.

   When he reached the kitchen, which was the first door of a small corridor on the left of the front door, two cups of tea were sitting on a long table. Rita was sitting at the end of it, turned to someone she seemed to be arguing with. From where he stood on the threshold, he couldn’t see their face but, judging by the voice, he guessed it was the man he had used the products of. They stopped talking when he cleared his throat.

 “I can uh…I didn’t want to interrupt.”

 “No, no, dear. Come on in, sit, drink,” Rita said.

 She was gentle when she talked but there was a natural authority emanating from her that made it impossible not to do as she asked so Sam entered the room with embarrassed steps. Now that his mind was clearer, he was fully aware that this woman was more generous with him than she had too. He glanced at her then at the man leaning against the sink. The latter looked up at him too and the green of his eyes made no doubt as to where Sam had seen him before. It had been two weeks earlier, the very first time he had came on this street, when that slightly creepy guy – John? Jack? – had accosted him. Sam wanted to say something to him but Dean looked back at the kitchen tile. As he approached, Sam noticed that he couldn’t be much older than him. But he didn’t look like an overgrown child like Sam did. He was very handsome, manly in the way he stood and carried himself, like a model. When he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, Sam averted his eyes, ashamed by his own inappropriate curiosity.

 “Thanks,” he murmured, sitting in front of his cup.

 Rita patted the back of his hand. “Drink while it’s hot, then we’ll talk.”

 Like the earlier shower, the first sip of tea felt like a blessing. Sam wasn’t a tea guy but the warmness that filled him both physically and emotionally when he drank it was one he had rarely experienced. He relaxed on his chair and looked around. Just in front of him, two medium white boards hung off the wall. They seemed to be schedules, filled with the week days and names under them. Other than that, the walls were blank but it didn’t make the room less welcoming. Like the bathroom, it was orderly. It was well equipped too with an oven under the gas stove, a microwave, a toaster and a kettle on the countertops. His eyes drifted towards Dean next. Arms crossed on his chest, he was looking absent-mindedly through the window. The 7 am sun enlightened the freckles Sam hadn’t noticed on his cheeks and nose.

 Rita interrupted his observation with a discreet throat clearing. Sam looked back at her quickly.

 “Tell me a little about you, darling,” she requested, chin in her hands like she was waiting to hear a story.

 “I’m Sam Wesson, uh… I’m eighteen-” Sam stopped brutally when Dean clicked his tongue and he blushed, nose in his cup.

 “Let him talk!” Rita said firmly.

 Sam stayed quiet and rubbed the edge of his porcelain cup. He didn’t have much more to add, anyway. Well, he actually had but he was not sure these strangers would want to hear all about his life, Dean had made this pretty clear. Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it either.

 Rita seemed to understand. “And you don’t have anywhere to go,” she summed up sympathetically.

 Although it wasn’t a question, Sam nodded. It prevented the tears in his eyes to roll on his cheeks. He was sure he had taken the right decision and was far from thinking he should run back to his Dad, but it didn’t make it easier. He had nowhere to go, no one to talk to; he was no one now.

 Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Rita share a look with Dean before turning her attention back to him. “Listen, you don’t look like an idiot to me Sam, so I’m going to be straightforward. You have understood what kind of business we’re running here, right?”

 Sam rose his head. Rita had turned into a business woman, in an unsettling contrast with the caring and almost motherly figure she was a second ago. He fidgeted a little on his chair and blushed but nodded again.

 “Alright. So here’s the deal: if you accept to work and receive clients you can stay here, in this house, the time for you to get back on your feet. Accommodations and food are free of charge so you can save money for whatever you need money for. If it’s not something you’re ready to do, there’s not much more I can do for you, kid.”

 Sam couldn’t say he was surprised by the proposition – apart from her genuine kindness Sam had still no doubt about, she had to have picked up Sam for a reason. He kept his head, even though all sorts of thoughts were rushing in his mind. Whatever his decision would be, he needed to take it with full knowledge of the facts. For now, he needed more information.

 “How would it work? Exactly?”

 “Well you work at least five nights a week, you can choose which ones, from 8:30 pm to 4:30 am. It’s not a regular brothel. When you work, you go outside on the street and wait for someone to approach you. Then you take them here, up to your room and do your business. Prices are the same for everyone – 110$ for forty-five minutes of regular sex and 40$ for each additional fantasy – but clients are encouraged to give tips. Every next morning, I take fifty percent of what they gave you, except for the tips of course. Everything else is yours.”

 Sam put his head in his hands. On the one hand, it was tempting. He could make a lot of money pretty fast. On the other, the things he’d have to do in return… He had nothing against prostitutes. They did what they had to do to survive when they were desperate and had no other choice; like him. But considering to sell his body, let himself be touched and used like he was a toy people bought for their pleasure? He couldn’t believe he had gone that far. Sam considered his other options. His only other alternative was going back to his bench and pray that people would be generous enough to give him enough coins to buy himself something to eat. It was far from being a viable project. Whereas this… He gazed at his now empty cup of tea. At least he would have somewhere to sleep and eat. And it wouldn’t last for years, only the time for him to get back on his feet, save some money to find a place to rent and to apply for college. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t the ideal solution but it was the best one for now.

 “Okay.”

 “You know that most – well, all of our customers are men. You realize that.”

 Sam sneered. If it had been a problem, he wouldn’t have found himself in this situation in the first place. “Oh, I’ll be alright with that,” he answered when both Dean and Rita raised their eyebrows.

 “So we’re clear; you accept to work here?” Rita watched him intently. He knew that if he showed the slightest doubt she would call it off. And he needed this job.

 “Yes,” he answered with an assurance he even surprised himself with.

 The hint of a smile stretched Rita’s lips. “Alright. I just need to see your ID card, dear. To check if you’re really eighteen.”

 Sam searched in his pocket. It didn’t take long, as there was nothing else in it. He gave the card to Rita who immediately held it out to Dean.

 “You have better eyes than me,” she said without looking at him before winking at Sam.

 Dean smiled and shook his head but took the card. He went closer to the window and looked at it attentively for a minute or so, turning it around several times. At some point, Sam thought he saw him smile faintly but it was highly unlikely. Eventually, he nodded to Rita and made the card slide on the table towards Sam.

 This time, Rita grinned. “Welcome to the family, Sam,” she said genuinely.

 She turned to look at Dean, who kept his eyes resolutely set on the floor. He didn’t look at Sam when he sighed: “Welcome.” Neither did he when he left the kitchen, head down.

 Once he had left the room and that the creaking of the two stairs had stopped, Sam noticed the tick tock of the clock above the door frame. He focused on it to ease the pang in his heart. The hostility Dean had for him could still be felt in the room.

 Rita who, like Sam was starting to understand, seemed to figure out everything, tilted her head to meet his eyes. “Don’t worry about Dean,” she said with a gentle tap on his hand. “It doesn’t seem like it sometimes but he’s a good boy, really. He means well. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.”

 Strangely, Sam was not that sure. And it made him feel worse than it should have.

   His room was on the second floor of the house, the second door on the left of the stairs. Sam held the door knob with a little apprehension building in his belly. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of. It wasn’t like he was going to find a client right there, right now. His fear faded away once he had pushed the door open. The room wasn’t gigantic but it was far from narrow. The furniture was simple but nice. The big bed in front of the door seemed to be cozier than any of the bed Sam had ever slept in. He tried not to think of the reasons for such a comfortable one. A chest of drawers took most of the place before the left wall of the room, the rest being occupied by a full-length mirror. Other than a nightstand on the right side of the bed and an armchair in front of the other wall, the room was empty.  

 Sam put his backpack next to the nightstand. He kneeled on the uncovered mattress and looked out the window above it. There was an alley below. With the morning sun and the breeze that made the only tree swing softly, it seemed quiet and enjoyable. He was not sure he would think the same thing when the night would come.

 A knock on the door – his door – that he had left open made him turn away. Dean was standing on the doorstep, clothes on one arm and a pillow in his hand, with an unreadable expression on his face. Sam scrambled to get off the bed and stopped at the bottom of it. He smiled tentatively to Dean.

 “Hey.”

 Sam thought he was dreaming when Dean smiled back to him. Contrary to what had happened in the kitchen, there was no doubt to have: it was faint but it was there.

 Dean walked into the room. “Thought you might need some clothes. You may be a little taller but we’re more or less the same size so…” he explained as he put the clothes on the edge of the bed. “And…” He held out the pillow to Sam. “You’ll find clean sheets somewhere inside,” he added with a nod to the chest of drawers.  

 “Oh, uh, thanks,” Sam murmured, taken aback by such a sudden hospitality. Maybe he had magnified the attitude Dean had with him and that he didn’t actually hate him. Or maybe Dean was just being polite. Sam decided to try and go further. It couldn’t get worse anyway. “Sorry I used your stuff in the bathroom, I’ll buy some for myself once I have a few dollars.”

 Dean nodded slightly, eyes on the clothes he had brought. Sam was about to add something else, anything else, to stop this awkward situation, when Dean glanced at him and smiled quickly with one corner of his mouth before turning back and walking to the door. Sam shifted on his feet. It was better get it over with now. He called Dean back. Dean turned around without a word.

 “You don’t have to worry, I’m not gonna try to steal your clients or anything. I’ll find some myself.” His words came out more vehemently than he intended them too, betraying the frustration he felt at the unfair treatment Dean inflicted him.

 This time, Dean met and held his gaze but Sam was unable to decipher his look. “Believe me, that’s the least of my worries,” Dean said sternly. “You should get some rest.” Then he left the room without another look to Sam.

 Of course, Sam didn’t rest. After adding to the room the few things he had in his bag – four books, a notepad and a pen that he put on the nightstand, dirty clothes he let laid on the armchair – and making the bed, he sprawled on it and thought about Dean. If he didn’t think he had tried to steal his customer that day – Jack, was it? – and if he wasn’t afraid Sam was going to compete with him, then why the hell did he hate him? The guy didn’t even know him! He turned the problem over and over in his head without finding a realistic explanation. At least, it busied him enough that he finally fell asleep at the beginning of the afternoon without thinking about what he had gotten himself into.

   When he woke up, it was still 1 pm, according to the electronic alarm clock on the nightstand. Sam frowned. It couldn’t be right. He felt well-rested, like he had slept for days.  He threw away the blanket he had no memory of covering himself with and jumped out of bed when he understood that he had just slept for twenty-four hours. It was 1 pm on August 2nd. Once he was up, he remained still in the middle of the room. He had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do. Take a shower first? Go down to eat breakfast? His stomach growled at this last thought but it had to wait; he couldn’t meet the people he was going to live with for…the time he was going to stay here with stinky clothes and the marks of the pillow on his face. He chose a plain grey shirt and jeans among the clothes Dean had left him and opened the door prudently. No one was in sight.

 He reached the third floor bathroom relieved that he didn’t run into anyone, especially Dean. He reluctantly used the same soap as the day before and put some toothpaste on his finger to clean his mouth the best he could. Within ten minutes he was ready and waiting anxiously before the door. His haste had faded and he now felt the weight of the decision he had taken. This was the beginning of a new, different and frightening life. Opening this door and going downstairs were the first steps of it. Sam sighed. He had chosen this. Now he just had to follow this way step by step.

 A dozen girls were in the kitchen. They were dispersed around the room, sitting at the table or on the countertops, some of them near the gas stove. Most of them were talking together. They all stopped what they were doing when they noticed him. He was about to introduce himself and explain what the hell he was doing here when a middle-aged brunette, whose head was leaning out of the open fridge, spoke.

 “You must be Sam, the new guy?”

 “Yeah. Hi,” he answered.

 “Hi, I’m Amelia.” She proceeded to name each of the girls in the room, so quickly that Sam could only grasp a few. There were all kinds of girls: from their mid-twenties to their forties, from a size XS to an XL, redheads, brunettes, blondes, in their pajamas, half-dressed or already ready to go out…If the majority smiled at him or even waved, some seemed more hesitant and one blatantly ignored him. Sam didn’t take umbrage at it. He wasn’t the center of the world and these girls had probably a lot more important things on their minds.

 He served himself a glass of milk and took a piece of the bread that a pretty blonde with curly hair, Jess, slid to him. She moved on her chair so that she was turned toward him. Sam could tell she wanted to start a conversation but didn’t know what to begin with. His eyes fell on her Smurf top.

 “I like your shirt,” he said.

 “Oh, thanks!” She beamed at him. “It’s just an old pajama but I like it too.”

 Suddenly, Jess let her head fall between her shoulders and contorted herself on her chair. Sam gripped her shoulder and pulled back her hair so that he could see her face.

 “Are you okay?” he asked, trying not to panic.

 She bit her lips and nodded. After a few seconds, she looked back up at Sam and smiled self-consciously. “Bad period cramps,” she explained.

 “Oh.” Sam blushed. He had never been confronted to this kind of situation and didn’t know what to say. “Uh…sorry about that.”

 Jess laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

 “No, no you didn’t! I was just – I’m not used to it.”

 “Yeah, you’ll probably hear more about female anatomy than you want to while you’re here. You’ll get used to it.”

 Before Sam could answer that he was sure of it, Rita’s voice resonated in the kitchen.

 “Good morning girls,” she yawned. “And Sam,” she added when her eyes fell on him.

 They all answered as a line began to form before her. Most of the girls gave her a wad of bills that she efficiently counted before checking a piece of paper and putting the money in a small box. After the last girl, Rita locked the case and the conversations between the girls started again. She pulled a chair to sit next to Sam, after accepting a cup of tea from Anna.

 “Sam, you’re not working for a few nights, just the time for you to adapt and put some fat on that lanky body of yours.” Relief overwhelmed Sam and relaxed his tense muscles. It was a few nights without earning money but he needed time to prepare himself mentally for this. “Since Jess can’t work this week, she’ll teach you a thing or two in the meantime. Understood?”

 “Yes, Ma’am.”

 “Whenever you’re ready we can go to the clinic to get you tested for STD’s.” Sam was more surprised than he should have. It was only logical, after all. “Unless you have something to tell me about that, which would save us some time,” Rita added.

 Sam shrugged. “No, I don’t think so. We can go right now if you want.”

 Rita tapped the table. “Well let’s go, then!”

   The way to the clinic was a quite long one. Contrary to their first walk together, Sam was able to keep up with Rita’s pace without too much of an effort. He looked around to see if he recognized any of the streets they were crossing and passing, in vain. Rita reassured him.

 “Don’t worry, soon you’ll know this town like the back of your hand.”

 Sam felt it was the right time to start asking the thousands of questions he had.

 “Since when do you live here?”

 “I came here from England fifty years ago. Damn, it’s been some time.”

 “And the…hum…you founded the brothel?”

 “Oh no! No, no. It was there long before me. I used to work there actually, back in the days.”

 Sam stopped and stared at her, stunned.

 “What? You don’t think I was pretty enough?” Rita laughed.

 Sam ran to catch up with her. “No! I mean yes, I’m sure you were!” he stammered.

 “I know what it’s like to be a prostitute, both in a brothel and on the streets. That’s why I try to take care of my girls – and boys – the best I can. You’ll soon realize that we’re like a family. We live together, eat together, do chores by turns. We take care of each other. Remember that. It’s important. It’s hard to be a whore but it’s even harder when you’re alone. I want them, and now you, to know that there’s something else than that terrible job, ‘cause if you forget that, you easily lose sight of what you really want. I don’t want you to stay for years in that brothel, Sam. It’s temporary. And in the meantime, you have to have a more or less normal life beside the job, with friends and occupations. Otherwise you’re going to lose your mind.”

 Sam pondered Rita’s words during the last few meters before they reached the clinic. He definitely liked this woman.

   They got out of the clinic barely twenty minutes after. He would have to come back and get the blood test results two days later.

 “You’re not nervous, right? About the test?” Rita asked on their way back to the brothel.

 “No, I’ve always been safe, I’m not worried.”

 “Good. I knew you were a good man, Sam Wesson.”

 “By the way, why did you come to me? Why me?”

 For the first time since he had met her, Rita hesitated to answer. “Because of Dean.”

 “What?”

 “He told me about you.”

 Surprised struck Sam. His brain turned full tilt to add this new information to the ones he already had about Dean. It didn’t make any sense at all. It made even less sense now. He was about to share his perplexity and frustration with Rita but she stopped him before he even opened his mouth.

 “It’s something you two should talk about together, dear.”

 Sam didn’t insist on the subject. He decided to let it rest in a corner of his head for now and not let it bother him anymore. What should happen would happen soon enough. Instead, he focused on the few products he had to buy at the minimarket they stopped in, on Rita’s initiative. He couldn’t depend on Dean anymore so he picked the cheapest soap, shampoo, toothbrush and razor he could find, along with some boxers. He felt bad to let Rita pay but she brushed it off. “That’s fine, Sam. Seventeen dollars won’t make me head for bankruptcy. You’ll pay me back later.”

   Later in the afternoon, as Sam was trying to concentrate on the book he was reading, Jess knocked on his door. Sam smiled instantly when he saw her and put his book away.

 “Can I enter?”

 “Sure, yeah, come in,” he answered, maybe a little too eagerly. He couldn’t help it, he liked her. She was kind and gentle, just a little older than him. They could be good friends.

 Jess didn’t comment on his tone but smiled widely and closed the door behind her before joining him on his bed. She carefully sat cross-legged in front of him but still winced.

 “It still hurts? Do you need something to…?” Sam felt ashamed by his lack of knowledge on women’s needs, especially during that time of the month, due to the absence of a mother, a sister or a single female friend in his life.

 “Oh, you’re sweet. But I’ll be fine, I had worse. It’s also better when I have something else to focus on so I thought we could get to know each other. And…I also have to talk to you about a few rules. What do you want to start with?”

 “Uh, the rules maybe?” Sam wanted to get it over with but was also rather curious about what the rules could be in a brothel. He had found out that if he thought about the situation with an academic perspective, it wasn’t as soul-crushing as it was when he considered it as his effective present. He pulled out his notepad from under his books and looked up at Jess.

 “Yeah, that’s what I- Are you going to take notes?”

 “Prefer to.”

 Jess just looked at him for a second or two, with nothing but respect in her eyes. He saw a thought pass through them, that made her pupils and her blue irises glisten. She shook her head.

 “First off, about the nights you work,” she began very professionally. “You have to write down your name on the planning in the kitchen so we know who’s working and when. Rule number two: you only bring the men here. If they propose that you go elsewhere, you don’t go. It’s here or it’s not happening. You obviously have to inform the customer of the prices and make him pay upfront. And finally, you never, ever, let a man stay after it’s over, even if it’s your last client and you’re tired as fuck, he does his thing and then you throw him out if you have to. Alright for now?”

 “Yup,” Sam answered, finishing to write down the fourth rule.

 Jess waited for him to look up before carrying on. “Now, it’s not gonna be fun to hear. You don’t have to worry but you have to be ready. If a client is hurting you, you have to scream. We have a code word here when someone’s in danger, it’s gold.”

 “Gold?” Sam wrote down the word in big capital letters and circled it.

 “Gold. If you’re outside and one of the clients is too strange and wants to take you somewhere else, first you try to get away and then you use the code word if you can’t. I can assure you, if you say it, one of us will come to rescue you. Rita knows the face of everyone who’s not trustworthy and she’s here downstairs every night to check. We’re pretty safe, actually. Oh, and talking about safety: condoms, always, whatever you’re doing! We also have to go and check for STD’s every month.”

 “Got it.”

 “Now, houses rules!” Jess’s tone lightened and the smile on her face reappeared. “Most important one: no drugs, never ever, and no alcohol on the nights you work. That’s pretty much the only rule, in fact. Hum…we have a weekly planning too, managed by Rita, for cooking, groceries, tidying, laundry and other little stuff. As long as you do whatever you’re supposed to do, you can oversleep and the afternoon is yours. We try to share a meal all together around 7:30 though, so…”

 Sam’s pen stopped and his heart jumped. “Oh God. I missed it last night! I’m so sorry!”

 “It’s okay, Sam. We understand, we’ve all been there. I promise, nobody’s mad at you.”

 “Not even Dean?” Sam wanted to slap himself when he heard the words come out of his mouth without even being thought before. Then this auto-directed violence turned into the need to crawl into the floor when he saw Jess’s baffled face.

 “Dean? Why would Dean be mad at you? He’s such a sweet guy.” The more he heard that, the more Sam thought he must have done something horrible without knowing it. Disappearing into the parquet seemed to be a more and more pleasant idea.

 “He doesn’t seem to like me very much,” he murmured.

 Jess looked even more taken aback. She opened her mouth only to bit her lips right after. “We all get tense sometimes. I’m sure it’s not against you. He’ll come around.”

 They spent the time left before dinner getting to know each other. They didn’t talk about why they were here and it was better that way. Instead, Sam learned all about Jess’s hobbies, her favorite movies and the music she liked. He also learned that she was funny and full of wit. Yes, they would be very good friends very soon.

   Sam tensed a little when they came in the kitchen and saw Dean taking care of several frying pans on the stove but he didn’t let it show and repressed his negative feelings. He was going to keep the promise he had made to himself earlier and not let it ruin his life. He sat between Jess and Ruby as they waited for the food to be served. Sam couldn’t say he knew a lot about Dean but the sure thing was that whatever he was cooking smelled delicious.

 “You’ll learn to bless the days Dean is in charge of the dinner,” Jess whispered to him.

 Ruby sneered. “Yeah, compared to yours…” she muttered, staring at her knife.

 Jess shot her a dirty look. “At least I didn’t almost burn the whole house down, right Ruby?”

 “I told you, it wasn’t my fault!” Ruby cried out, letting her knife fall on the table to pass the plates on to the girls at the end of the table while Jess laughed out loud.

 Sam anxiously looked at the house schedule on the wall. For the life of him, he had no idea how to cook; worse, actually, he knew the theory but was very bad at it. Fortunately, he only had to vacuum the house and wash the sheets at the end of the week; no sign of dinner to prepare for now. He sighed, relieved. Everything seemed to be working quite well. To comfort his thought, the plate that was put in front of him by Ruby made his mouth water. He hadn’t eaten a real meal in weeks. He was about to happily dig into the potatoes and the roasted vegetables when Dean’s voice was raised above the hubbub.

 “Wait Sam, this is not your plate!”

 Sam frowned and looked at him but he had already turned back to his stove. Sam shook his head and gave his plate to Ruby. Ignoring Dean’s attitude was harder than he had anticipated but he wasn’t going to make a fuss about it. He waited patiently as Dean finished to fill two more plates before sitting in front of him and handing him one of them.

 “Thanks,” Sam murmured.

 The difference of size between his portion and the others’, including Dean’s, was clearly visible. His was much smaller. He rose his head to call Dean but the latter was already looking at him, probably expecting his interrogation.

 “You haven’t eaten for days so you gotta reaccustom your stomach with small rations of food for now,” he explained. “Otherwise your body won’t like it.”

 Sam gawked. What a bitter idiot he was. “That’s…thoughtful. Thanks,” he repeated.

 “You’re welcome.”

 During the dinner, Sam observed his coworkers. It was strange to watch them all interact like a makeshift family. Of course, the only comparisons Sam had came from movies or sitcoms but the relations they shared seemed genuine. Ruby looked constantly annoyed at someone and spent most of the dinner glaring at the rest of the table, particularly at Jo who kept making faces to irritate her even more. Anna also tended to keep to herself but it seemed to be more out of shyness than indifference or hostility. Jess seemed to get along with everyone, especially with Sarah, Lisa and Carmen. It didn’t surprise Sam the least. If she was like the friend Sam had never had, she probably was the sister or the daughter to the older women like Amara and Amelia. Dean didn’t talk a lot; he mostly listened and answered when he had too but always did so in such a charming way that all the girls stopped talking when he was. Jess and Rita were right, he was sweet. So why did he consistently ignored Sam’s attempt to make eye contact with him?

   As they didn’t work that night, Sam and Jess did the dishes as the others prepared themselves. After that, Jess cheerfully clapped her hands and pulled Sam outside to give him some on-the-job training. Sam was rather excited too. What other chance could he ever have to watch this from the inside? They sat on a bench a few feet away from the house and waited for the others to come out. The sun had barely set and yet some customers seemed to already be there. They tried to appear nonchalant to the passersby but Jess pointed out their strange attitudes and postures to Sam. At some point, once the night had arrived, she gripped her arm.

 “Look, Sam. You’re gonna see how the best survive.”

 Sam turned to look at the entrance of the house. The girls came out one by one and scattered on the two sidewalks. They looked so different, compared to the afternoon, with their excessive makeup and their tiny clothes that Sam barely recognized them.

 “Impressive, right?” Jess murmured.

 Sam could only nod. Dean had just pass by them without so much as a glance to them to lean against the next building, one foot against the wall and arms crossed on his chest. He looked quite similar to what he usually looked like and if he wore makeup, Sam couldn’t tell. But his clothes were what transformed him. Dean wore the smallest and tightest jean shorts he had ever seen on a man and a white tank top. His look was completed by blue sneakers. Simple but effective, judging by the body builder who went straight to him. The man was probably a regular, as didn’t talk for long before walking toward the house. Sam felt a shiver run down his spine when he thought about what Dean was about to do.

 “Dean’s a pro. Don’t worry about him,” Jess said with a gentle pat on his shoulder.

 “How long has he been doing that?”

 Jess shrugged. “I don’t know. He was already here when I arrived last year.”

 While Dean was inside, Sam watched the girls. He squinted to see the ones who were down the streets. That’s when he saw one of them – Sarah? – with a man. He was pulling her towards a perpendicular street. Sam jumped on his feet.  

 “Sam? What’s happening?” Jess asked, standing up too.

 “Sarah, there’s a man with her; I think he’s trying to-”

 “Sarah? The brunette with the braids?”

 “Yeah. We gotta help her.”

 Jess stopped him before he started to run. “No! No, no. Sarah’s not working tonight. That must be her boyfriend, they’re supposed to spend the night together.”

 Sam looked back at Jess. “Her boyfriend?”

 “Yeah.”

 They sat back on the bench. Sam was apparently still looking shocked because Jess laughed and added: “We’re allowed to date, you know. We’re not in jail.”

 “No I know but it’s…”

 “You think it’s weird?”

 “I wouldn’t say weird. More…Unexpected.”

 “Sarah and her boyfriend were together long before she started doing this. But her father cut her out of his will and…Now Phil works two jobs and prostitution is the only thing Sarah found so they can have enough money to buy an apartment. They took the decision together. It’s true love, what these two have,” Jess finished dreamingly.

 She was talking about one of her regular customers who wanted to marry her when Dean came back. Aside from the red on his cheeks that could only be seen when he was under a street lamp, he looked the same as before. He waited in the same position for a good thirty minutes, only moving to change the foot he was resting on, before something happened.

 “Alright, watch carefully,” Jess whispered in Sam’s ear as Dean straightened up a little and put his hands behind his back. “He spotted a potential client.”

 “How?”

 “See that man?” Jess slightly moved Sam’s head to direct his look toward a man in a red shirt walking slowly up the street and continuously adjusting the glasses on his nose in a nervous mannerism.

 “What about him?”

 “He passed by Dean five times in the last two minutes. Unless he’s lost, which he doesn’t seem to be, he’s hesitating to take the plunge. Probably still in the closet, poor guy.”

 Dean waited for the man to pass by him, lowered his head and looked up just as the potential customer stared at him, throwing a reserved but appealing smile along. The man stopped walking. Dean was standing closer to Sam and Jess than earlier, so they were able to hear their conversation.

 “Hi,” Dean said amicably.

 “H-hey.”

 “Are you looking for something?” As he asked his question, Dean watched the man from top to bottom in an obvious way and bit his lips, letting no doubt to how he could help the man find what he was looking for. In addition, he approached to stand closer to him than in a normal conversation.

 “C-can I just hum…fuck you?”

 Dean slowly rubbed the upper part of the client’s torso. “Sure you can,” he answered. “110$ for forty-five minutes of good fun, what do you say?”

 The man eagerly nodded so Dean took his hand to lead him toward the house.

 As they walked away, Jess sighed, in awe. “Told you, Dean’s a pro. If I had half the talent he has, I would already be gone.”

 Sam nodded, wistful. He realized that he had a lot to learn if he wanted to survive.

   **

   During the following week, Sam spent most of his time with Jess. She taught him everything he needed to know to do the chores and even showed him the main stores where they bought the groceries. When the night came, they went outside so Sam could learn some basic techniques, especially from Dean. Jess was right. He was good at his job, at least concerning the public part. Sam quickly grasped where his appeal came from. Besides his good looks, it wasn’t the way he was dressed that made it for the clients, but his attitude. He had found some kind of balance between looking like a malleable, fragile object and a rebellious bad boy, never ceasing to look seductive. He leaned more or less toward one side of the scale depending on the customer he tried to attract, which made him successful more often than not.

 Dean kept blowing hot and cold with him this whole time. It rapidly got on Sam’s nerves. He was so tense that one morning, when he greeted him at the top of the stairs and Dean barely looked at him, he went back to his room and stayed sitting on the floor, crying with his knees brought to his chest, for a good part of the day. Dean wanted to be mysterious and fickle? Fine. Maybe he had his reasons, maybe he did not; Sam didn’t care. He could go screw himself. Literally.

   On Sunday afternoon, after vacuuming the communal areas of the house, Sam was on the first floor, going back to his room, when he heard his name. He stopped. It was coming from the room behind the stairs, which was Rita’s bedroom. The door was ajar. He stayed put, one foot on the stairs, the other in the air.

 “Don’t worry? Rita, he’s eighteen years old!”

 “And he seems mature enough to take his own decisions. You started to work at seventeen, Dean!”

 “It’s not the same thing and you know it! Can’t you find him something else to do?”

 “Like what? I run a goddamn brothel, not a bed and breakfast!”

 “I’m begging you! I just can’t stay here and watch it happen!”

 “Yes, you can! For the last time Dean, this is not Tristan!”

 The voices stopped talking after that, or talked too low for Sam to hear. He resisted the temptation to ponder what he had overheard. He was done with Dean, definitely.

   After the dinner, Sam went back to his room. Jess had started to work again and Sam didn’t have the heart to watch the others alone. He tried to concentrate on the book he had been trying to finish since he had arrived at the brothel but his mind kept coming back to what was going to happen in this room, on this bed, next to this book, the next night. He shivered, heart pounding in his chest. He was calming himself with some verses of the Bible he knew by heart when a high-pitched moan resonated in the room next to his, which made him panic even more. At the same moment, someone knocked on his door.

 It was Dean. He looked at him with pleading green eyes and the hint of a smile.

 “Hey. Can I talk to you for a sec?”

 Sam let him in without a word before climbing back on his bed, waiting. Dean stayed in the middle of the room and scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable. He looked around the room and turned his eyes back to Sam when the latter cleared his throat.

 “Big day tomorrow,” Dean finally let out.

 Sam nodded, on his guard.

 “You’re nervous?”

 Sam nodded again.

 Dean sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been harsh with you. It’s…nothing against you. But I don’t want you to feel that you’re alone in this, so if you have any question, or…I’m not good with words or people in general but…I’m here, that’s all.”

Dean seemed genuine when he talked and he looked at Sam longer than he had ever had the previous days. He obviously wasn’t faking. Sam felt his underlying anger fade and be replaced by curiosity.

 “So you don’t-”

 “I don’t hate you, Sam, I don’t know where you got that idea from. I’m sorry you ever thought that, truly.”

 “So why did you barely talk to me or even look at me this whole week?”

 Dean’s eyes drifted to the floor. “It’s not a place for someone as young as you, Sam.”

 “You’re not that older,” Sam pointed out.

 “It’s different,” Dean answered with a bitter smile.

 They stayed quiet for a moment but it was good kind of silence. Now that he knew Dean had no problem with him, Sam felt more comfortable. He even enjoyed Dean’s presence in his room.

 “Jess told me we were safe here,” he said at some point.

 “Yeah, no, she’s right. But…You’re just a kid. You shouldn’t have to be doing this.”

 “I don’t understand. Why are you worried about me? You don’t even know me,” Sam said softly.

 “It’s…” Dean sighed. “A long story, for another night. Bottom line is you’re doing it, so I might as well try to protect you the best I can, show you the ropes. What do you say?”

 Sam remembered his childhood on the road with his Dad, the endless school grounds along with their bullies. Back then, with his face bloody more often than not, all he wished for was a big brother, keeping him safe from the bad guys. And there Dean was now, with his spiked hair, his devil-may-care look and his big green eyes, asking him to accept his protection and his help. How could he refuse?

 “Thanks, Dean. I would love that.”

 Dean spent some time giving him good pieces of advice that night, such as opening himself up after dinner with the help of one of the toys in the chest of drawers. He said it with a totally straight face while Sam kept blushing, which made him laugh.

 “You’re gonna have to loosen up if you want to survive here, Sam!” he added then with a smirk. It quickly disappeared, followed by a concerned expression. “You’re not a virgin, right?”

 “What? Who would lose their virginity in a brothel?”

 “Okay, okay, just asking. Better safe than sorry.”

 Soon after, Dean left, wishing him a goodnight. Alone in the dark, Sam struggled to get to sleep. After an hour of rolling over in his bed, he reflected on his talk with Dean and played over and over the sound of his laughter in his head. He fell asleep right after.

   Needless to say, Sam was nervous when he woke up the next morning. He spent the day walking aimlessly around the house while the others, including Ruby, looked at him worriedly. He wasn’t on the verge of breaking down, he just needed to do something instead of waiting anxiously in his room. He understood now why Rita gave them chores to do. It certainly helped getting your mind off the fact that you were going to be prostituting yourself a few hours later.

 Finally came the time to prepare themselves after dinner. First, Sam checked he had lube and condoms in the drawer of the nightstand. Then he prepped himself. It was hard with the stress but he managed to do a decent job. After that, he put on the clothes they had chosen the evening before with Dean and looked at himself in the mirror. He had to admit that he looked good in those tight jeans and the worn out t-shirt that ended above his belly button.

 “Sam?” Dean called from behind the door.

 “Yeah, I’m coming.” Sam threw a last glance at his reflection before leaving the room. He could do this.

 Rita was waiting for them downstairs. She stared at Sam with an approving expression while he was coming down shakily. When he arrived in front of her, she stroked his cheek. She didn’t say anything but this touch gave Sam much more confidence that words would have.

 Rita had barely stepped backwards that Jess threw herself in his arms and tightly hold him against her. “Remember,” she murmured in his ear. “We’re always by your side.”

 Sam buried his nose in her angel blond hair and met Dean’s gaze. “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

 She moved back and smiled at him one last time before going out of the house and gently closing it behind her. Once she was out, a wave of panic threatened to overwhelm Sam. Dean gripped his shoulder.

 “Hey listen to me. Don’t you ever forget. This is our street. You own it. If you play it brave and bold, and follow the rules, nothing will stop you. Right?”

 Sam dived into Dean’s eyes. He found all the strength he needed there.

 “Right.”