Their Perfect Match

2

Current Day.

I crack my neck, stretching and rotating my shoulders. It’s been a very long day, no, a long week. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep but I still have one more house to go to before my work day is finally over. I pack my supplies into the back of my car and pull out my phone, sending a text, letting my client know I’m on my way.

The drive across town is slow with rush hour traffic. I turn the radio up and try to stay awake. I’ve been on my feet since 4AM this morning, cleaning dirty toilets, scrubbing floors and cleaning up after people who are too lazy to do it themselves.

My last client of the day is a regular, and he is one of the worst I have to deal with, not because he is dirty, he actually keeps a pretty clean house, but because he is a pervert. Everytime I go to his house, he insists on sitting in his kitchen and watching me clean. He got handsy with me once and the only reason I put up with it is because he pays me four times my usual rate with the promise he would never touch me again, so if he wants to stare at my ass while I scrub his floor… so be it. I am desperate for rent money, so I deal with it. I just make sure I am prepared. I carry pepper spray with me whenever I go to his home now.

Today though.. I am in no mood to deal with his bullshit. I pull the car down his long driveway and park on the gravel in front. I take a deep breath before cracking my knuckles and getting out of the car, slamming the door. My joints are sore from working my muscles hard all day. I’ll be happy when the day is over.

I grab my gear and head up the front steps, knocking on the door.

It doesn’t take long for Mr. Zane to answer, his gangly frame standing before me,

“Layla, so good to see you my dear! Come in, come in” He ushers me inside.

I set my bucket down on the counter and get started, feeling his eyes on me the entire time. I start with the kitchen, cleaning the countertops and walls before I scrub the floors and move into the living room. I vacuum the couch and wipe the coffee table before dusting the blinds and the giant TV that is mounted to the wall, as I get the watering can from the cupboard and begin climbing the ladder to water the palm tree in the corner of the room along with the plants on the shelves, Mr Zane is suddenly there. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey, making my stomach turn.

His hand comes down my lower back, trailing down further until it rests on my ass. “What are you doing?” I hiss at him

“I can make you a very happy woman, Layla..” He grips my ass cheek firmly with his greedy finger tips.

I sigh heavily. I knew this would happen sooner or later, it couldn’t just be a one-time thing. Not with a man like him. One was never enough, he was a user, a taker. Men like him just take, take, take.

“Mr. Zane, We’ve been through this… I don’t want to hurt you” I warn him.

A low chuckle blows past his thin lips, “Sweetheart.. I’d pay good money to see you try” His other hand comes up to grab me by the chin. I pull my face away from his grasp, making him chuckle again.

“I have no desire to hurt you, or force you to do anything you don’t want to… I’m a patient man.. I can wait as long as it takes. I know sooner or later you’ll come crawling into my open arms. One day when you get tired of living in poverty”

He still hasn’t taken his hand off my ass and I’m growing impatient, I make a very dangerous and daring decision. Swinging my right fist back as fast as I can I bring it forward, punching him in the nose. He hisses in pain and staggers backwards, releasing me, I take the opportunity to make a run for it.

Well there goes that job.

I drive home and turn off the engine. It starts to rain, I stare out the window of my car, not bothering to move, I haven’t even unbuckled my seatbelt. I half expect the police to come and arrest me for assault, but of course they don’t. They wouldn’t even have my real name to press charges. Layla was the name I chose when I ran away from Dean, I knew I couldn’t use my name anymore. He would be looking for Sarah Conrad. So I used Layla Harris instead. So far I have had no issues with it, it’s been a fine name, easy to remember.

I sit in the car for hours watching the rain come down, listening to the sound. Eventually, it grows dark outside and my stomach is begging for food and I finally head inside. Walking up the backstairs to the second floor to my crappy one-bedroom apartment. I have to jingle my key up and down in the lock before the door opens and then I have to shift the door up with my foot as I push it open. The place is falling apart, but it’s better than being out on the streets.

I head straight to the bathroom and turn on the shower, it shudders before sputtering out in a violent stream. I strip down and throw everything into the hamper before jumping into the hot steamy water. Scrubbing every inch of my body thoroughly to try and get rid of all traces of the feeling of his fingers on my skin.

I wrap a towel tightly around myself and sit on my bed, staring at the wall. I feel lost, unsure of what I am doing with my life at this point. I want more than what I have settled for, what my life has come to. But what am I to do? I’m on the run from Dean still, if I go back there’s no telling what he might do to me. I can’t get a real job with my real identity in case he is still looking for me. I know it’s been six years now but I’ve worked hard to keep a low profile and keep myself hidden and so far it’s worked.

My cell phone buzzes, startling me. I look down and see a text from a number I don’t recognise.

‘10:30 AM Friday, 15 Oakvale Clean up service required $75 HR No questions asked’

I stare down at my phone, that would be a good day for me. Seems a bit sketchy though… Who would have my number to be texting me in the first place?

I toss my phone back on the bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling once more.