Free Rogue (In the life of the Rogue Book 1) by KaNeshia Michelle

world he lived in.
    Ironically, my skin tone wasn’t much different from him - a burnt carmeal.
    What Katie had hoped to have, I knew what could never be. I hated her for getting pregnant. I hated her for wanting the child and for wanting me. I had hated her for not understanding that Papa had done a very exceptional job in making me insecure of my race, and for that, my own hate at the color of my skin, could never be lifted by one single acception: hers. I had hated her for not understanding that, even if I was a true itilian man that having a child would be signing our death certificate because she was married woman, and her marriage wasn’t to me. It disgusted me that the world she had once lived in wasn’t as cruel as the world I was born in.
    Katie had been ready to throw away everything for me. No matter if she was losing a husband that she didn’t love. She would be leaving the life of luxury and stability he could provide. Outside of my family, I had nothing. There was no degree I could hide behind. There wasn’t even a high school diploma I could fall back on. There was nothing I could give her or our child.
    “Please,” I pleaded silently out loud but seemed like shout inside my own skull, “leave me alone.”
    I had done this to myself. I didn’t like it but I was strapped in tight for the sentient of shame, remorse, anger and loniless.
    The nightmare finally drained away. Slowly, the paid sex slithered back into its normal rythymn.
    That is, until my newest ghost took the stage.
    Dominique lifted her head, touching her forehead to mine. A simple move but it ended me. My heart throbbed and wiggled as if it was alive and wanted out. My God, those gray eyes, those facet eyes that bored into me like a heated sword would plunge through my skin like knife would butter. The raw edge of hurt that Lulina left bleeding and gapping, ceased to exist.
    My fingers scrapped against the carpet as I curled my fist and clenched them. I was losing ground to reality and doing it fast. I was falling hard and was trying to go down with a fight.
    I bit my lip, the fight lost, and felt tears welled as I asked, “Tell me I’m good enough…please…”
    Dominique’s hands stroked my face. She put her finger against my lips. Her eyes were so kind and warming.
    “Will you kiss me, Tristan?”
    I nodded. “Will you tell me I’m good enough to kiss you,” I asked sheepishly.
    I needed her acceptance. I needed to know if I was indeed good enough to have my lips against hers. In a dream, I may have gotten my answer. This was a nightmare and the silence to my plea was loud and terribly clear.
    And as easy as the image came about, it was gone. I saw the woman I paid my last hundred dollars to screw.
    The whore nodded furiously and said: “Papi, come, ram me harder.”
    She was in mid orgasm and I felt I had broken the John’s code. I had made my whore cum, when I, myself, had not. It was like ordering food in a restrarunt, and when the waitress brought your meal, you pushed it back to her to eat, all the while saying: here, you look like you’re hungry.
    “Come on, Papi, make me scream!” She hollered and dugged her nails sharply into my back. “Oh valto, you so good!”
    Her English was a broken as her childhood must have been. And her words felt like nails grating against a chalk board.
     
    ***
     
    Zander’s whore wanted to take a shower and he followed behind her like a lost puppy. I lit a cigarette and flicked on the rickety TV. There was nothing I wanted to watch but I needed the break in silence. My whore crawled up on the bed with me and nestled against my arm pit. I didn’t have the heart to push her off me.
    Sometimes we all need comforting…
    I rested my hand on her shoulder and pulled her closer to me, enjoying the warmth for the briefest of moments. She exhaled and nuzzled closer and I let her. It was an unspoken silence, but filled with understanding that we both hadn’t received enough hugs in our