Ling starts, “Mickey, baby, it’s not a big deal. Really, it’s—”
The door opens and I’m met with Michael’s mussed hair and half-unbuttoned shirt.
I’m furious.
“Get back to work, knucklehead!” Michael jumps to attention.
Eyeing an annoyed Ling, I keep a threat in my voice when I point my finger at her and say, “You and I are going to talk about this.”
Walking away from the enraging scene, I hear Michael follow close behind. He stutters, “B-b-but you haven’t given me anything to do yet.” He quickly adds, “Sir.”
As we approach my office, I realize I’m not angry anymore. Just tired. I ask, “You need me to tell you what to do? Get a pen and notebook from the cupboard, just there.” I point to the left side of the room and he scuttles over there, trying to be quick as he can.
Sitting myself down at my desk, I watch him approach wide-eyed and I state, “Number one on your not to do list...”
His face bunches and he questions, “Not to do list?”
Ignoring him, I play with the letter opener that usually resides on my desk, “Number one: Do not have sex with Ling.”
Finally looking up at him, I watch his face flame. He explains quietly, “Sh-she said you’d be angry if I didn’t.”
Oh man. I want to punish her for manipulating this kid the way she has. No doubt he was a virgin too. She really is a sick fuck.
Not that I can talk.
The look on my face must convey my thought about Ling at this moment because Michael panics, “Is she in trouble?”
Disregarding him, I state, “Number two on your not to do list: Do not piss me off.”
But he remains focused on Ling. “You won’t…” He swallows hard. “You won’t hurt her, right?”
Scoffing, I lift my hand high and bring down the letter opener down to my desk with a dull thud. The dagger stands upright, piercing my monstrosity of a desk and I point at him, giving my final instruction. “Number three on your not do to list: Do not – and I mean ever, Michael – do not ever question me.”
He blinks a moment before nodding his understanding and jotting down his directions. I see so much of myself in this kid that I feel something for him. Something almost paternal.
Rolling my eyes, I sigh, “Kid, the only time I’d ever put my hands to a woman,” I smirk at his sudden look of interest, “is if she begged me to.”
Stepping closer, he looks behind him at the open door before leaning closer and whispering, “D-does that happen a lot?”
Lord only knows what Ling made him do.
Steeling my face, my jaw tics as I answer, “No. That isn’t something you see often. But yes, some women like that.” Wanting to punch myself in the face for using a label, I explain in a way he can understand better, “It’s not what’s considered normal though.”
Nodding once more, I switch my attention to my computer screen and wave an arm his way. “Dismissed.”
Sounding panicked once more, he states on a rush, “But you still haven’t given me anything to do!”
“Get me some coffee. Make it strong and sweet with a dash of milk.”
He rushes off to do that and I smile to myself. He’s eager to please. He’s polite. But he’s still street. I really like Michael. He’s everything I was before the world made me the bastard I am today. My only want for this boy is for his story to end differently from the way mine will. I want his story to be fairy-tale happy, not a drama.
Lost in thought, Michael returns with my coffee. Standing, I meet him around the desk, take the mug from his hands, and sip. Mock-coughing, I sputter, “The hell did you put in this?”
The look of horror on his face makes me laugh out loud. Chuckling, I clap him on the shoulder, “It’s perfect. Relax Michael. You did good.” Breathing heavily, he nods, and my smile falls away. I tell him honestly, “Relax, Mickey. You’re safe here.” Never having stopped nodding, he continues to do this as I ruffle his hair and push him away, “Find Happy and get to work, knucklehead.”
If I had a kid like Michael, I’d make sure I taught him right. He’s good people.
He trudges away, dragging his teenage sneaker-covered feet, and something strange happens.
It takes me a minute to process the occurrence.
The awkward and unwelcome feeling of happiness washes over me. It feels rough and uncomfortable.
I don’t know if I like it. Yet.
What I do know, is that I continue to work all day with a small smile on my face.
Facing my computer screen, I hear a slight knock at my office door.
A bored voice asks, “You wanted to see me?”
Ling.
Without looking at her, I jerk my chin and grunt.
Closing the door behind her, she comes forward and sits in the guest chair. Already on the defensive, I spot her tight posture and rigid jaw. I ask her, “You have fun today with the boy?”
As if she’s researched the facts – which no doubt she has – she fires off robotically, “Michael is seventeen. It’s not against the law. He’s above the age of consent in New South Wales. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Ling is hard to deal with. Like me, she has skewed view of right and wrong.
“No. You’re right. It’s not illegal. Just immoral and unethical. Not to mention, you doing what you did at work.” Leaning closer to her, my eyes dart into hers. “And telling him I’d be angry at him if he didn’t fuck you is coercion. Coercion is almost as bad as rape in this state. Threatening him is most definitely illegal, and I don’t need that kind of trouble, Ling. You’re bringing me a shit storm. I can feel it.”
Looking at nothing in particular, she sighs, frustrated. As if I’m a pain in her ass.
My anger wells.
“You’re no better than your father. Or your brothers. You’re just like them.” Her jaw steels; her eyes blaze. I continue, “You gonna groom the boy like they groomed you? Fuck him until he can’t see the wrong in it, then sell his body to every pedophile in Sydney? That your plan?”
Jumping up, she screeches, “Fuck you! Fuck you, Twitch! I am nothing like them.”
Shaking, she reaches up and fists her hair harshly. Letting out a pained wail, she hollers, “They did things. They did things to me. I was just a girl. I didn’t know!” Still pulling her hair, she whispers, “My family did bad things to me.”
Seeing Ling fall apart is not something I like to see. She’s so strong, but with one mention of her family, she falls apart. They damaged her. Much like my family damaged me.
We get each other.
Mascara-soaked tears run down her cheeks as she trembles in anger. Walking around my desk and placing my hands on her hips, I pull her towards me. “I know, LingLing. It wasn’t your fault.”
Sniffling, she whispers into my neck, “You saved me.”
She calls it saving; I call it gaining a ruthless employee.
Ling was working the streets when I found her. She was high when she approached me on a night out, and when I refused her advances, she pulled a knife on me. Not even as a threat. The stupid bitch was so fucked that she actually attempted to slit my throat while trying to grab my wallet from my pants pocket.
I had two choices.
Kill the bitch.
Or employ the bitch.
I chose the latter. She came to live with me. I forcefully detoxed her and hired a nurse to watch over her for a month. After that time, she was partly-human again. The first words Ling ever heard come out of my mouth were, “You owe me.”
I fed her, gave her shelter, and dressed her up in the finest brands.