It was a strange relationship.

Many weeks went by without any kind of contact. Not a letter sent, nothing of the sort, out of concern for what more it might bring. I understood that and took little issue, though I couldn't help but feel guilty.

Why would anyone risk so much just for me?

As much as I'd rather not be, I was a working woman and a single mother with a son. There was nothing to draw in another. I just didn't understand it.

I admit I was skeptical from the start. With my line of work I'd met a number of horrible people and grown prickly over any show of geniality. I couldn't trust anyone anymore, especially here and especially someone like him. As he'd taken notice, I knew about him prior to his first visit. His name is often already on the tongues of the other people here so it's hard to escape.

Strangely, rather than being reviled and hurt as I'd expected from his visit I was graced with something I don't think I'd have ever expected. He was -- beneath a wall of fronts -- a nervous man full of fears and insecurities. All my time working and he was the first to...fear me, and I wasn't sure why. His words and his actions were like a child about to be beaten and not at all like the hateful figurehead I'd heard about so many times. I guess a lot can be revealed once the door is closed. Once he fully understood that no harm would come to him he slowly, carefully relaxed and showed a side of tenderness I couldn't have imagined prior. Though unnecessary he tried to make the experience a mutual one, which was, well, certainly a first for me. After fulfilling the transaction he asked to stay in my home for a short time, just to spend it in bed with me if I'd humor it. I don't think I could have declined even if I wanted to.

What was to come, what I would learn, would be far from the things I'd heard and conclusions I'd drawn. In a way, I suppose, it was a welcome surprise.

As the months carried on we'd go for weeks without contact to the point that, without the little gifts he'd get me, it was though he was never there. Little trinkets left by a ghost in my memories, but otherwise without a trace. Though, just when I'd begin to wonder if I'd been dreaming or I'd been left behind that telltale knock in the dead of night would prove me wrong. He could only visit at the most ridiculous hours, though I didn't mind too much. He'd be careful to keep his voice down as to not wake my sleeping son and would often come bearing some kind of gift with him upon his return. I felt pretty horrible about accepting anything from someone like him, but he assured me that it was something he wanted to do.

...As long as it was something he truly wanted to do I guess I couldn't argue. It was strange to have little breaks and spots of color in my small home of greys and browns-- little vases of flowers, maybe some new clothes here and there. He'd even gotten things for my son, mentioning how he wished they could meet sometime but that he hoped this would be enough for the absence.

---

I'd developed a sense of dread regarding my work. While sure, it was never something I enjoyed, it'd become something that made me feel disgusting. I'd voiced my concern during one of his visits.

"I'm starting to...really dislike this work," I quietly said. "I could hazard a guess as to why, but..."

"Hm?"

"...Does it bother you what I do while we're..." I trailed off, looking aside in thought. "I don't really know what to call it."

"It doesn't, no," he replied. "I didn't quite understand it before, but did enough after you explained it. It would only bother me if you disliked the work, but I understand what it means to do things you don't like if it means putting food on your plate."

Something about how he said that would always stick with me.

"...Pardon my suggestion, but if you would like I would be able to support you and yours without much trouble--"

"I couldn't do something like that!" I cut him off, making him flinch. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, but the last thing I want you to think or feel is that I'm just after your money."

"...You know, it's funny," he said after a short pause, smiling slightly and closing his eyes.

"What?"

"I've met several in your line of work only after money and with much less difficult lives, especially by comparison," he chuckled. "Not many people want to be paid for-- it feels good to work and earn your way in life. I'm not a stranger to that sensation."

He brought his snout close and rested it against the side of mine.

"I don't want you to feel disgusting just trying to get by and provide for your son," he softly said. "I'll let you choose what you prefer, and in the future this should all hopefully just be a dark time in our histories."

"...Wh-What do you mean?"

"Um, well...I was hoping that maybe this situation wouldn't be a forever one?" he said, pulling away and raising his shoulders in a cower. "I-I've been trying to put away for it, though it's...difficult when everything you do is so closely monitored. I'm sorry, I...I should've brought it up with you first."

"You'd...do that for us?" I asked in disbelief. "But we're--"

"Shh," he hushed. "It doesn't matter what we are, that we're different. You helped me so I'd like to help you, and taking that leap would do much for all of us."

"All of us?"

His eyes squinted slightly as though bearing pain, his gaze turned away as his ears fell back. I wasn't too sure what that meant, at least not yet.

In the days and weeks following that visit I'd weigh my options. I didn't like being paid for like he offered-- as said, I wanted to earn my way in life like any other person. However, with this...relationship, if you could call it that, I felt more and more disgusting as I worked. It was a feeling I could perhaps liken to infidelity? I wasn't sure what else it could be.

As much as I didn't want to, I did eventually relent and take his offer. Maybe in the future, if this idea of his was realized, it wouldn't be something I'd have to take forever. Maybe I could work a normal job, one I could enjoy and that made me feel respected.

...I'd always wanted to run a bakery. Maybe to most it wasn't lofty, but I wrote it off as a pipedream long before the birth of my son.

---

Days passed. I was fairly secure in my situation, taking only the money that I needed. With his insistence I took a little more to provide my son and I a bit more comfort, his eagerness practically uncharacteristic. It was a strange position and the last thing I wanted was to seem like a leech, but it did feel better -- even freeing -- to live a more normal life with my son. Fewer noises, fewer marks, and fewer explanations for a mind too young to understand.

Rather than dread every evening I'd slowly come to look forward to it, sitting in my room with my son for a pleasant cuddle as the daylight faded. Though still so young he seemed to pick up on my change in mood and he, too, seemed happier with each passing day.

Food was a little better as I had more time to prepare it and better ingredients with which to make it.

My sleep was better as I no longer felt so sore and drained before bed, nor was my sleep interrupted over a drunk's impulse.

Even this modest life was far beyond what I could have imagined just a few years ago and it was a lot to take in.

...And even with only one man in my life at this point, I still tried to be careful. It only made sense to.

---

Months passed, the changes in our lives now settled into routine. Even so, I was nothing short of thankful for the help and my son seemed inclined to agree.

Come one morning I felt a bit under the weather, just a little nauseous. I wondered if I prepared something wrong, or if something I ate just hadn't agreed with me. My son was just as bouncy and happy as ever so I ruled out the former. The feeling faded as the day went on, fortunately, and I felt normal come the early afternoon.

The next morning was more of the same.

As was the next, this time with something to show for it as I hugged my toilet. While I sat on my bathroom floor the gears in my head had begun to turn and reach conclusions I wasn't ready for. Standing back up on my wobbly legs I tried to pull myself together, taking a deep breath and rinsing out my mouth before returning to the rest of the small house.

I rubbed my tired eyes as I walked back to my bedroom to acquire a small personal calendar. In it were several Xs -- some red and some black -- following a twenty-eight-day cycle. Flipping through several pages the cycle was the same, maybe offset here and there due to the number of days in the month. As far as one could see nothing was amiss. I flipped to the more recent pages, the ones where I'd grown a bit sloppy in my tracking without such a need to do so.

A bunch of red Xs, a bunch of black Xs not long after.

Next page. A bunch of red Xs, a bunch of black Xs not long after.

The page after that. A bunch of red Xs, a bunch of black Xs not long after.

I then landed on the present month.

No marks.

My heart skipped a beat before it sunk, my turning back to the previous month before returning to the present.

...

I looked back once more, then to the present month.

...Six weeks.

I raised my hand up to my mouth to catch my heart should it jump up my throat any further. My ears fell to the sides of my head as my eyes began to well up and time around me seemed to slow to a halt. I couldn't hear the birds or wind through the hills just outside, only the static in my head.

...How should I tell him?

---