15

Bambi

My whole body is well spent as I spent the whole night, getting fucked by Jarek. After eating me out, he replaced his tongue with his dick and he literally fucked me all night, trying different positions and spanking me.

He left hours later and after lying sprawled on the bed, I fell asleep. I'm so tired, and I don't feel like getting out of bed. But I need somewhere to go. I'm going to find a job.

I need a job as I need money. I need to put my life back together and throughout my time staying with Jarek, the only thing I will be getting cannot just be his dick. I need money. I need to leave his house.

I checked my phone and after seeing that it was almost 8, I rushed out of the bed and dashed to the bathroom where I had a quick shower. I got dressed and made sure to look presentable at least, before I walked out of the room.

I go straight to the sitting room, I'm starving and I decide to have a light snack. I don't know how long my job hunting is going to take. And judging from the long night that I had, I need to eat.

I go to the sitting room and I pause in my tracks when I see Jarek there. I did not expect him to be there. At the dining table. That's my first time seeing him there since we started staying together.

I slowly clear my throat and then I glance at him. He's having a cup of coffee. I do not bother to greet. I would have told him good morning, but Jarek has made it clear that he has no business with me outside of sex.

I walk quickly to the kitchen and I fix myself a quick meal. I don't bother going to the dining area to eat. I eat my food right in the kitchen and after I'm done, I step out.

I want to leave the house when Jarek speaks. “When you get back, you will find some pills in your room. They are contraceptives.” He tells me and I slowly nod my head.

“Start taking them. Do you not forget a dose?” He tells me, he deadpans on the word like it is an abomination for me to get pregnant for him or even carry his child. Not that I was planning to.

“Okay,” I tell Jarek, but he doesn’t even spare me a second glance. The word feels small as it leaves my lips, almost swallowed by the silence he leaves behind. There’s no time to dwell on it. I have bigger problems.

I gather my documents, pressing the edges together like I can force them into perfection. Certificates. Identification. Everything anyone could possibly ask for. It should be enough. It has to be enough.

Stepping out of the house, the early morning air hits my face, cool but heavy with dust. Jarek lives on the outskirts, there are no people around. I have to walk for a while before I find a place where I can see taxis easily. . I raise my hand and flag down a taxi.

“Where?” the driver asks, glancing at me through the mirror.

“Anywhere with job openings,” I mutter, then sigh. “Just take me to the business district.”

He shrugs and starts driving.

My first stop is a small office building with a faded sign. Administrative Assistant Needed. My chest tightens with hope as I walk in.

The receptionist barely looks up. “Yes?”

“I’m here about the job opening,” I say, placing my file on the desk carefully.

She flips through it lazily, her expression unmoved. “Do you have experience?”

“Yes, I—”

“Minimum of three years,” she interrupts, sliding the papers back toward me. “We need someone experienced.”

“I can learn quickly,” I insist, forcing a smile that already feels strained.

She shakes her head. “We don’t have time for training.”

Just like that, it’s over.

I step outside, gripping my file tighter. One place, I tell myself. Just one.

The next place is a boutique. They’re looking for a sales assistant. The woman who interviews me looks me up and down, her gaze lingering in a way that makes my skin crawl.

“You’re… fine,” she says slowly, “but we need someone more… presentable.”

Presentable.

I blink. “I can dress according to—”

“It’s not just about clothes,” she cuts in, offering a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “We need someone who fits the brand.”

I don’t even bother asking what that means. I already know.

By the time I leave, the sun is higher, the heat pressing down harder. Sweat gathers at the back of my neck, but I keep moving.

Third place.

A small café. They need a waitress. Hope flickers again. The manager seems kinder this time, actually listening as I speak. I almost relax.

Then he sighs. “You’re qualified, but we just filled the position this morning.”

My heart drops. “But the sign is still outside.”

“We haven’t taken it down yet,” he says apologetically.

Of course.

I nod, forcing a polite smile. “Thank you.”

By the fourth place, my feet ache. My voice feels worn from repeating the same lines, the same introductions, the same hopeful tone that’s starting to sound fake even to my own ears.

“Overqualified.”

“Underqualified.”

“We’ll call you.”

“We’re not hiring anymore.”

Each excuse hits like a slap, different words carrying the same meaning: No.

By the fifth rejection, something inside me starts to crack.

I step out of the building and stop in the middle of the sidewalk, people brushing past me like I don’t exist. My fingers tighten around my file until the papers crumple slightly.

“What do you people want?” I mutter under my breath, the frustration bubbling over. “Experience, but no one wants to give it. Perfection, but no one tells you what that even is.”

A man bumps into my shoulder, and I stagger slightly.

“Watch it,” he snaps before walking off.

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

Of course.

Everything feels stacked against me, like I’m running in circles while everyone else moves forward. My chest feels tight, anger and helplessness mixing into something ugly.

I find a quiet corner near a closed shop and lean against the wall, pressing my head back. For a moment, I close my eyes.

This shouldn’t be this hard.

I did everything right. I prepared. I showed up. I tried.

And still—nothing.

My grip loosens slightly, and I glance down at my papers. The edges are no longer neat. They’re bent, imperfect now. Just like everything else.

“Useless,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if I’m talking about the papers… or myself.

A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down quickly. Crying won’t fix anything. It won’t get me a job.

I push myself off the wall, straightening up. My feet protest, but I ignore them.

“I’m not done,” I say quietly, more to convince myself than anything else.

Because I can’t be.

Not yet.

Even if every door slams in my face, I’ll keep knocking.

Even if it breaks me.