#2907 – Bare
Worthing, January 2020.
He hadn’t wanted to do it, but he was making the money he needed in the only way he knew how. The skills he’d learnt at school, at college, at university, well, they turned out to be worthless; he’d done nothing but waste his life there. The bills were mounting and no matter how much he hated it, no matter how exposed it made him feel, how degenerate, how low, ashamed, disgusted, useless, it paid well. Better than his ‘real’ job, anyway. The daily work, stuck at a desk, the headset pinching his ear and carving a gorge across his head.
So he let the nameless, faceless ones pay their coins, clicked the camera on and did what they asked him. He just wished he hadn’t agreed to everything. Those boundaries, which so long ago he had set himself – “I’ll do that, but nothing more” – had disappeared so quickly, his comfort zone being pushed outwards slowly but steadily. What had disgusted him before, still turned his stomach, but earned a few extra pounds, and if he sat crouched in the shower as the scorching water rained down on him for a few hours afterwards, trying in desperation to get clean, to wash the shame from his skin, well, at least he had a little bit more to go towards those bills. The ever mounting bills. He would get there.
He’d pay them off. He just had to do this a couple more times. A few more times, that’s all. The laptop beeped. It was time…