Page 1 of Knox's Boy

Chapter 1. Florian

The paper cup was slowly disintegrating between my fingers, damp warmth seeping into my skin as I peeled away tiny strips of cardboard from the rim. I checked my watch again. Three minutes had passed since the last time I looked, but it felt like hours. The air in the coffee shop was heavy with the scent of roasted beans. Usually, I’d love that. But today it turned my stomach in slow, nauseating circles. Maybe it wasn’t the coffee, though. No, it definitely was the man I was meeting.

I sat with my back to the wall, scanning every person who walked through the glass door. My leg bounced under the table, nerves I couldn't suppress. I took a sip of the Americano I couldn't afford, the bitter liquid scalding my tongue. It was a grounding pain. It reminded me I was real, that this was happening, that I was actually sitting here waiting to meet a man who had offered me an obscene amount of money for my time.

Knox. That was the name on the screen. He said it was his real name, also, and that he never lied about his name or who he was,not even online. It sounded regal, imposing. A predator’s name. He could do anything to me… abuse me, kill me, and yet I was here. I needed the money.

A notification chimed on someone else’s phone nearby, and I jumped, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was a wreck. I needed to pull myself together before he arrived, but the calm refused to come. Instead, my mind kept dragging me back, retracing the pathetic series of missteps that had led me to this ridiculous table in this stupid corner.

It had started yesterday morning. Well, no. It had started when I was born into my family. But being this dumb, specifically, and agreeing to meet a stranger online to exchange sex for money, being a literal whore, started yesterday.

I had slipped into the back of my psychology lecture twenty minutes late, the heavy door groaning. Heads turned. I kept my gaze down, sliding into the nearest empty seat, my yellow hoodie pulled up to mask the fact that I hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours. My shift at the store had run long because the replacement who was a high school kid with zero work ethic hadn't shown up, and I couldn't afford to lose the hours by walking out. My manager Mark would love to cut me if I said no.

"Nice of you to join us, Florian," Dr. Evans had said. He didn't sound angry, just disappointed, which was infinitely worse. He peered over his glasses, his gaze lingering on my exhausted face. It was a small class with not that many students, which made the professor know everybody by name. He knew each and every walking disaster like me.

I muttered a breathless apology and fumbled with my backpack. My hands were shaking. I caught my reflection in the darkened glass of the window to my left. Messy blond hair fallinginto eyes that looked too blue, too innocent for the thoughts currently racing through my head. People always told me I looked like a cherub, like some angelic choir boy, but they didn't see the underneath. My jaw was set tight, the muscles jumping. I looked small in the oversized hoodie, but I was ready to snap at anyone who looked at me too long.

I didn't have the textbook. I pretended to take notes on a notebook that was already filled with scribbles from three other classes, but mostly I just stared at the clock, willing the time to dissolve. When the lecture finally ended, I bolted before Evans could corner me. He knew I wasn't reading the material or doing the assignments. He knew I'd fail, and he was a good guy, cared about me, us, but there was nothing he could do. I was about to drop out anyway, even though it was my only chance of getting out of the grocery shop job. But I simply couldn't afford to be here.There ain't no rest for the wicked.

The hallway was a wind tunnel cutting through the thin fabric of my hoodie, my one and only. I tucked myself into a secluded alcove near the vending machines and pulled out my phone. The screen was a spiderweb of cracks, holding together by sheer luck. And tape.

I logged into my banking app, already feeling my stomach sinking. Or growling. The little spinning circle taunted me before the number flashed on the screen.

Nine dollars and fourteen cents.

Ugh.

I stared at it and refreshed the page, hoping for a miracle, a glitch, a forgotten deposit. It stayed the same. Nine dollars. Not enough for the textbook Evans expected us to read by Monday.Not enough for a snack. Definitely not enough for the rent that was already four days late.

I pocketed the phone and walked out into the campus quad. It was a gray, miserable day. Groups of students passed me, laughing. They carried coffees, wore coats that looked like they cost more than my monthly income, and complained about assignments as if grades were the biggest problem of their lives. I hated how jealous I was of them. And the worst part was that I was one of them once. In high school, things weren't so bad. Mom was still around, and Dad had a job. I mean, it was still bad, the alcohol and the fighting were still there, but it was different bad. Maybe that was what life was about: switching to a different type of bad every couple of years. And I needed a different type of bad now. God knew I desperately did.

I hunched my shoulders, burying my hands in my pockets, and walked fast, eyes on the pavement. My stomach growled again; I was fucking hungry. I took a sip of my water bottle, trying to soothe my stomach. It didn’t work.

By the time I reached my apartment complex on the edge of town, the sun was already dipping below the horizon. I climbed the three flights of stairs, as the elevator had been broken since I moved in, and stopped in front of my door.

A white envelope peeked out from the bottom gap.

My stomach dropped. I snatched it up, ripping it open before I even unlocked the door. FINAL NOTICE. The words were bold, stamped in red ink that looked like blood. Eviction proceedings would begin in three days if the balance wasn't paid in full.

I tried to breathe. They always extended it. They wouldn’t really do it. I had to believe that. It was my only hope before I could get some cash.

I stepped inside and locked the door. My belongings were there: a mattress on the floor in the corner, a desk I’d scavenged from a curb on move-in day, and a single plastic chair. The air smelled of dust and old cooking grease from the neighbors. But it still beat living with my Dad.I flipped the light switch. The bulb overhead buzzed angrily.

I was trying very hard not to let the panic settle in. Very, very hard.

I heated a cup of ramen in the microwave, my only appliance, and sat on the mattress, cross-legged. The broth was salty and hot, filling the hollow ache in my belly. At least that was good. Not filling, but good.

My phone buzzed on the floor beside me. I glanced at the ID.

Finn.

My father. I shouldn't have looked. I should have let it vibrate itself off, but the conditioning ran deep. I picked it up.

Need to borrow some cash, just this once. Old Man needs a break, kid.

I laughed, a harsh, dry sound that scratched my throat. He was a leech, a black hole of need that had swallowed my childhood whole. He probably needed a bottle, or he owed someone money at the track, or he just wanted to see if he could still pull my strings.

And he could. Because even being a leech, he was all I had. He took care of me and didn’t let me end up in foster care, against all odds.