Living in Venice California turned out to be pretty amazing. It was always warm here, which was right up my jazz, the beach was close, lots of hot people from around the world would pick it as their travel destination and above all else, my accounting job that I got here paid really well. The only reason why I still bothered to live with a roommate instead of going on my own, was the fact that I didn't know whether to buy an apartment or maybe even invest in a real house. My corporation even had that special program where they would cover a small percent of the costs, just to keep the good employees.
The situation with my roommate was actually motivating me to accelerate the process. Jesse seemed like a nice guy at first and he was certainly capable of charming everyone around him, which was the main reason why I agreed to move in with him, despite being a complete stranger. But once I got to meet him better... well, let's just say the magic was quickly gone.
He was some kind of a movie producer or something. Everyone in California seemed to chase some dream and he was one of the dreamers. His lifestyle was very... free. He would smoke weed multiple times a day, loudly listen to the music in the middle of the night, leave his dirty clothes everywhere, bring strangers for hook ups five times a week and even walk around the house naked with me around. At first, I wasn't necessarily complaining about that last thing, because he was a good looking piece of meat and despite my outer shyness, I was an inner slut. And why would anyone reasonable want to stop a hot hunk from being an eye candy for the society. However, even that approach of mine changed when he walked naked behind my back while I was face calling my noisy mom.
The biggest red flag, however, was revealed when I caught him snorting cocaine in our living room. It actually alerted me so much, that I began packing my things immediately, but he convinced me that he would get rid of his supplies and keep them in his car instead. His initial reaction to me catching him was an offer to join him.
Soon after the cocaine incident, something completely different triggered a sudden change to our relationship. I heard a knock on the door to my bedroom -- which was unusual, because most of the time Jesse would just enter in without worrying about anything. When I told him to come in, I froze, when I saw this big jock... crying.
"What happened, man?!" I got up from behind my desk and reached out to this sad stud, who was visibly shaken up. I invited him to sit on my bed and sat beside him, keeping my hand on his shoulder in a comforting way. "Jesse! What's wrong, buddy?"
"I fucked up," he sobbed and looked at me with his eyes red from tears. "I really fucked up... This is the end of me."
Oh my God. He murdered someone. FBI will interrogate me. Maybe I will become a suspect, too? Oh, Good Lord at Heavens, let my future prison mate be good looking and STD free...
"What did you do?" I asked, terrified, sensing fear flooding the veins in my arms with coldness.
"I... I won't meet the deadline on my project..." he announced and another tear came out of his eye.
I almost had a desire to hit him now for scaring the shit out of me because of such nonsense.
"I thought that something serious happened!" I yelled at him in anger.
"It is serious!" he insisted and then hid his face behind his big hands. "If I fail to get it done on time, my boss will fire me. It's not the first time I'm late with my shit..."
Sympathy cleared my anger and I allowed my hand to comfort his shoulder once again.
"Damn, man... but you've been partying last night, weren't you?" I raised my eyebrows. He came back at 6 am... Do people really have such a bad time management?
"Yeah... I thought I could focus better if I've had a bit of fun... but..." he didn't finish.
"Shit, man..." What could I do? "Is there anything I can do to help you?" I didn't know one thing about editing videos, but if there was something I could do, I would, without hesitation. And while doing so, I would allow myself to be condescending as fuck.
"Actually, there is something you could do..." he said and looked at me in a very weird way with those red, teary eyes of his.
"Well... shoot," I encouraged him.
He put his large, muscular arm around my shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes with seriousness I never suspected him of. My initial thought was: "my God, his arm is heavy. How is he carrying that shit with him all day long?" I awaited him to spill the beans, but then, he visibly hesitated.
"I don't even know how to start... or how to ask you for this..." he admitted.
And then, I immediately read him, like a professional police cold reader. My sympathy for him disappeared once again.
"You want to borrow money," I guessed and stared at him coldly, in a way that -- I hope -- would suggest him that he won't get one cent out of me.
But his sad face turned into confusion.
"Borrow money? No... that wouldn't help me in any way," he said and frowned. "But if that's your reaction just to money, you probably won't like my request either..."
Oh my God, what will I hear from him? "We have to kill my boss"? The dramatic pauses he was making brought me an anxiety.
"Well, just spit it out," I insisted, already annoyed by all of this.
He looked me in the eyes again. In their dark circles I noticed some innocent plead.
"I need to fuck you."
