Chapter Two: Baby Bird

I arrived at my oldest sister's home around 3 pm, the next day. Fiona rushed out to greet us, arms opened wide. Leaning into her embrace, I finally let go of all the pain I had acquired in the last year.

When my sobbing had subsided, Fee helped me get Zeke out of my car and took us into the gorgeous house our other sister, Layla, had built from the ground, up. Judging from the interior, you would swear she was a interior decorator who had her own show on HGTV. But you would be far, far off course if you assumed that. Nope, color palettes and wall art were only a hobby for my sister. She earned her living as a ice cold homicide detective. If you knew her the way I do, it would make sense to you. Trust.

Meanwhile, Fee worked her early mornings at a popular warehouse, her days as a live-in nanny to our adorable nieces and nephew, and nights, studying her ass off for her future nursing career.

I admired both my sisters, greatly, but I was also incredibly jealous of how sure of their lives they were.

Once upon a time, I had thought I knew exactly what I wanted. However, PJ had other ideas of how our futures would go. He would cheat on me with Bitch-Tit McGee, knock her up before our divorce papers were even drawn up, and expect me to figure out how to go from housewife/stay-at-home mom to the only parent of a child on the spectrum.

Hate is to gentle of a word for how I feel about the man who ripped my world to shreds.

"So, now that you're here, what are you going to do next?" Fiona jerked me out of my head with that simple question. It was laced with innocence, but it still cut deep. I really had no idea what I was going to do. I just had to fake it until I made it, I guessed.

"Erm, well, I've got that interview you set up for me at the warehouse." I said causing her to nod in agreement. "And, I'm going to make all the phone calls I need to tomorrow, to get us both insured and set up with government assistance that we qualify for."

Fee smiled sweetly. "Good start." She was bouncing our youngest niece on her lap, while talking to me.

"I should also start trying to find a place in my budget." I added, feeling the familiar twinge of not belonging here. It was an annoyance that never really left me. Which is why I've been in 3 different states the past 6 years.

"Max, there's no rush. One thing at a time. We want you here. You don't need to feel like we are going to kick you out, okay?" She pointed her worried stare at me.

I nodded, unable to respond, the tears in the back of my eyes threatening to fall down my cheeks.

"Good, now hold Jamie so I can get you a much-needed drink." She handed my gurgling baby niece to me and went to the fridge to get me one of those girly coolers they keep on hand. I'm more of a Bud Light or Jack and Coke kind of chick but it'll do.

Less than two weeks after that convo, I had a couple part-time jobs and a shitty studio in a shittier area. I shared an air mattress with my son and secretly took him on all the deliveries I made during the day for a independent courier company. The warehouse job was weekends only and the delivery gig was dependent on tips, so I had a third side hustle that was probably something I'd regret sooner than later. But it was proving to be exceptionally reliable. It wasn't easy but it was my life.

I sat at my little, card table that I picked up at a run-down thrift store, nursing my cold cup of coffee while Zeke jumped up and down, excitedly, in front of the TV. The table was black and had scuff marks along the sides but it did it's job and I really couldn't complain about that. My coffee had grown cold due to my mind being in more than one place lately. I brewed it when I woke up at 7 am, wandered off to use the bathroom, came back to pour it in a cup but before I could add my caramel macchiato creamer, Zeke was up and silently begging me for breakfast. After handing him a granola bar, my phone's alarm went off, reminding me of the multiple calls I needed to make in order to set him up with therapy. By the time I remembered my coffee, it was pretty much iced but I still drank it. I never let caffeine go to waste.

I cringed as Zeke let out a long high-pitched giggle/scream. The kid learned how to shape his voice into something like a dog whistle and hasn't stopped since. Between his jumping, screaming, and my yelling at him to knock it off, I wondered when my neighbors were going to issue a complaint to the landlord. I rubbed a tired hand over my face. I couldn't afford to lose this place. We had nowhere else to go.

My sisters would take us in but my never-ending guilt just never seemed to go away and I wouldn't be able to bring myself to their doorstep. I probably wouldn't even tell them if we got evicted, anyways. Yeah, I've got issues. Can't even blame all of them on PJ. The need to please and be what everyone expects of me runs a whole lot deeper than my fucked-up marriage.

Maybe that's why it didn't work with him. Why he gave up on us, on me. Why it was so easy for him to fall out of love and walk away. Not that I wouldn't have left sooner or later.

I had just started seeking help for my mental illnesses. Slowly I was feeling stronger and better about myself. I had begun to work out and do my make-up and hair every day. I dressed more like a woman in her late 20's and retired the baggy shirts and sweats I had taken to wearing since the birth of our son. I was learning to love myself so that my husband would maybe start looking at me again like he used to. And, if he didn't, I promised my therapist, I would walk away, with my head held high and my dignity intact. Well as intact as it was. It kind of frayed when I looked away from his cheating and lies.

I'm not going to lie. Since the separation and becoming the only parent to provide for my son, I had let myself go. The weight that I had worked so hard to lose had come back. My make-up was kind of dusty and my roots had more than grown out. I knew I needed to pamper myself a little and do some self-care, but I couldn't afford it. Not right now.

Once my clientele grew, I would be able to get my hair dyed and cut. Just a matter of time.

Later that night, after Zeke had fell asleep, I locked myself in the bathroom with my laptop. Propping it on a chair facing the far wall opposite the door, I readied myself for my first show of the night. I clicked the camera button and pasted a practiced smile on my face. My hair was in pigtails and my make-up done carefully and innocently. I appeared years younger than my actual 28. Which was exactly what I wanted.

I couldn't see them but they could see me. It made this all easier. I pretended that this was all for me and the millions of messages popping on my screen weren't from sick fucks who wanted to do unspeakable things to me.

A message from one of my regulars flashed on the screen and I gave him a cheeky grin. "Hi, Daddy!"

That got me a heart, which equals $1. Or $.50 after the site took it's cut, but I wasn't going to tell any of my fans that. If I got a hundred hearts, I'd still make enough to pay my internet bill.

One person requested I take my shirt off so they could get a look at my perky, little girl tits. I giggled. No one gets to see anything for free and that was the fun of the game.

Tilting my head, "Princess needs a prezzie before she does anything like that, mister." I put on a baby voice that really makes these nasty dudes go crazy.

And it worked. A couple tips of $5 comes my way. That makes me happy. I get to keep 90% of my tips.

I put my hands behind my back and unclasp my pink, polka-dot, frilly bra that I bought just for this role. A couple more hearts flash across the screen along with some smiley faces ($3) and a few praise emojis ($6).

"Awe, thanks, Daddy!" I say to no one and everyone. I bounce up and down, my boobs jiggling in the best way.

After that, the requests and commands come like clockwork. Asking me to remove my panties followed by a few tips of $10. Then, playing with myself which involved $50 and a winky face ($10). I do everything they ask, even when one guy says to stick a pinky in my butthole. Whatever gets them off, gets me paid. That's the rules.

I'm nearly into the 2-hour mark when something different happens. A new guy enters the chat room. I'm used to randoms coming in and out during my live streams. But they're usually quiet or they ask for the same kind of stuff as the others. But this dude was different.

First it was his name that caught my attention: Coop'n'it_Real. It struck me as weird. There was nothing dirty about it. The guys that frequented this site used names like DirtyBoi2005 or PantySniffer52!. This guy's chat name could've been something used on a regular dating site or whatever.

Then, for a while, he just sat in the chat room, observing, it seemed like, while I fulfilled requests as usual. I held my little pink vibrator to my nipples and moaned, loudly. (Zeke slept like a rock). The normal tips popped up. Nothing weird.

Until Coop'n'it_Real started to type. I could see every time a client starts a message. Perks of being the actress, I guess. It also helped so I could be ready to give them my full attention.

-Bend Over-

Okay…not the rarest thing to be asked. I bend over and use my phone to look at whatever messages they send. I have it connected to the site so that I can fulfill their wishes.

$1000 flashes in the tip section. My jaw drops. But before I can thank my newest fan, he writes again.

-I can almost taste that perfect pussy. Run your finger along it-

Mindlessly, I trace my right index finger of my slit. For the first time ever, I'm actually getting wet without the help of the lube I always apply before my shows. If they believe it's real, who am I to tell them otherwise?

That gets me another $1000 followed by a few $10's and $50's. It seems like my other clients don't want to be overshadowed by this new guy. But they don't say anything, either. They let him dish out the next command.

-Oh, my Sadie. So wet. Is that for me, baby bird?-

He calls me by my stage name but it's the pet name that catches my attention. I gasp in shock and surprise. I'm thankful they can't see my reactions. The only camera is on my ass and pussy right now.

-Tell me, birdie. I want to hear your voice, again-

Again? That pretty much confirms my suspicions. I'm not sure how to feel by this. Angry? Embarrassed? Sad? Happy? All those emotions kind of flood me at once. But I answer him.

"Yes, all for you…." I whisper, afraid that if I speak any louder, my tone won't be the one my other customers yearn for. I want to say his name, to let him know I'm responding to him, with my voice and my body. But I can't drop the role.

He tips me another $1000. The others follow suit. One regular ups his to $150. That's new. I know these guys aren't loaded. They're probably still living in their parents' basements or hiding in their offices, so their wives can't see that they aren't actually in a meeting for work. I make sure to say thank you to him, in my sweetest voice.

Coop starts to write again but my timer goes off, signaling that it's time to wrap things up.

"Sorry, misters," I turn around and pout. "It's time for Princess to go now. But I'll see you all next week?"

A couple hearts and such flash on my screen, followed with a bunch of "Goodnight, Sweetheart" and other phrases along those lines. I wait a little to see if the new guy is going to say anything, but he remains silent.

I frown with disappointment and click off, closing my laptop. I don't bother with my other show of the night. I made more than I make in a month tonight.

I lean back against the bathroom wall. Fuck. I hadn't been called Baby Bird in a really long time. Not since I was 18. Not since I last saw Easton.

Fuck.