A month has passed.
But the wounds didn't heal. All she did was cover them up with desperate attempts to stay... survive.
She worked as a waitress in a small restaurant; a job that didn't require much qualification, but was barely enough to pay the rent and make ends meet.
Until one day.
Her manager suddenly called her into the office and said with a face devoid of sympathy:
"Customers are complaining that you're not cheerful... We need a smiling face, not a sad, pale face."
She tried to explain that she was just tired, but her words didn't find their way into his heart.
He said coldly, looking at his watch as if its presence had become a burden:
"You're fired."
---
Night.
Her room is dark, with only the sound of her empty stomach, which hasn't eaten since yesterday morning. She looks at the empty envelope on the table.
No rent, no food, no opportunity on the horizon.
She refused to even consider going back to him... But hunger knows no dignity, no respect.
---
Leo's apartment.
Her knock on the door was light, hesitant.
She was standing in front of the door to Leo's apartment, waiting impatiently for it to open. Her long black hair flowed smoothly down to her waist, shiny and soft, waving in the air with every movement she made. She was wearing her high school uniform, a short skirt that reflected her smooth, sleek, and bulging ass, and a tight white shirt that obliquely showed off her body.
Her breasts looked huge and soft, so soft. The size of it was obvious, with every movement she made, as if her breasts were almost bursting out from under the thin fabric. Everything about her seemed luxurious, overwhelming you with a sense of softness and tenderness.
Her breasts were so large, so tight inside the tight shirt that they almost popped out, as if the shirt was having a hard time containing them.
There was a bulge in her ass, delicately accentuating the curve of her body, adding to her natural features. Everything in her body moved in harmony, a fluidity in her movements that made the air around her feel heavier, as if each moment of waiting carried with it a charge of anticipation.
She stood in front of the door, breathing slowly, her eyes fixed on the closed wood, tension weighing down the air around her. Each passing second seemed heavier than the last, as if time itself was pausing, waiting.
The door opened, a disturbing glint in his eyes, as if he had been waiting for her to show up.
He said, smiling sideways and leaning against the door frame:
"I knew you'd come back."
She swallowed hard and said in a shaky voice:
"I... I just need a loan. I promise, just this once. I won't ask you for anything else."
He laughed. It was a slow laugh, as if he was enjoying her brokenness.
"A loan?"
He took a step closer, then whispered:
"Have you forgotten how you got the previous amount?"
She looked at him angrily, but didn't respond.
"If you want money," he said in a quiet but meaningful tone:
"If you want money, I'll give you... But it's not a loan, it's a reward. Provided you do more this time."
He paused, then said as if offering a deal:
"The more you give... I pay more."
She knew he was serious.
He knew she was desperate.
There was a moment of silence between them, before he added:
"I won't pressure you. Think... But time is not on your side, beautiful."
He closed the door quietly.
But his words kept echoing in her head
, as if they were imprinted on the walls of her memory.