Code of Ethics

I’d spoken prematurely on the phone. When Harry said that I needed comforting, I’d assumed he’d meant sex, and he’d played along easily. But when I showed up to his flat a couple minutes past seven, he had a movie and pizza waiting and a huge grin on his face.

“I haven’t been giving you enough credit,” I laughed, my eyes raking over the scene again, my brain still not completely comprehending the truth.

“Oh, I know,” he agreed, shrugging. “But it’s fine. I didn’t figure you’d have a great opinion of me yet, even though I’ve worked so hard to change your mind.”

I shot him a look before making my way over to the couch, settling down into the soft cushions. The pizza smelled absolutely incredible and made my stomach growl, but the majority of my brain was begging me not to touch it. The workout that I so desperately needed to make sure that my stomach stayed completely flat would have been for nothing if I ate any of the greasy, cheesy, fat-filled food in front of me.

“God, you’re looking at it like it has fur,” Harry snickered as he settled down next to me. “I swear, it won’t bite you if you’re nice to it.”

“I’m not concerned about it biting me,” I laughed. “I’m concerned about it going straight to my thighs. I wasn’t born with this body, you know.”

“You’re beautiful just the way you are,” he encouraged. “You shouldn’t have to worry so much about it.”

Giving him a small, thankful smile, I patted the top of his head and made my way into the kitchen. “Are you seriously not going to eat pizza?” he called after me, his tone pathetic. “Because I got this just to cheer you up. Don’t girls eat when they’re sad?”

“Not all girls,” I responded coolly. I opened all the cupboards in his flat, followed by the fridge, looking desperately for anything that wouldn’t make me blow up like a balloon.

“Harry!” I scolded. “Don’t you have anything even remotely healthy in your flat?”

“Nope. All the more reason for you to eat some pizza. It’s waiting.”

I opened my mouth, ready to yell at him, before closing it again. One slice of pizza wouldn’t kill me or make me obese. Everyone splurged on calories sometimes, right?

So I settled down next to Harry and picked up a pepperoni-covered, greasy slice, plopping it on a plate and resting it on my lap as Harry did the same.

“You’re going to feel so much better after this,” he assured me, taking a large bite and chewing thoughtfully.

“Or I’m going to feel like I want to go for a three-hour run.” But despite my better judgment, I started to eat it. It was a lot fattier than I remembered and tasted strange on my palate, since I wasn’t used to eating calorie-rich foods, but once I started to adjust, it was pretty delicious.

“Don’t even tell me you have an eating disorder or something,” Harry sighed. “You’re thin, but I didn’t think you were that thin.”

“Harry!” I threw a hand over my mouth as I laughed, careful not to spit anything on him. How mortifying that would have been. “I do not have an eating disorder. I just have a job that requires me to be at pique physical shape, and pizza usually doesn’t fit into that equation.”

“But what if you didn’t?”

The question came so softly that I was almost positive I’d misheard him. “I'm sorry?” I asked, not unkindly, but genuinely curious. And even if I had understood what he said perfectly, I wasn’t sure what he meant.

He took his sweet time clarifying, shifting in his seat, clearing his throat, putting his plate on the table for a second, only to rest it back on his thighs. “Tara, my management doesn’t like that I’m dating you when the whole world knows that you’re a stripper. They say that it’s not good for my image, especially when they consider all the other drama that’s been going on recently-”

“What other drama?” I interrupted. My blood was starting to rush through my veins, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, desperate to escape my ribcage. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the Taylor Swift thing, how she keeps talking about what a bastard I was and bringing up our breakup, the Twitter feuds, the cheating scandals…There’s only so much gossip that can surround us at one time, and this is just one too much. And with the other stuff, it’s harder to control, but they can easily control who I date.”

“No, they can’t!” I protested, my eyebrows knitted together and wrinkling my forehead. “It’s still your life.”

“But I signed up to be in the public eye, and they control my image. It’s their job to let me know when I’m doing something that isn’t good for my reputation so I can fix it.”

“That’s the shittiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” My tone was cold and unfeeling, the way I’d trained myself to act whenever my mother did something that pissed me off so much that I wanted to throw her out a window. From the way Harry’s eyes widened, I could tell that he was scared, that he didn’t expect a voice so violent from me.

“I know, but it’s kind of my life.” He took a deep breath and brought his gaze back to mine, the emotion written all over his face nearly shattering my heart. “But they said that we can continue seeing each other on one condition: you stop being a stripper.”

“What?!”

“It’ll be, like, a redemption story that people will eat up. I saved a poor, suffering girl who had to sell herself for money to pay for school and turned her into a classy, respectable young lady.”

My pizza threatened to reappear, forming a knot in my throat, which I worked again and again to swallow. “Well, that’s wonderful for your fans, but I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t fucking need saving.”

“I’m not saying that’s what I think,” he pleaded, watching me as I stormed toward the door, tearing my jacket off the back of the chair and punching my arms through the sleeves. “Tara, please.”

I felt his hand latch onto my arm, his short fingernails digging into my flesh as his eyes begged me not to take another step.

“I don’t think of you as a charity case,” he insisted, his voice more persuasive and cheerful than I’d ever heard. “I swear. To me, you’re just Tara. You’re working to get somewhere. And I know I told you not to worry about my image, but I didn’t know my management would think of this as the last straw.”

“If my life is so detrimental to your public persona,” I said slowly, my eyes drifting down to wear his hand still latched onto my forearm, “and that’s more important to you, then we’re done here. Let go of me, Harry.”

For once, he listened, taking a step back and stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his skinny jeans.

That solidified the deal. Harry was choosing his image over me, much as I expected would happen. Just when I convinced myself that the story was going to be no big deal, when Harry led me to believe that everything would be just peachy, it turned out to bite me in the arse. I should have continued keeping to myself and doing what I did best without letting Harry trick me into thinking that my life was a fairytale where everything worked out in the end.

But no. He’d made sure he made me fall for him just enough, made me feel just comfortable enough, and then he’d torn out the rug from underneath me. Betrayal tugged at my heart, and my eyes began to sting as I fought back the tears that threatened to surface.

“I knew you were a mistake,” I hissed, making sure I broke him as much as he’d broken me, before storming out into the hallway and slamming the door behind me.

The sound was solid and absolute, resounding off the walls, and echoing through my mind to realize that I’d officially put an end to my little detour from reality. It was back to work, without distractions. Because if anyone was going to change my life, it was going to be me.