Cleo Milson's Story

It had been three months since they hit the road.

The first two weeks were strictly traveling; getting as far away as possible. Homeless, one might say, but Cleo liked to call it homeful; hopefully looking for a home. They lived in the crowded and sticky old SUV that totted them from city to town and town to village. All six of them crammed into this car, resting, eating and smoking in it. It was stressful and messy, with too much sharing of body fluids and not enough room to sleep. The first two weeks were the worst, constantly on the move; trying to catch the wind. They were seeking a place they could settle into for a while, somewhere they could get jobs and collect enough money to hit the road again.

Their first stop was short lived. The golden six had crashed at Mickey's house, Cleo's good cousin. He was one of the few family members who understood her, but being twelve years her senior, they had a strange and disconnected relationship. Many times in her adolescence she tried to get in contact with Mickey, seeking advice and an understanding ear. Having Cleo and her friends camp out at his place was only a favor for her, something he felt he needed to repay her with, knowing that he ignored her all those years. He let them stay at his tiny loft apartment. A plain, bachelor pad that had had a fordable bed and loud toilet. He would also provide them with a couple beers on occasion, to show some kind of hospitality. As for food though, they had to scavenge their own. Mickey wasn't exactly the most charitable man, and wasn't willing to buy all the food, and we all know he couldn't afford it either. While there, the golden six barely raised a finger, they were sluggish, tired and few worked. They, including Cleo, created a real mess for her cousin. He grew tired of their non-sense early on, and hated seeing his loft being defaced by a group of misfits. Their stay lasted only two weeks, after Mickey got tired of seeing the entire floor of his apartment transformed into one big bed made of blankets and alcohol. With them there he could barely cook dinner, let alone invite any of his friends over. Worst of all though, Mickey felt he couldn't bring any ladies home, and he was itching. Having a short temper, and no more favors to offer Cleo, he kicked them out, half bribed with couple hundred of dollars. That's all he willing to give them, along with some luck.

After that affair, Cleo spent the next four days in hell. Another long journey in the SUV, and summer was dragging into it's hottest month. Somehow, they had also picked up another one, which made the ride even more crowded. All together the seats of the car and the bodies of the travelers were stuck together in heat, even with the windows constantly rolled down. There was little sleep during those days, and they spent a lot of their nights crafting their own chaos in the emptiness of the desert. It wasn't long though, before they found the perfect little city. Known for it's underground drug life and clubs, they settled in New York city. There was plenty of business for those who were unwilling, and untalented. Enough shabby jobs for them to keep an apartment under their belts, and enough parties to keep the wild ones entertained.

Their latest settlement was a scummy old apartment on the west side of town. A “has potential” kind of place, with lofted ceilings and gritty molding. A place that probably cost your first born child to live in back during the turn of the century. Just a simple place, nicely snug enough for the whole crew. The main living area was an open layout, with the kitchen tucked in the far corner and large windows (which were usually draped with long sheets).There were two bedrooms, small, but enough room for a couple of mattresses to lace the floor. No one was quite assigned a room, and most just slept wherever they could get comfortable. There were only two secluded areas in the house, seeing as both the doors of the bedrooms were off their hinges. One was the bathroom, a common place for the drunkard to spend the night (or someone who wanted some peace and quiet); there was a pile of blankets and pillows under the sink just so they could make a nest in the clawfoot bathtub. Other place was the closet in the master bedroom, it was a walk-in that fit a double bed with a foot to spare. Although there were no windows, the small “room” never got stuffy or too hot. Somehow, being layered into the center of the apartment the heat wasn't too terrible. The closet was Grey's haven, a little sanctuary that he tried to keep the others out of.

Most had gotten work at this point, or rather found some money to contribute to the rent. Cleo wasn't sure but, most everyone didn't have a “real” job. They were panhandling, busking, or selling. At first, it was hard to make everything connect, with having to pay the rent, buy food and booze for seven, and have enough left over for cigarettes. Eventually everyone got into their niche, and found a way of making money. Although jobs were discussed in great detail, they depended on each other to pay their share. In the humidity and heat of August, the golden six, plus one, were making a fairly good life for themselves.

Last night marked Cleo's two weeks at her new job. Cleo, being the possessive and headstrong girl she was, she felt obligated to help pay the rent. Unable to pickpocket, having no musical skills, little education, and no interest in making drugs she was in a rut. After putting on a few pounds, since she had become pencil thin, and convincing everyone in her apartment that she got a job at a movie theater, Cleo secretly slumped into the stripping business. The only person who knew the real identity of her job was Dani. Ashamed wasn't the word, but she kept it from her friends; mostly because she didn't want Grey to know. Cleo couldn't even imagine what Grey's reaction would be, and there would be no end to his harping. She even made sure that the club she worked at was across town, knowing that Grey won't go to the trouble of traveling to the east side of New York for a show. At "The Scene", Cleo's job description consisted of teasing men in the club, pushing drinks, pole dancing, and giving specials. Yes, it was one of those clubs, tucked away in an alley, with back rooms, and women moaning all the night through. Clad in sheer stockings, a frilly garter belt, some lace panties and a corset, Cleo avoided the men who obviously just wanted to take a room in the back. Shying away from the men who payed the most though, almost got her fired. She was unwilling and stiff the first night she had to take someone to the back. A few days in, she had already frozen up on the stage and wasn't doing too well with tips. Cleo was uncomfortable, and reminded of Trenton whenever a tipsy man would slide his hand up her thigh. It was like torture, but it was good money, and that's all that mattered. After teaching herself to ignore, she was began to find her footing in The Scene, becoming more flirty, and reminding herself that it was just her job, nothing more.

It was now noon and Cleo had gotten his refreshing six hours of sleep; having gotten off work at five in the morning. Another downside to her job was that she missed out on the nightlife craze that happened in the apartment. Poor Grey, he was left all alone with these hooligans for a bundle of hours; Cleo worked from one to five. They had offered her more hours, but Cleo strayed away from it, not wanting to be there longer than she had to. Their apartment was quiet, and the residents were just beginning to wake from their slumber. This was a typical time for the seven of them to start rising, seeing as most of them worked when it was dark, and continued to abuse drugs until it was light again.

Cleo had gotten into the habit of putting on whatever clean clothes she could find. Thinking that she looked fine in virtually anything, she didn't care whose clothes she was wearing. Before she got home she had taken off she garter and other things at work, not wanting to have any growing suspicion as to why she came home looking like a hooker. Still having her lace underwear and bra on from work, she had slipped on a pair of mens boxers and a funny little cutoff tank top she'd found at a thrift store. She wasn't sure who the boxers belonged to, she had found them laying in a pile of clean clothes. Cleo also had on a thin denim-like button up, but she was pretty sure that shirt belonged to Grey.

She had been sitting on the kitchen counter the past fifteen minutes, nibbling on an English muffin and soaking in the solitude that came with the silence of the apartment. There was also a pot of coffee on, to maybe help someone sober up when the woke up, or just to get a boost of energy. Cleo waited patiently, her toes crooked over the handle of the lower cabinet, there was even the occasional hum while she was sitting there. After eating she hopped off the counter and headed toward Grey's “room”. It was time to wake him, otherwise he would sleep until the next day. Cleo stepped over a pile of blankets in front of the door of the master bedroom, which was just slightly bigger than the other room. She couldn't really tell who was still sleeping in the room, but she could see lumps of bedding that looked human.

Cleo had slept on the couch the night before, and hadn't come into the master yet, so didn't get a a chance to notice the sign taped to the closet door. She ignored most of the paper warnings and passive aggressive notes that were hung around the house, and saw no need to read this one either. So, without hesitation, Cleo opened the door to wake Grey up.

Greyson Walker had been out late the night before. Why? Well, why else? The male had been in a club on the east side of the city, in the club called "Encore." It had been one of his most favourite haunts recently, a place filled with rich women up to the door, with them falling out every couple of minutes, their bodies filled with more alcohol than water. It really was one of the best places to pick up women, to pick up rich women. Rich women were obviously the best for him to pick up, purely due to the amount of money that they usually carried on them. That was Grey's game; he went out late a night, wooed the drunkest, fairest looking girl he could find, took her back to her place, or an alleyway, or wherever was most convenient, and then made passionate love to her. After completing, he would casually look through the woman's purse, and pick-pocket whatever money he could out of it, before coming home again.

Last night, he had found a lovely girl called Kristin, a barely eighteen year old daughter of some high up editor of a newspaper. She had been almost paralytic with alcohol, it taking over every part of her system; Grey doubted that she barely even knew her own name. But, of course, money was money, and soon, he had taken her out the back of the club. Usually, in a situation like this, he would have just done it in the alleyway, got it over with and left her there. However, this time, he took her to the closest motel, and had his way with her there. Literally, after finishing, the girl had fallen asleep, and Grey had decided to make his run for it. Out of her purse, the male had claimed at least a thousand dollars, pocketing it, before writing her a note on a sticky note, saying how he had had a great time, and some fake number.

By the time Grey had gotten "home" to the dingy little apartment that the six of them shared, it had to have been about half past one. Cleo was nowhere in sight, obviously making the male frown, but he had been too tired to worry too much at that point; if she had needed him, she would have called. So, the male had literally fallen into his makeshift bedroom, the walk-in closet in the master bedroom that he let no-one else enter, and drifted off into oblivion.

Daytime had come too soon. With the doors of his closet shut, Grey was in complete darkness, even once dawn had broken. It was calming, peaceful, and he was sleeping naked, sprawled over his double bed, with his butt up in the air. The male had taped a note to the door off his "room" before sleeping, the note he always put up - just to make sure that if no-one wanted to walk in and see his god-like body, they would have been able to avoid it. The male was startled out of his dreaming state when a bright light streamed into his room, and he opened his eyes with an alarming jolt. "What?" He snapped, glaring in the direction of the bright sunlight, squinting his eyes to see who it was. However, once his eyes had adjusted to the light, Grey instantly recognized the silhouette of the blonde girl standing there. He didn't say anything as he shuffled over to the edge of his bed, wrapping his had around Cleo's, pulling her down next to him. Within a couple of seconds, Grey has maneuvered the two of them in to a spooning position, the naked male's body pressing into her own clothed one. It hadn't been the first time they had been in this position, and it wouldn't be the last either.

Grey's head came to bury into the back of her neck, closing his eyes once more. His arm was draped over her waist, holding her close to him, the other hand resting underneath his head. "Baby, stop wearing my fucking clothes." He whispered against her hair, smiling slightly at the end of his statement. "I don't care how edible you look in them - you need to start washing your own." Grey lifted his head for just one second, pressing his lips into the soft skin at the nape of her neck, before then falling back down onto his pillow. "Mind telling me why you weren't in last night, Cleo?"

Grey was naked! Of course he was, why was this a surprise to Cleo? Of all the people who lived here, she had seen him naked more than she'd herself naked. Cleo let out a jet of air before the boy grabbed her hand and lead her to his bed. "Grey.. Grey, no. I'm here to get you up. Greysooonn." She whined, as he gently brought her down to his level and wrapped himself around her. Things like this drove her crazy, fully enjoying every second. Who wouldn't enjoy having such an attractive lad spoon them, with no clothes on. Greyson was literally one of the most beautiful men she had ever met, and it was disgusting how much she lusted over him. A moment of tension had Cleo paralyzed as Grey had pressed himself against her, cuddling into her like so many times before. Then a comfortable smile colored her face and Cleo squirmed in his arms for a moment, just to annoy him. Sometimes she would purposely twist around just so that Grey would have to work at keeping her contained. Cleo was a teaser, as most in the apartment had already noticed. Most times it was unintentional, the flirts and touches, but other times she felt such a good looking group of boys ought to be taught that they can't just get any girl they want. It was a bitter kind of teasing, making sure that the boy never really got what he wanted. But Cleo had relaxed into Greyson, and his soft words made her grin. She was always stealing his clothes, wearing them around the house and even out. It was an old habit, plus she absolutely hated doing laundry. It was just another boring chore, but even worse because she had to do it in the public eye, seeing as they had a communal laundry room in the apartment.

"It's not like you're going to wear them anyway." She rebutted back at him stubbornly. Her tone was bright and sarcastic, as she thought that she probably wore his clothes more than Greyson did. God, she was so distracted with Greyson so completely naked, and his body against hers. She tried to come up with another witty comment, but had no success. The only thing that she could think about was his dick. She had to put an end to this. Her grin never fading, she took a sudden turn to face him. Careful not to hit him in the face or crotch, she kept her limbs very trained and close to her as she did this. Her hair had trailed over his face and now was a blonde mess around her, making her look more wild than she was. Cleo took a glance down below, then looked back at Grey as if she wasn't impressed. Her face was contorted into some kind of snobbish expression as she said "I mean, honestly Greyson?" She then managed to take off the boxers she was wearing with one hand and her legs, and held them toward him in what little room they had between them. She wasn't even sure whose boxers they were, but she was sure that she'd be able to think straight once he put on a shred of clothing.

"Actually, take the shirt too." She said, continuing her little joke. "Someone like you shouldn't go with a shirt... You might want to think about working out, too." She stripped the button up within a matter of seconds and also handed to the naked man. Her grin was devious now, poking fun at him. But she was sure he knew what she was doing, showing off her new and improved body (and undies). Cleo also did have the real intent of getting him dressed though, he was distracting enough when he was dressed. Hopefully she would even manage to get him out of bed.

He question struck her a little dumb. He sounded all knowing and a bit suspicious. There was no chance that he had been there, no chance. She would have seen him there, it was a tiny little club. Not only that, but the place was trashy, located in an alley, with a stupid little password. Cleo knew Grey better than that, he wouldn't step foot in one of those places, he liked 'em rich. Besides, he didn't need to pay women to sleep with them, he was fully capable of doing that for free. Cleo hesitated, half waiting for him to call her out. ".. I- I was working." She said, blinking a couple of times, trying to collect her thoughts. That moment of panic sent her head spinning. Act normal, goddammit. Grey knew her too well, it was hard to hide something from him for too long. "You know that. I work at the movie theatre on the east side."

A knock at the door made her flinch ever so slightly. That was such an uncommon sound, most people who came over didn't knock, they just came right in. People who knocked were intruders, people who won't understand them, and would bark at their unhealthy lifestyles. Knocks meant that one of the two of them was more than likely needed. She crossed her fingers that it wasn't the rent collector, she had no idea if her friends had made some money to pitch in. She hoped that it was just the downstairs neighbor, a grumpy old man, coming to complain about the noise last night. Then she would only have to yell a little bit until he blew them off.

"Get up answer the door." She harped at him, he was much more personable than she was. And it if it was a woman, they were in even more luck.

It was kind of horrible waiting for them to open the door. Charlotte looked idly at the peephole staring her level in the face. The gold trim was chipped and the looking glass portion looked cracked. All around it the paint was peeling, sanded completely in the top left hand corner. ”This place needs some TLC. Not a gutting, just some work,” she thought to herself. It definitely would have charm, especially if the color weren’t a horrible shade of green.

Idly, Charlotte looked down at the piece of paper she held in her hand. Irene’s scrawling cursive was loopy and quick, barely legible to a person who hadn’t seen it before. Apartment 1616. It was listed as having 3 tenants, though next to it was a crossed out seven. Charlotte’s eyebrows knit together unsure just as she heard the hinges on the door squeak open. The wood snarled as the threshold to the apartment behind her was revealed. Barring her from entering was a disheveled looking brunette, her hair still knotted on the side of her head while her clothes looked hastily put on. Worse, thick black eye liner and mascara from the night before caked her eyes. Charlotte swallowed, feeling the slight flush to her cheeks fade while she stumbled for words. Bringing a hand to push her hair back from her face she gulped air only to be hit by a heavy cloud of marijuana smoke that had her stifle a cough.

“...Can I help you?" the brunette asked crudely. To Charlotte she looked extremely irritated that she had even had to open the door. To avoid her scrutinizing gaze, the redhead glanced back down at the paper for a name. She was finding it difficult to be the standoffish girl she usually could be.

“I, um,” she stumbled with words, licking her lips before she looked up and across the living room to see a semi-dressed rather attractive young man holding a joint in his hand. Charlotte’s eyes narrowed to focus on him. He was in direct violation of their lease agreement. Shifting her weight, Charlotte leaned into the door frame, checking her slip of paper a second time.

“My name is Charlotte Arden. I’m here on behalf of Irene, the building manager. She noted that you missed your rent payment and, well,” she explained, looking up and into the brunette’s face with as much confidence, or whatever sass she could muster. “It’s due,” she added, biting on her lower lip as she folded the paper back into her pocket. “It says that the primary tenant is Cleo Milson though a Greyson Walker co-signed. Are either of them here?”

Greyson just ignored Cleo's exclamations, pulling her into his embrace anyway. He held onto her tightly as she wriggled in his arms, like a fish who had just been pulled out of water, groaning sleepily at her fast and jagged movements. "Stop itttt..." He groaned, burying his head into her hair, trying to drift back off to sleep. Grey was one of those people who could fall asleep in just about any position, and this was one of his favourites, curled up against his best friend, preferably naked. Soon, she was beginning to relax into his arms, stopping her wriggling, melting into his embrace. That, he was happy about, as he began to get comfortable once again. With no speech between the two of them, Grey slowly began to drift back off to sleep once again, his eyes sliding closed.

However, his peacefulness didn't last long, and soon, Cleo was joking about him not wearing his own clothes, causing him to smile against the soft skin of her shoulder. His eyes stayed closed as he lay there, grinning at her statement. It was true, of course. He hated wearing clothes, especially when it was so warm outside. He sometimes didn't even wear clothes in the winter, despite how cold it was - being naked and walking around with no clothes on was just something he loved doing. Oh, and it teased the fuck out of Cleo. Slowly, she then turned around in his arms, and Greyson decided to open his eyes, looking into her beautiful eyes, bright blues looking into her chocolate browns. His expression changed from cocky and amused to cocky and playfully irritated when she looked underneath the bed-covers at his manhood, before shaking her head. His mouth fell open as she spoke, shocking him with her deceleration that his physiology wasn't good enough.

The male's expression didn't change as Cleo undressed herself beside him, wriggling out of the clothes that she had been wearing, before throwing them in his direction, the clothing landing on his bare chest. Being still wrapped in his arms, her change must have been awkward, but he hadn't let go. He was slightly afraid that if he did let go, that she would escape from his embrace and run back out into the kitchen again. Usually, if she did that, he would just climb out of the bed and chase her, but he barely had any energy this morning. He was too tired, too worn out, and still slightly tense from the night before, seeing that she wasn't home when he arrived back. That then brought him back to the next question that he had asked her, asking why she hadn't been in.

Grey knew Cleo too well, to not be able to see through her lie. In fact, he was a little hurt that she would lie to him in the first place, and his expression dropped the playfulness, and turned slightly more serious. "Working, huh?" He repeated, his tone seething skepticism. He made it obvious to the blonde girl in his arms that he was seeing through her lie; that he obviously knew she wasn't telling him the truth. However, before he could call her up on it, and force her to tell him when she had truly been, there was a knock at the door. His own head snapped up, confusion taking over his face. He was mirroring the thoughts of his best friend - no-one knocked at their door, unless it was something serious. Like a rent collector, or someone like the police. He groaned as Cleo barked at him, telling him to get up and answer the door. "Loving your manners this morning, baby. You're always so happy when you wake up." Grey's tone was drenched in sarcasm as he slowly pulled himself out of bed, dragging his body slowly, like a zombie beginning to move for the first time.

Maybe naked isn't the best idea if it's someone knocking... The male thought to himself as he looked around his "room", finding the pair of jeans that he had been wearing the night before. He pulled on the first pair of clean boxers that he had seen, before then putting his jeans on over the top. Before he left the closet, Greyson pointed at the clothing that his best friend had been wearing five seconds ago, a playfully stern expression taking over his face. "You, put them on before you come out. Only I'm allowed to see your sexy undies." He winked, before then exiting.

Alex had gotten there first, and Greyson walked up on the scene, his other female friend staring blankly at the female on the other side of the door, almost as if she was looking right through her. He caught the last sentence or two of the conversation, and he walked straight up to the door, ignoring the smoking boy on the sofa - he'd get to him later. "Well hello, beautiful." Greyson's cooed as he came upon the other side of Alex, leaning his topless frame against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm Greyson, but please, call me Grey. Charlotte, isn't it? What a stunning name, for such a stunning young lady. You want rent, huh?" He asked her, before then pulling out half of the notes from his pocket. "Do you think this is enough? If not, you can always come back to my room, and I'll see if I can find some more." He smiled in her direction, his sultry, crooked smile plastered over his face. If it was the right amount of money to pay, he'd collect the other halves from his companions later. He just wanted to get this woman out of the way, so he could get back to his bed, and his Cleo.

Cleo was terrible at this lying thing. Even when she lived with her parents, she had a hard time keeping her secret life a secret. Within six months or so her parents were fully aware of where she had been at night, and who she'd been hanging out with. She was much to shifty with her eyes, and the nervousness that came with lying straight to someone's face made her stutter. Greyson knew all of these symptoms, and caught on very quickly. At least she wasn't one to blurt, she could keep a good secret. Grey would know she was lying, but it would take either a lot of persuasion or torture for her to confess. His tone sent a shiver of guilt down her spine, she hated lying to him. There was honestly no other way though, she didn't want to know what Grey's reaction would be is he found out his dear Cleo was prostituting herself for money. She was almost certain if he did find out he would be more angry than she'd even seen, and somewhere along the way he would forbid her from doing ever again. Then, being Cleo, she would rebel again him, which would only enhance the problem.

Her mind twisted around the little scenarios that glided in and out, coming up with more than a dozen situations and reactions to her job. With that, she was mildly distracted until Greyson had enough energy to answer the door like she requested. It was a little surprising, when she usually told him to do things she ended up doing it. Turning to her side and resting her head on her hand her brown eyes trailed over Greyson's naked body. He was slow moving, sleepy and entirely too handsome to be living in this rundown apartment with her and some friends.

Sometimes she wondered why Greyson just didn't schmooze his mother into letting him stay at home. There, he had an expensive sports car, a huge house, and a nearly endless spending limit. He could get away with more than what they were doing now. Perhaps it was for the adventure, to experience what it was like to live in poverty. Cleo probably would never ask him, and therefore never know his motives. This place was no different than the rest, and she found a certain comfort in the muck of the place. She was used to it, seeing as she was nearly homeless during her high school days. Not because her parents didn't want her, but because she didn't want them; living a dull middle class life. So she resorted to couch surfing, staying at Greyson's and for a time crashing at Trent's. Cleo observed as the man in front of her put on some bottoms, then her eyes drifted closed right before he playfully warned her not to leave this room without putting her clothes back on. She shook her head in a a playful disagreeing way. Then, he was gone.

Cleo listened carefully to make out what they were saying out at the door. All she gathered was that the woman at the door was collecting rent, and that Greyson was putting on the charm. She smiled to herself as she heard the woman struggling for words, he had the sort of effect on women. Cleo yawned while remembering the coffee that was done by now, she slowly brought herself to a kneeling position and collected up Grey's shirt and slipped it back on. Cleo ignored the boxers that she was previously wearing as she stood up and left the messy bed behind her. Two hooked fingers slid under the fabric of her underwear and pulled down, to adjust herself and to cover up her bum a bit. She headed straight to the coffee, Cleo also needed a smoke. Cleo spied Christian on the couch and sent a small wave and a greeting his way, "Morning, Mr. Coleman." After pouring herself a mug of black she shuffled through the kitchen junk drawer. In all reality this was quite useful, with cigarettes, condoms, matches, lighters, markers, lost hair ties and other objects of interest. Cleo soon found a couple of abandoned cigarettes, and took one for herself, and lit it. She honestly couldn't remember if there were rules against smoking in the building.. Her eyes wandered over to the woman in the doorway, looking so very uncomfortable in the presence of both Grey and Alex.

A chuckle escaped her as she watched, a puff of smoke dancing with her laughter. Cleo's eyes studied the woman as she began to get over worked, rubbing her eyes and with an expression the was unnameable. She moved toward them with her fingers tangled around the mug, her other hand on her hip, and the cigarette dangling from her lips. Cleo stood next to Grey and took a moment to nuzzle her forehead into his shoulder, careful not to burn him. Then she looked at the woman and asked "Are you okay? Do you need some water or something?" Her words were inviting and friendly like she usually was, but her tone was flat and somewhat unimpressed. She didn't want to invite the woman inside, but she didn't want her to pass out of something then sue them for it later.

Greyson was rather happy with himself, with the way that this Charlotte girl was reacting to him. The blush that swept across her cheeks was rather adorable, and he almost felt himself feeling sorry for her, for wanting to genuinely speak to her, instead of using his charms and his smile to sweep her off of her feet. However, he didn't. It was an almost, not something that was actually going to happen. Grey never felt sorry for anyone, and this girl wasn't about to change that fact. With her words that the money was short, the brunette male sent her another sultry smile, shaking his head. "No, please don't apologize, beautiful. You're just doing your job."

Then, Alex turned to him, saying that she would head off to go and collect some more money, and he just nodded at her. His eyes followed her backside as she walked away, going into the bedroom for her bag. He had to admit, she did have a nice ass, and on more than one occasion, he had seen it bare, held it, and done various other things with it. The mere thought alone caused the topless male to smile inwardly to himself, before Alex came back. "Is that enough for you now, Charlotte?" He paused before speaking her name, allowing himself to look into her eyes as he spoke it. That was his usual routine, his way of wooing a woman, pulling her into his arms afterwards.

A few moments after, Cleo appeared, his shirt covering her thin, beautiful body, nothing covering her legs or her underwear. He glared down at her when she rested her head on his shoulder, using one of his hands to turn her chin in his direction, once she had spoken to Charlotte. "What did I say about coming out without anything on?" He growled at her, before once again turning back to look at the rent collector at the door. Cleo was right, the girl did look a little worse for wear when he thought about it, and he felt himself moving out of Cleo's embrace, taking a step forward towards the beautiful girl in the doorway. "Come in and sit down for a moment?" He asked her, wrapping his arm around her waist, making sure that he had a good enough hold on her, in case she collapsed. "I'm not going to take no for an answer." His voice was soft and caring as he spoke, leading her into the apartment.

"Christian, put that fucking thing out and move up." Greyson's voice was cold as he spoke, leading Charlotte into the apartment, and over to the sofa. "Cleo baby, get her some water please?" He turned to look at Cleo as he spoke, a smile on his face. He had known that the girl's invitation into the apartment had been a false expression of friendship, but he wasn't about to let this girl stand outside and walk around in such a state - he might have been a dickhead most of the time, but occasionally, he was a nice guy.

"No, please don't apologize, beautiful. You're just doing your job,” the shirtless young man told her. Charlotte was hard pressed not to notice the subtle curve to which he stood in the doorframe, his spine arched in such a way as to lean his torso slightly towards her. On a typical night out to the bar, she might have thought he was interested in her. His body language certainly showed that he was. Or so she thought. But something told her otherwise. And she was suddenly so focused on what her body was doing, the way her heart as reacting to the stress, that she couldn’t truly focus on him, or his abs, or even his voice.

"I've got some from my...work...last night. I'll get it," the brunette explained. The girl who had opened the door sashayed away to a door on the left, entering it for some time. Charlotte stood awkwardly waiting, her fingers flicking through the assorted bills in her hands to preoccupy herself and to prevent herself from staring at the gorgeous man in front of her. “I wouldn’t mind having him in my bed, how bad is that. He’s one of my tenants!” she thought to herself.

Alex returned with another handful of cash. The sight of it surprised her. As she was handed the money, Charlotte flushed fiercely. She didn’t want to mortify them in telling them they hadn’t paid rent. It seemed worse to be coming down so hard on them. She didn’t like to be the one to do this. But she had to make a living some how didn’t she?

Charlotte straightened out the bills in her hand, finding several beyond crumbled and folded. "Does that cover it?" Alex asked. Charlotte looked up from the handful of money, wide eyed and licking her lips. "Is that enough for you now, Charlotte?" Grey asked shortly after as she counted through the last of the bills. She peeled off three fifties and handed them back to Alex shakily. “This is extra,” she explained. “Your rent is only eighteen hundred.”

Her condition kicked in then, as it always did when she was under stress. A blond appeared from another bedroom. She had even more of a loping stride than the brunette, walking across the room virtually naked save for an oversized men’s shirt. Charlotte took another step into the hall as she approached, wrapping herself around Greyson before standing, coffee in hand, her free fingers holding her hips while a loose cigarette dangled from her lips. "What did I say about coming out without anything on?" Greyson asked her, looking not at all impressed with the girl who stood beside him. And close. Were they a couple? That blew certain ideas out of her mind immediately.

Charlotte wanted to pluck it from her mouth and stomp on it. They were breaking so many rules, not to mention the pot smoker on the couch. And they were making her feel so uncomfortable! Like an intruder or something. Not that she didn’t feel bad. But the pressure was there. And it got to her. The palpitations kicked in and she felt like someone was beating on her chest with a hammer, making her head spin slightly. She didn’t know what to say or do. She just clung to the money, licking her lips and trying to say good-bye so that she could leave.

"Are you okay? Do you need some water or something?" the blond asked her suddenly. Charlotte’s eyes flashed over her and she cleared her throat before shaking her head, fumbling to tuck the stack of bills into her bag so that she could find the pill bottle she always kept with her.

"Come in and sit down for a moment?" Grey asked her. She shook her head again, trying to breath alternately through her nose and mouth to calm herself down. Her refusal didn’t seem to go over well as suddenly his arm was looped around her waist and he was guiding her beyond the threshold. She winced at the strength of his chest, her hands trembling as she continued to fumble with her purse. "I'm not going to take no for an answer,” he told her. Charlotte was about ready to punch him but she didn’t want to talk. She just needed to breath and find her pills. She found herself trying to prevent him from walking her beyond the front entrance but he pushed her, forcing her to walk towards the couch where the pot smoker sat. Charlotte felt frantic, her heart beat erratic and in her ears by the time he sat her down.

"Christian, put that fucking thing out and move up," Greyson shouted. The flurry of movement was beyond her. Once seated the red head sat her bag on her lap and immediately pushed back papers to find her pills, a small discrete looking compact that when opened revealed the disopyramide medication.

"Cleo baby, get her some water please?" he ordered. “I don’t need it,” Charlotte managed. The sight of the pills was a relief. She hadn’t forgotten them and for a moment she thought she might have. Plucking two of the small doses, she tilted her head back and downed them.

As they stared at her, she closed her eyes and set the compact back in her purse. Clutching her bag, as she had nothing else to cling to like a stress ball, she counted back from ten. Slowly she felt the change come over her, the pain subsiding and her heart beat steadying. She exhaled after another minute before blinking twice and looking around at the group of rebels. Not one of them truly seemed concerned.

“I have a heart condition,” she explained, staring at her feet. “It happens. I’m okay. I can leave now.”

She almost felt like adding, “I know you don’t want me here.” But she didn’t knowing she may well piss them off and give herself another rush of anxiety in that she may have to flee. They smoke and drank and did drugs, that much was obvious from what she saw. One of them having a gun didn’t seem too far out of the picture. And she had a lot of money on her.