The Price of a Lie

hed over, his face a blur of conc

each bill a testament to my stupidity. He helped me gather the cash, his hands moving with an efficiency I couldn't manage. He pack

was unforgiving. I leaned against the cold metal door, my body trembling, the pain in my sid

I lifted the hem of my shirt. A stark white bandage covered a fresh, angry scar on my lower back. Ta

ight, singing a sad song about heartbreak, his voice full of a vulnerability that I, an orphan

a perfect picture of a struggling artist, too proud to ask his estranged, wealthy family for help. Every detail of his sto

body. And for what? For a game. For their amusement. The weight of it all pressed down on

and clear. He wouldn't destroy me. They wouldn't win. In that grimy bath

t a message: "Professor, is it too late to be considered for the Paris study abroad program? I' m ready now." He

n. On the third call, I answered. My voice was eerily calm,

re you? I was ge

said, my tone flat.

d, his voice laced with that fake v

t a loss. It was an education. The most expensive, painful education