Colour. Part 24

Mom sputtered for a minute. “You’ve been ... prostituting yourself? Whoring? Johanna, what on earth possessed you?”

“I did what I had to, and I’m not a whore, Mom.” And I hung up.

On a roll, I went back to the art program I’d been looking up. I hadn’t applied, because I had been insecure about my ability to get in. Without giving it another thought, I pressed “submit” and smiled.

I felt so much better, not because my mom had tried to shame me or that I thought I was a whore. I wasn’t a whore. I was a mature woman who had made some necessary choices, and I was proud of myself for surviving. I was owning what I’d done, and no one’s judgment could affect me.

Tate was waiting outside of the restaurant when my cab pulled up. He wore the old familiar smile, but his eyes were flat and sad. I didn’t feel like going inside and going through the charade, but I figured I owed it to him. He’d bailed both of my friends out, and he’d saved my life, too. I kissed his cold