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Saving Ava 85
As Carver unbuttoned his shirt, the receptionist silently entered the room behind him. Observing the scene sternly, Esmerelda gave a slight nod to the receptionist. In response, the receptionist sharply smacked her clipboard against Carver’s bare back, chastising him for prematurely disrobing. "No one told you to do that," she reprimanded. Carver, startled, slowly rebuttoned his shirt, his gaze never leaving Esmerelda. He was well aware of the rule against making direct eye contact in such circumstances, yet he could not look away, a silent rebellion against the order of things. A quiet plea for more pain. Esmerelda informed the receptionist that Carver had chosen the 'unlimited' path for tonight's session. The receptionist's smile turned wicked at the revelation. Carver had never before given them such control, and the anticipation of what they could do with this newfound power was evident in her expression. Led through the new halls of Esmerelda's, Carver couldn’t help but notic
Saving Ava 86
Esmerelda's sharp rapping on the truck window jolted Carver awake. Blinking against the sunlight streaming through the glass, he saw her standing outside, her appearance strikingly different in the daylight. Gone was the dominatrix persona, replaced now by a more business-like demeanor."I can't have my patrons sleeping in their trucks out front, Carver," Esmerelda stated, her tone a mix of annoyance and concern.Carver, still disoriented from sleep, responded, “Well, I own the fucking building, give me a room.”Esmerelda paused, considering his request, before nodding in agreement. “Okay, fine,” she conceded. She led him inside the building, guiding him to her personal apartment. The space was unlike the rest of Esmerelda’s establishment; it was more reflective of her day-to-day life, less about her professional role.She pointed to the couch. “You can sleep there,” she said, her voice softer now, a hint of empathy creeping through.Exhausted, Carver collapsed onto the couch, his bod
Saving Ava 87
Carver's fever worsened, a clear sign that his body was struggling to cope with the injuries. The infections from the wounds were not properly treated, adding to his physical distress. His once muscular and resilient body was now a canvas of suffering, each mark a story of his descent into despair.Esmerelda, witnessing his decline, realized that Carver was on a path to self-destruction. His disregard for his physical well-being was alarming, but it was his mental state that worried her the most. He had become a shell of the man he once was, driven by a need to punish himself that was consuming him from the inside.The fever brought with it delirium, and Carver began to lose touch with reality. His moments of lucidity were few and far between, and during these moments, he was haunted by visions of Peyton and Ava. In his fevered state, he would sometimes speak to them, apologizing, pleading, and expressing his love and regret.As Esmerelda watched Carver hanging from the rack, his body
Saving Ava 88
As they settled Carver in the bed, Ava began the task of undressing him. His jeans, the same pair he had been wearing when he first arrived at Esmerelda's over a week ago, were tattered and stained with blood. Carefully, she helped him into a pair of pajama pants and one of his T-shirts. It became apparent that Carver had lost a significant amount of weight; the shirt, which would have once fit him snugly, now hung loosely on his frame.“When was the last time you ate?” Ava asked gently, her concern evident in her tone.Carver’s response was faint, “I don’t even know.”Peyton, sensing the immediate need, headed into the kitchen to make soup, considering it the most appropriate and easy-to-digest food for Carver in his current state.While Peyton was away, Carver, with a sudden surge of energy, rolled over and pulled Ava into a tight embrace. As she held him, Ava realized he was burning up with fever. “You’re so hot,” she whispered, her worry growing.Peyton returned with the soup, and
Saving Ava 89. New
After finishing the omelets, Peyton handed Carver a couple of pills, which he took without protest. They all moved into the living room, with Carver walking with difficulty. Ava, ever attentive, wrapped a blanket around him and helped him settle on the couch. Peyton, needing a moment to gather his thoughts, turned on the TV and sat in a chair, his mind still racing with the revelations and the situation at hand. Peyton, looking intently at Carver, broke the silence. "Okay, is there anything else you want to admit? Get it out right now, so I can start to get over this agitation," he said through gritted teeth. Carver paused, weighing his words carefully. "I... I changed my contract at Esmerelda's," he finally admitted, his voice low and filled with a sense of defeat and embarrassment. Peyton sat up straighter, his attention sharpened. "How exactly did you change it?" he asked, a hint of worry creeping into his tone. "I added intimate encounters," Carver confessed, avoiding Peyton'
Saving Ava 90. Peek
The journey back to the apartment was a testament to Carver's deteriorated state. His steps were unsteady, his body weak and battered. Peyton, with a firm arm wrapped around him, provided the support he desperately needed, practically carrying him the last few steps.Upon reaching the bed, Carver, exhausted beyond measure, collapsed face-first onto it. He made a feeble attempt to pull off his shirt, his arms reaching behind his head in a strained effort, but his energy was spent. Ava quickly assisted him, gently pulling the shirt over his head.Observing Carver's condition, Peyton declared, "I think it's time for another IV." He began preparing the medication, his movements efficient but careful.Ava stayed close to Carver, her fingers lightly tracing circles on his back. The sight of his injuries – the bruises, lash marks, and burns that covered his back, shoulders, and arms – was heart-wrenching. Each mark a painful reminder of what he had endured.Peyton, ready with the IV, gently
Saving Ava 1. Lost
Ava Sánchez, a mere eighteen years old, navigated the tangled web of New York City's streets, her lean body marked by weariness and a life of hardship. Her large, dark eyes were pools of fatigue, veiled with apprehension, and her once-lustrous brown hair, now dulled and streaked with the city's grime, framed a face pale with hunger and stress. The world's burdens bore heavily on her fragile shoulders. Each step an agonizing march against the desperation that seemed to gnaw at her very core. Dressed in tattered clothing that offered little protection against the city's biting chill, she moved through the night. Driven by the relentless ache of an empty stomach that resonated deep within her soul. Her heart ached with longing. Her body cried for nourishment, and the city, vast and indifferent, stretched out before her. The city's relentless noise was a jarring cacophony to her ears, and its dazzling bright lights seemed to dance and whirl before her eyes, an overwhelming contrast to t
Saving Ava 2. Oops
As the warm water washed away the grime, Ava's mind whirled. She had found a sanctuary, a place of warmth and acceptance. The elegant restaurant, Poncholes, was no longer just a hidden gem in the city; it was a lifeline, a new beginning. Her heart swelled with determination. She would prove herself worthy of this chance. This glimmer of hope in the vast, overwhelming city that had been so indifferent to her plight. After a grueling but fulfilling first night, Ava's weary limbs ached with the labor of washing dishes and cleaning floors. Jorge, the owner, approached her, his eyes soft with approval. "You did well tonight, young lady," he said, his voice rich with genuine warmth. From his pocket, he pulled out some bills and pressed them into her hand. "There's a hotel nearby, the Newyorker Inn. It's a decent place. You can get a room there for the night. This will cover it and whatever else you need." Ava's eyes widened, surprised by the unexpected kindness, but Jorge's gentle smile r
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