Page 40 of Colton

As in a number two with three zeros.

Immediately, I close the app and check my bank account. The two thousand, one-hundred dollars, are now sitting there, staring back at me. I’m not the one to make much money off this, since out of the fifteen pictures I posted, only four others have sold, alongside this one.

Until now.

I go back, just to see if I can see the username of the person who bought the image, only to see that all of them were purchased. It takes me less than a minute to close one app, and open the banking one. In less than a minute, I’ve got almost ten-thousand dollars.

“What the actual fuck?” I murmur, and grab my laptop.

I log into my account, and desperately try to search for the person. The username couldn’t be more generic, JohnSmith245. There’s always the option to send the creator a small message of encouragement once you’ve completed a purchase, but no messages come.

Instead, I have almost ten grand in my bank account and no way to explain the origin. I’m not stupid, and I’ve been helping my father with taxes since I was a teenager, I know exactly why it’s not over ten thousand.

My finger hovers over the profile, then I click on it. A frown appears on my face, because it says ‘user unavailable’. I’m left more confused than before. Someone bought all of my sexy images, tipped me more money than I have ever seen in my account, and simply deleted their account?

“What the hell is this?”

With a sigh, I decide to test the theory. I scroll through my phone, choosing another picture from the earlier photo session I had. I check, ensuring that nothing identifiable is in the frame, then post it. Just for shits and giggles, I price it two thousand dollars.

No chance anyone will buy it for that amount of money.

I may feel extremely good about myself, after seeing that I can look good in those kinds of pictures, but I’m not delusional. Only famous people can have their images sold for this amount of money, or more.

My phone buzzes and sure enough, someone bought it.

This time, they tipped me four thousand.

A small laugh slips me. It’s half anxious, half disbelief because who could possibly have this amount of money just laying around? Who would be ready to throw that much money on pictures of a faceless girl in lingerie?

I shut off my phone entirely, tossing it under the pillow, then climb over to sit on Sophia’s bed. This has to be the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me. To this person, the amount of money they’ve sent is surely pennies. For me however, it’s going to change a lot of things in my life. It’ll take down a significant amount of my family debt, and I’ll even be able to get my siblings some nice gifts for Christmas.

“Calm down, Ava,” I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Do I sound insane talking to myself in the middle of the night? Perhaps, but no one’s ever truly sane. “This isn’t a big deal.”

When those thoughts, mixed with the fact of what has just happened finally sink into my head, I come to realize something utterly terrifying; if proven correct. No one would spend that much money on someone they don’t know. I’ve never shown my face in any of the pictures, and the name I used is fake.

What if this is someone I know? What if it’s someone that recognized me, and that’s why they purchased them?

It makes me feel instantly nauseous to even think about it. This job was something that I’ve decided to do out of necessity. I knew from the get-go that it wouldn’t be a permanent thing, no matter how much money I earned.

But this? It makes me scared to post more, even if it’s to test the theory.

◆◆◆

Sophia is staring at me, and all I can do is look anywhere else but her face. She hums a little, taking steps toward me, then tilting her head to the side. From the corner of her eye, I see the gears turning in her head, her expression going from a puzzled to an understanding one.

“Is that my blouse?” She frowns, and I look at her. “You could’ve asked. I would’ve given it to you anyway.”

“You’re a bit particular about sharing your clothes.”

Sophia scoffs. “With Grace, yeah. I lent her two of my dresses, and neither returned safely. One was torn in so many places, that made me hesitant to even ask what she had been up to, the other one was filled with unknown stains. Why did you pick that blouse, though? I have prettier ones.”

“I think this one seems most like me?” It comes off as a question, though in reality, I just didn’t want to choose any of her good clothes, knowing that they are something I’d never be able to replace. None of the clothing items Sophia has cost below two hundred dollars, and more than half are tailored to her.

“Hmm,” she pouts, looking at me up and down.

Perhaps I’ve taken a bit of inspiration from her usual style. I just haven’t found my own yet, and I’m testing out to see which clothes would make me feel good. The blouse is in a baby blue shade, with thin straps. I tucked it into a black, platted skirt that ends just above my knees, and added a pair of boots to it. I think it looks cute.

“Something is missing,” Sophia murmurs.