Ethan

The neon sign outside the small storefront flickered softly—Madame Elara: Tarot, Visions & Destiny—and I stood there for almost five minutes, briefcase heavy in my sweaty palm, heart hammering like I’d just run a marathon. I’d noticed it only this morning on my way back from the office. The place looked new; the paint was still fresh, the curtains deep crimson. No one I knew had mentioned her before. Maybe that’s why I finally pushed the door open. Stupid, really. But after another lonely weekend spent jerking off to videos I was too embarrassed to admit I watched, the question wouldn’t leave me alone: Would I ever have a...