14 #2
“I want to spend time with you. I miss you,” he says in almost a whisper, bringing his fingers close to brush a strand of hair from my face. “And you said we could be friends. Friends spend time together.”
I thank the slight darkness for not making the blush on my cheeks more visible than it already is. Friends definitely don’t do what we did.
“Which one do you want to see?” he asks, moving his hand away from my face. And I almost want to ask him not to.
“None, but I guess I don’t have a choice.”
“You don’t,” he says.
He ends up choosing The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
It’s one of my favorites, and almost no one knows about it.
Or rather, no one. I want to ask how he knew, but his sudden closeness distracts me from even breathing normally, pushing my complaints into the back of my mind.
He pays more attention to me than to the movie.
“Why are you ignoring me?” he asks after a while. I bite my lower lip, trying to hide my nervousness.
“I’m not ignoring you. You were the one who dissapeared and left me on…” The next words get stuck in my head, unable to find a way to express them without my body burning with shame. “I don’t like you. Not anymore,” I end up saying in a desperate attempt to end the conversation.
“You didn’t say that when you were about to cum in my mouth.”
“You tied me up,” I say, ignoring the embarrassment that is about to kill me.
“Your hands, not your legs.” I open my eyes wider than normal and bite my lower lip, not wanting to deny it.
“Just because I find you attractive doesn’t mean I like you.
I want nothing to do with you. Perhaps we can try to be friends because I promised you and I always keep my promises, but nothing else.
” I let the words come out on their own without really paying attention to what I’m saying.
Not until I stop talking and notice the smile they are unsuccessfully trying to hide behind his lips.
Before I make a fool of myself even more than I already am, he receives a call and walks away, saying something in Russian. Chocolate doesn’t help, but I still take a bite of my Reese’s bar, a futile attempt to distract myself from the liquid on my inner thighs and my stupidity for staring at him.
The minutes I have to wait are torture. I hate waiting.
His calm voice makes me wonder who the person on the other end is.
His blonde, maybe-maybe-not girlfriend again?
Well, if my boyfriend spent a Friday night away from home without telling me, I’d call him too.
In fact, I think I would call him back home and cut his legs off so next time he wants to get out he’d need me.
His eyes move around my room, discovering for the first time what it looks like in daylight, until they stop on the red rose in the window with displeasure.
Then he picks it up and, before throwing it in the bin, he crumples the petals, squeezing them in his hand.
I open my mouth to complain, but before I can, he hangs up the call, looking at something on the wall, next to him.
It’s a crucifix that my maternal aunt gave me.
She’s bloody religious. If it weren’t for her, my parents probably wouldn’t have baptized me.
The crucifix was a gift from her. The idea of getting rid of it would cause serious problems for the family after the promise we had to make to her.
So there it is now, hanging on the wall like any other painting.
I frown when he takes it down and holds it out toward me.
“I’m not religious,” I say before he can open his mouth, rushing to answer his question.
“You are. Quite devout, in fact.”
“No.” He sighs wearily, the bed sinking under his weight, and runs the crucifix over my bare legs.
“You should use that lying mouth of yours for something else and not for talking nonsense.”
“And you should spend your time with your blonde girlfriend instead of cheating on her with someone who doesn’t even like you,” I mutter. Jealousy pouring out of my pores, even though I have no reason to feel this way. When he looks up at me with a sly smile, I feel like hanging myself from a tree.
“Are you jealous?” he asks, not wiping that stupid smile off his face.
“No. I have no reason to be,” I say, ignoring that knot in my stomach.
“Polina isn’t my girlfriend,” he retorts irritably, almost as if he’s reproaching me for something. “She’s a friend who works for me.”
I sigh, not really noticing. Not because I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, but because I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day. Resting is more exhausting than people think.
“You know very well that it’s impossible for me to set my eyes on anyone but you.” The smile I try so hard to hide widens.
“No, I don’t.” I tilt my head, forcing myself to wipe that smile off my face. My answer seems to anger him, and I don’t know why that makes the cramps that were in my stomach before now be replaced by a strange tingling sensation.
“You know damn well.” He digs his fingers into my face, preventing me from looking away. Then he opens his mouth, as if he wants to add something else, but ends up giving up on the idea and walking away from me with his jaw clenched.
Then he resumes the movie with the crucifix still in his hands and starts playing with it.
A strange gleam takes hold of his eyes. My stomach keeps doing somersaults and my heart keeps beating hard, making my chest hurt.
I hate the way he affects me, but that’s what makes me want him more and between my legs.
He’s bad news. I tell myself, remembering what happened with Matt, and yet my mouth opens, blurting out a question I shouldn’t have asked.
“Why did you do that to Matt?” He looks at me sideways, frowning for a moment until he relaxes his face and shrugs his shoulders indifferently.
“I don’t know,” he replies with a hint of amusement behind his eyes, as if sharing a secret joke. “Why did you lie to me?” He fixes his blue eyes directly on mine. My throat goes dry and my lips part, wanting to defend myself against his more than accurate accusation.