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The whistle of the kettle catches my attention and my breathing shortens as I decide what to do.
I type fast, before I lose my nerve, learning to speak to the man the way I would anyone else who dares disrespect me:
I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Gabriella and I are not an item as she well knows.
In fact,
I inhale sharply, my heart the frenetic beat of a drum.
I’m dating someone else.
Gabriella and I are over.
For good.
I won’t be in the office until Monday.
Enjoy your weekend.
I send the message with a hand that quivers, my usually strong body frail for a few moments until I’m distracted by the song of a bird somewhere outside.
And then, my name.
I select the messages I sent to my father, forwarding them to Gideon who has always supported me and despised my father, despite not fully understanding, coming as he does from a loving family who worship him just for existing.
No conditions.
As they should do.
At the flurry of movement through the gap in the door, I put the phone down, only to see a message come through.
Gideon.
Good man.
Oh and enjoy Ms Pink.
I type quickly.
Oh, I will do, friend.
Putting the phone down once more, I leave the office in my bare feet, silently stalking a naked creature walking tentatively down the wood-paneled hallway towards the kitchen, wrapped only in a woolen throw that usually hangs over the back of an armchair which long ago belonged to Esther, my maternal grandmother.
Her loose hair, warm dark blond but for about eight inches of pink of various shades which stain the tips, lies over the throw enshrouding her.
Stalking her like this arouses my need to hunt, a need I’ve never really experienced before as I’m not used to resistance of any kind. What she doesn’t know, is that I enjoy stalking her, especially when I can hear the fear in her voice. I ache to take her down to my dark basement and leave her there, forcing her to hide from me, to run from me, to scream as I catch her.
In fact, the more she owns of me, the more uncivilized the things I want to do to her become. The more I want to punish her…
“Grey,” she calls out nervously, walking in increasingly slow steps towards the whistling in the kitchen twenty feet in front of us.
“Yes, Indigo.”
She screams, turning around, clutching her arm to her chest.
“Jesus Fucking Christ!” she exclaims, her throw nearly falling off her delicious body. “You scared the shit out of me!”
