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“They’re not fake. They’re real people.”
“What do they know about you aside from your pre-performance and workout selfies?”
“Have you been stalking me?”
“Your Instagram is public. There was no stalking involved. But yes, Lia, I’ve been through it, and I think it’s rather…dull.”
My blood boils, bubbling to the surface, but I mutter, “I don’t care what you think.”
“But you care about what others think. That’s why you keep that page. Be it because of the need for some sort of twisted validation or for attention. Though I don’t think you’re consciously pursuing the latter.”
How does this man read so much into details? How does he go to depths even I haven’t thought about? Consciously, at least.
“Are you trying to prove how much you have a hold on me? Is that it?”
“I’m not trying to prove anything. As I said, I’m just getting to know you, Lia.”
“And then what? After you get to know me, what are you planning to do with me?”
“What makes you believe I plan to do something?
“I’m not an idiot. I know this is only a phase before you move on to the next step.”
He pauses with his glass of wine halfway to his lips. “What do you think I’ll do?”
“Fuck me?”
“Eventually.”
The single word, though calmly spoken, crashes my world and splinters it into a million bloody pieces. My stomach sinks with a mixture of feelings. There’s the sharp tang of disappointment, but that’s not all. Malevolent butterflies claw at my skin with a dark sense of enthrallment.
All the nightmares I had after that night start to scroll through my mind’s eye. The shadowy, blurry images morph into two figures on a bed as one of them rams into the other.
I never wanted to identify them, but now, one of them is as clear as the face in front of me.
Him.
His strong body is pounding what seems to be both pleasure and pain into the person lying beneath him.
One of them is still faceless, and I desperately want it to be me.
“Even if I say no?” I murmur.
“If I were a rapist, I would’ve broken into your apartment in the middle of the night and taken what I wanted. I would not have asked you to dinner.”
“Am I supposed to appreciate the gesture?” There’s a slight slur at the end of my speech. This is probably my third glass of wine.
Shit.
In my attempt to loosen my nerves, I went ahead and got drunk in the company of a monster who wouldn’t hesitate to use it against me.
This is the absolute worst. I not only have a low alcohol tolerance, but I also lose my inhibitions in all senses possible even when slightly intoxicated.
Adrian raises his glass to his mouth, barely sipping. He hasn’t poured himself anything aside from his first. “It’s not obligatory, no.”
“I…I want to go home.” I stand on unsteady feet, then fall back on the seat. I’m still catching my breath when a large presence appears by my side.
He clutches my arm and gently pulls the glass of wine from my fingers. “I believe you’ve had enough to drink for one night.”
