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No—meeting Uri has forced me to reconsider.
Because the truth is, not until a few days ago did an ugly thought start to fester in the back of my mind:Have I been hiding behind my career?I may have seen almost a hundred different countries, but have I made any new friends? Have I had any significant relationships? Have I explored my sexuality? Have I discovered who I really am?
Last night, I wore a vibrator to dinner and had public sex with a man I’ve only known for a few weeks. Sure, there was an element of recklessness, of danger, but none of it felt uncomfortable. None of it felt wrong.
It makes me wonder if Ziva’s death caused me to recede so far within myself that I started to feel uncomfortable in my own skin. The amateur therapist in me seems to agree.
Although, when it comes to the topic of Uri Bugrov, even the amateur therapist in me is stumped.
The man changes moods so fast that he gives me friction burn. He went from totally ignoring me for two days, to taking me out for a very sexually charged dinner, to dismissing me abruptly right afterwards, to waking me up in the middle of the night to have more hot, sweaty, yet surprisingly tender sex.
How the hell am I supposed to keep up with that?
I was so annoyed with him last night after he basically sent me off to my room like a naughty child that I fell asleep all riled up and determined. I wasnotgonna spread my legs for him ever again. I was gonna draw a line in the sand. I was gonna start saying no!
So of course, he’d decided to slip into my bed when I was at my most vulnerable and fuck me into changing my mind.
It’s just… the sex was so different last night. For the first time, it felt like we weresharingcontrol. Our eyes were locked together as we finished at the same time.
He left my bed almost immediately after, but this time, it didn’t bother me. Probably because I knew it would most likely happen again. Iwantedit, too. That’s what I woke up thinking. That’s what I’ve spent the last half-hour contemplating.
But I’m getting awfully sick of tossing and turning and contemplating problems that have no obvious solutions, so I drag myself out of bed, get dressed, and go downstairs. I’m rounding the corner into the kitchen when I hear something crash.
“NO!I don’t want… I don’t want—”
I rush into the kitchen to find Svetlana standing a few feet away from Lev, who’s on the floor twitching violently and shaking his head fast.
“Master Lev—”
“I don’t want it!” he yells again. “Cornflakes! I want cornflakes!”
Svetlana’s eyes are wide and agitated. Every time she tries to take a step towards Lev, he just starts shaking harder, forcing her to back away further. “I’m sorry, Master Lev. We ran out—”
“No, no, no, no…”
I jump forward and put my hand on Svetlana’s shoulder. She turns to me helplessly and lowers her voice. “Mr. Bugrov said specifically that I wasn’t to give him cornflakes for breakfast today. He told me to give him something more substantial, so I made a quiche and—” She looks at Lev regretfully.
“It’s okay, Svetlana. Let me try.”
She backs off instantly, relief brightening her face as she makes her getaway. I inch a little closer to Lev, who hasn’t stopped rocking in place.
“Lev. Hello? Lev, buddy?”
He jerks slightly in my direction, so I know he hears me. But he doesn’t lift his head, nor does he stop the shaking. “Lev, I’m right here,” I murmur. “I’m right here. Just listen to my voice, okay?”
He stiffens. Says nothing. But I could swear the shaking slows, just a bit.
“I know everything feels terrible right now. I know it’s overwhelming. Change always is. But you’re strong enough to handle it. And you know where it starts?”
He still doesn’t look at me but he shakes his head in answer. I scoot a little closer to him until I’m only half a foot away. Then I squat down in front of him. “It starts with a breath. That’s it—just one little breath. You can do that, right?”
He gives me a single, tight nod.
“Can we breathe together?
Another nod.
“Can you look at me first?”
