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When I exit my bedroom, Matteo is still at the base of the stairs, waiting to berate me more about how stupid and pointless my job was.Well, if it’s so stupid and pointless, why did you want me to write your story so badly?
He just wanted someone to spoil, and not even for that person’s benefit! He needs someone here at all times to accept his money and attention. Matteo has been receiving floods of validation from all types of women, and this time, he just wanted to try someone generic and unglamorous.
The realization hits me, and my feelings for him continue to try to fight through the rationalizations that are buzzing around my head. My heart wants to feel for him. I want to hold on to the warmth that those feelings have brought me at an otherwise dark time in my life. Being able to fall for Matteo was one of the only points of true human connection that I’d been able to find in the recent past.
I knew what he was when I met him, and I still chose to let him sink his claws into me.
To make matters worse, I allowed him to fuck me. I fell for his trap to get me bent over that desk of his, and I fell for it harder than my dignity should have let me. The way he’s talking to me now just demonstrates that he never respected me in the first place and only saw me as a conquest. He wanted to see how quickly he could break down my defenses, and I’m sure he blew right through mine.
As I’m descending the stairs with my bag over my shoulder, I realize that I might have a weapon up my sleeve that’ll keep Matteo from bothering me ever again.
I’ve been studying his daily habits and rituals, which have given me quite a bit of insight into where his secret meeting places are. I’ve been able to pick up on his routine as well, giving me a decent idea of where to catch him at what point of contact.
I could ruin him by turning him in to the feds.
It would be such a clean break for me, too. I could frame my experience as being undercover from the beginning, attempting to gain his trust to bring him down. Nobody would have the authority to say otherwise, and I’d be able to publish my article about all the harrowing, unspeakable things I’ve seen. Being around Matteo and his cohorts so consistently has desensitized me to how evil his operations really are, whether he’s responsible for human trafficking or not.
If I cooperated with the police and shut down a notorious drug ring, I’d be noticed immediately by big publishers all over the country. I could finally leave this city and evolve myself somewhere new and fresh, far away from all the horrors I’ve experienced here. At this point, I’d be more than willing to leave behind my job, family, and roots for something that won’t endanger me at regular intervals.
Matteo is stunned that I would have the stones to leave without his express permission. His face is perplexed, taking on a manufactured state of confusion that I’ve only ever seen in men who deny their wrongdoings.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Matteo asks aggressively, somehow able to conjure his own feelings of betrayal that I would ever leave him for my own good.
“I’m going the fuck home! You said it yourself, I’m a shitty journalist who bit off more than I could chew by trying to make you look like a good person,” I shout, being the first to raise my voice, which is unlike me in any conflict. He must have pissed me off in the depths of my soul to tease this reaction out of me. I prefer to stay collected and rational when I’m arguing, but I’ve lost my capacity for reason.
I order an Uber from my phone, seeing that the nearest driver is only three minutes away. Three minutes will feel like an eternity with Matteo fanning the flames of my anger. He wants to get me as frustrated as possible so he can pretend to have the upper hand. He needs so badly to win the argument so he can think of himself as a rational, balanced man as opposed to my hysterical, emotional female brain.
“Wait, you’re really leaving?” he asks, striking a quiver of regret in his voice.
I adjust the strap on my bag, searching through it one last time to ensure that I have all of my things. “Yes, I’m really leaving, and it’s pathetic that you think I would stick around after all you said about me. You don’t respect me at all!”
The expression in his eyes reads as legitimate hurt, which only pushes me further toward the edge of losing my shit on him. Why am I trying to maintain my composure at this point? He has no affection for me, not even a shred of empathy for what he’s put me through. He doesn’t deserve the energy it takes to keep silent about how I’m feeling.
“Come on, I really think we could work this out if you’ll stop being irrational and listen to me!” he says in the most self-indulgent tone I’ve ever heard from him.
Irrational.
Wanting empathy for being kidnapped is irrational now. Glad we can add that line to the book of things women complain about that they shouldn’t, at least according to men.
As soon as I see the Uber driving around the corner at the end of the drive, I practically kick the door down. I’m willing to meet the driver halfway if it means I can feel myself getting further from this fucking place. Don’t even bother coming up to the house – I need to take steps in the opposite direction for it to feel final.
“Iris, for fuck’s sake!” Matteo calls out to me.
I flip him off without sparing a single glance in his direction. I won’t give him any of my attention anymore, not even to see his face as I drive away forever. If he wants a sex doll so badly, he can go find another one. He’ll be miserable and single for the rest of his life, and I can’t imagine a more fitting destiny for him.
I don’t feel a sense of relief as we drive away. All I can experience is anger and embarrassment for allowing Matteo to tear down my walls so fast. I still want to use my intel to get revenge on him, but I need a moment to recognize that I trust people far too quickly. I should have used some sense before I even entertained the idea of fucking him. He should have remained a fantasy, an alluring figurehead to represent my terminal sexual repression.
The Uber driver is unconcerned as ever, playing 80s rock on the radio as he waits for me to spill my guts about the heated lover’s spat I’ve just sustained.
If only it would be that easy to explain.
21
Matteo
Watching Iris leave like that, with so much vitriol and unforgiveness in her, feels like it’s supposed to be a wakeup call for me.
And maybe it would be if I were a different person, but all I see is someone who doesn’t know what’s good for them.
