She wanted to control me. She wanted a puppet.
“Where the fuck are you?” Like an annoying, overprotective husband, Kenzo demanded over the phone placed on the armrest of the couch I was sitting on.
“I’m hearing the echo of my voice,” he pointed out warily. “Is this thing on speaker?”
I was bent over, trying to tie the lace of my boot so I had turned on the speaker when I took the call.
“Yes,” I replied, a heavy sigh breaking out of my lips.
I let go of the shoelace, then lifted the phone into my hand, turning off the speaker.
“Hi.” I placed the phone on my ear, holding it in place with my shoulder before I bent over again to finish up with the shoe.
“Where are you?” I could almost picture his brows pinched together in distraught. “Are you still with him? Girl, this is like two hours later. The fuck have you been up to?”
“Takahashi.” I pulled the phone into my hand again, then sat up, leaning my back against the couch this time. “Why did you call?” My voice was lazy, tinged with exhaustion.
“What have you been doing?” he demanded pointedly, trying to force whatever theory he’d whipped up in his head out of my mouth.
His question, however, dragged out echoes I would rather it be buried layers away in my mind; the memory of Zaghan’s skin scorching mine, the sound of his wicked voice whispering things that pushed me to surrender. Then there was the weight of his hand wrapped around my throat, my life pulsing beneath the malicious press of his fingers.
I remembered how he made me tremble, how I came apart and hated myself for it.
And just like that, the anger and disgust I felt right after, washed over me all over again. Bitterness curled in my chest, hot red like iron over flame.
My fingers tightened around the metallic device pressed against my ear, my jaw hard as a throbbing sensation started at the back of my skull.
I hated him. I didn’t want him. Yet he ever so quickly disarmed me, left me defenceless and weak, fucking pathetic. I hated every wave of pleasure that coursed through me at his touch. I hated how in that moment, I leaned into the said pleasure, the touch, almost begged for it, even.
I hated the flicker of recognition in his eyes every time he looked at me. I hated how familiar I felt to him. Who the hell was he and how dare he take control over my life like this? Who was he to decide my fate? To push me around like a fucking puppet?He didn’t know me. How dare he act like my life was in his palm, like he knew my beginning and my end?
Who was he? Who the hell did he think he was?
And why was he always winning? Why would I fight so hard, so desperately, and in the end, he still won?
Run. Yes, I could run. Should run. But…Callan. What about Callan?
I was lurking around for Callan. Because somewhere inside that crack, there was still the man I wanted, the man who held the universe in his eyes, the man who looked at me like I was worth everything, the man who thought about me before himself when he dove into the water.
I was waiting for that man. If I ran away, then I would lose him. In the moment when he would finally slip out, I wouldn’t be able to meet him. I needed to endure a little longer.
But what if this monster turned me into something else? What if Callan would return to meet a version of me he wouldn’t recognise?
“Hey, are you there?” Kenzo’s voice slid into my thoughts, distorted and distant, like a radio struggling to find a signal.
“Yeah.” I nodded, clearing my throat, fingers twisting around the loose thread at the hem of my skirt. “Yes, I am.”
I lifted my hand to my face when I felt something warm slide down my left cheek, salty and harsh when it slipped between the crack of my lips.
I lifted my head suddenly. There was a weight of someone’s stare pressing against my skin.
And indeed, there he stood at the end of the hallway that opened into the living room, leaning against the wall. He had a white towel around his narrow waist. Water dripped from his hair, beads of it clinging to his milky skin like dewdrops on glass.
I looked away quickly, pinning my gaze instead, on the lines on my left palm.
He had told me to give him a second to have a quick shower so he could take me back home. I had declined–on his offer to take me home. Believe me, I did.
With my cheeks sullen, eyes blood-shot red from crying a river, my body and spirit worn thin from a battle I lost woefully, I just wanted to go home, away from him. I just wanted the comfort of my room. I wanted to curl into a foetal position and never see the sun again.
