"And, Lola?"
I squeeze my eyes shut. "Yes?"
"Stay like that even if someone comes to the door, even if they come in. Count slow to fifty."
Asshole.
Sex like we had is both freeing and leaves a thin layer of what feels like muck over me. Like I betrayed myself somehow.
I guess I did.
Because giving in and playing a game with him where it's a power play of him ordering his secretary around, wanting a blow job, fucking me to orgasm, is a major turn-on, but is still sex when I'm furious at him, hurt. Not sure if I can trust him.
And the trust isn't about him being a creep or a stalker,it's all the control he has, the one I don't like, where he can follow me, take over my life.
It doesn't matter I started it. It doesn't matter the game stopped being a game and changed into something else, a different type of game, like the essence of what we've been doing.
And I did that. I did it. I played with power by not letting his mouth touch mine. I let him exert his on me by remaining as he told me.
It was a game within a game, I guess.
A fantasy.
Turning real life into fantasy isn't as much fun as it might seem.
I laugh bitterly.
Even denying kisses is a lie.
I tell myself, deep down, it's to stop him from getting the most enjoyment, from having all the control. But it's for me. To protect myself.
"You're a mess..."
The soft tapping at my door doesn't need an answer, and sure enough, Lyndall opens the door and comes in, this time with two containers of ice cream. "Fig and caramel."
"And you're how old?" I ask.
She rolls her eyes. "Not everyone wants chocolate or vanilla. I like them both, obviously, but a girl needs choices. It's from this new place, and they make all kinds of exotic flavors. Nothing gross, but really good. I made one of Uncle Gino's men get it. Here."
I take it, and it's good. Like...dangerously so, and I have the sudden urge to eat the entire container.
Lyndall tells me about her music and the lessons, and the boring-ass homework waiting for her downstairs. "Homework, I mean..."
"It's got to be done."
"Why?"
"So you can get into your school."
"Formusic." But there's no anger in her tone. "Not math."
"Music is math," I say, parroting something I've heard.
"Don't you start. My music tutor also says schoolwork is important, so...what do they know?"
I try not to laugh.
She goes to grab the TV remote. "There's an episode of Snake on."
