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THE last time I voluntarily had dinner with a man, he questioned many things in my life: my home, my family, me. He'd asked me what I wanted from life and what I wanted from him and I had no answer for him.
I hated to think about it this way, but when he finally decided I wasn't the right woman for him, I felt relief for a moment.
Because I no longer had to force myself into this box of being domesticated and faking love for a man that was worthy of the real thing.
But that was years ago and I'm sure he's moved on by now, but here I am. In the same headspace I was in two years ago.
Yet, I'm sat on the floor at my coffee table, shoving fallen pieces of shrimp into my mouth, eyes trained on the tattooed man that makes my couch look like it belongs in a dollhouse set. My body shaped candle burns between us, filling the room with vanilla and a hint of coconut.
"How did you find me?"
"You'll find out when you leave here with me." He says with a sense of finality in his tone.
"Or you tell me right now."
"Or I don't."
I have to remind myself: He's as stubborn as me, if not more. Maybe entertaining his obstinacy might be the only resort to getting an answer.
But that doesn't mean I can't get others.
"What do you want from me?"
"I told you: company."
"Find someone else to do it." I argue.
He makes a face — one I can barely read before it disappears, "And why is that?"
I prepare myself for how harsh I have to be, "Because I want nothing to do with you."
He doesn't even seem fazed as he leans forward, propping his elbows up on his knees, "Or my life, right?" He arches a brow, prompting me to nod in response, "Well, you made sure there was no possibility of that when you took this the first time." He lifts the wallet I'd left on the table and placed it back.
Of course.
I pause. It wasn't that I could crawl my way out of this entrapment, but some part of me was questioning if I want to.
"Then let me go." I purse my lips, "Let me live my life in fear or something."
He narrows his eyes and leans back, parting his legs to get comfortable, but all it does is raise my heart rate. "You'd rather live your life in fear than keep me in your sights?"
"Yes." I wasn't supposed to answer this quickly.
"And why is that?"
Am I hard to understand? "I. Want. Nothing. To do with you."
