Fading Scars

Chapter 12 - Colombian Roses

"Yes. I want you to disappear. Did the blonde dump you, or did you decide she wasn't worth your precious time because she, too, was inexperienced?" My words seethed with frustration and anger; I made no attempt to conceal the raw emotions simmering beneath the surface. I wanted him to feel the full force of my discontent. Unrelenting, I continued my verbal onslaught.

"If you were only interested in toying with me, you could have been upfront. You could have given me the chance to decide whether I wanted to be your plaything or not. But, of course, how would Michael Reed, the almighty, condescend to inform someone that they're his momentary amusement? You have everything, and yet you sought out another naive soul to manipulate. Does your model even know you're here?" The intensity of my anger bordered on physical violence, fueled even further by his stoic lack of reaction. He made no attempt to defend himself, intensifying my resentment.

"This is me." – I dropped my dress. – "I'm smart enough to do it. I think I can have sex like everyone else." – I approached him to try to kiss him. – "You can have sex with me and let me go away. What are you doing here? Why did you come back? That's what you came back for, isn't it?! So here I am." – I tried to reach his mouth. – "Or did you just come to see if I was still a virgin?"

He seized my arms, but he resisted any contact, intensifying my sadness. Both of my arms could be effortlessly held by a single hand of his. The bouquet of roses remained clasped in his other hand.

"You don't need any of that," he uttered.

I wriggled free from his grasp and unleashed a flurry of wild punches, targeting his chest, all the while tears streaming down my face.

"You just wanted to play with me!" I screamed, lifting my gaze to meet his eyes.

"You don't need that," he reiterated, pulling me into an embrace.

I was naked and felt exposed. I was embarrassed and cold now. The anger passed, only sadness remained. But he was there. In that little bit of time I didn't feel alone and it seemed like all my wounds were healed.

"I brought you flowers," he declared, a small bouquet in his hand.

I shot him a glance, my eyes revealing more than words ever could. "I don't like people pulling out flowers because of me. And these are not my favorites." I was still mad and sad but my heart was happy.

Ignoring my plea, he left the flowers on the counter and reached for my dress. A surge of discomfort rippled through me as he began to dress me, his touch a bitter reminder of the intimacy we once shared. 

"Another news about you. What are your favorite flowers?" he inquired, his eyes locking onto mine as he adjusted my hair.

"Roses from Colombia," I whispered, my vulnerability exposed.

"Then it will be," he declared, draping a coat over my shoulders before taking my arm.

As we exited the dressing room, curious onlookers, including Alana, gazed at us, unaware of the tumult that had transpired behind closed doors. Confusion reigned within me, torn between the hurt he inflicted and the inexplicable pull that made my legs follow him.

We stepped into the waiting car, and Michael, seemingly in cahoots with the driver named Mario, hinted at an unforeseen journey. "To the airport, Mario," he commanded, leaving me bewildered.

"What are you doing? Where are we going?" I demanded, my mind unable to grasp the sudden turn of events.

"To Colombia," he replied casually, as if suggesting a casual evening stroll.

"S-sorry? Are you crazy? I can't go to Colombia right now... with you. I don't even have my passport with me," I stammered, aghast at the audacity of his proposal.