Don't Get Into The Car

[ 12 ]

Hugging your knees tightly to your chest in an attempt to find comfort, your eyes track Simon's every move. He begins to clean up the remnants of the meal that you had just forced yourself to eat. His hands collect the empty plates, glass and the gleaming silverware, arranging everything back onto the tray.

You regret making yourself to eat; it was a bad idea. It's left you with a nauseating sensation, a feeling that gnaws at your insides, making you wish you could reverse time. It's as if the food you swallowed is stuck in your throat, stubbornly refusing to descend further, causing an uncomfortable lump that's hard to ignore.

However, despite the discomfort, you are aware that you really had no other choice in the matter. The idea of Simon spoon-feeding you was a far worse alternative that made your skin crawl. It was obvious he wasn't joking when he threatened to do so. The seriousness in his eyes had told you that much. Therefore, you made a conscious effort to finish every last bite, not leaving a single morsel behind.

His lips part and close several times in quick succession, as if he's wrestling with a sea of words that refuses to form into coherent sentences. You can tell from his tense demeanor that he wants to say something. But no sounds manage to escape from his slightly parted lips. The silence stretches between you, heavy and thick. Finally, with a look of resolve etched across his face, he breaks it. "Come downstairs with me." His voice is softer than you expected, and there's an underlying hint of urgency in his tone. Without waiting for a response, he stands up, his silhouette disappearing as he steps out of the bedroom.

A wave of doubt suddenly washes over you, leaving you questioning. Did your ears deceive you, or did you indeed hear him correctly? And even more importantly, do you want to follow him? The events of yesterday still linger in your mind, fresh and raw like an open wound, making you yearn for as much distance between the two of you as possible.

In an ideal world where you had more control over the situation, you'd bolt the door and keep him firmly on the other side, out of your room. But the reality is far from ideal. There's no lock on the door—an unfortunate fact that leaves you feeling vulnerable. And even if there were a lock, would it really deter him? You doubt it. He has shown his determination before and you are certain he'd break through the door without a moment's hesitation.

You remain seated on the very edge of the bed, struggling to coax your body into action. It's as if an invisible anchor is holding you down. Your limbs are heavy and unresponsive, refusing to cooperate with your mind's commands.

In the unforgiving darkness of the previous night, you found yourself drowning in a turbulent sea of blame and sharp accusations, the waves of which relentlessly crashed upon Simon. He was, in your view, entirely out of line; he had absolutely no right to lay his hands on you. He had no place, no authority, to slip his fingers between your thighs, to touch the softness of your skin, and to caress it with such familiarity.

But as the cold, harsh light of day broke, following the dawn's first rays piercing the darkness, you had time to reflect. It was during this period of quiet contemplation that you arrived at a startling realization. Simon, you concluded with a sense of surprise, was not the one to point your finger at, not the one to shoulder the blame. His actions, as intrusive and invasive as they may have felt, were simply a mirror reflecting his very character, his essence. It was nothing less than what you could expect from someone like him.

Yet, what truly shook you to your core, what truly unsettled the very foundations of your understanding, was not Simon's actions, but your own response—or rather, the startling lack of it. There was no resistance from your side, no confrontational push to maintain your personal space. Even though you knew, in the deepest recesses of your heart, that you could never force Simon to step back, to retract his invading hands and let you be, you didn't even make an attempt. This realization, this perceived failure to assert your personal boundaries, finds its way to haunt you, nagging at your peace of mind.