The Lies That Bind

Chapter 14: Sunday Morning

I find myself lying in his bed again later that night naked, as we're tangled within one another. We made love again; I can't even count the number of times now. He lies beside me, holding me as if I'd disappear if he'd loosen his grip. I don't mind, really; it's nice to be wanted and longed for. I turn to face him and he's sound asleep. Figures. I guess what they say about "good pussy" is true.

I run my fingers through his chestnut hair; it's so soft and a little unruly after our session. Kazmir lets out a content sigh, seeming to settle further into his sleep while he uses my breast as his personal pillow. As we lie there, tangled within the bedding and each other, I begin to think. The mind of a woman is constantly running, especially when it's supposed to be in sleep mode. When it does finally settle, it's saving, storing, processing everything from as far back as you can remember. I can't tell you how often I've laid in bed at night just thinking about things that happened in high school. Or things that I wish I could take back or had done differently. It's frustratingly exhausting.

I wonder if anything could have been done differently here. Sure, I could have not taken the steps I had taken to get where I am now, but then I'm certain I wouldn't have met Kazmir. But deep down, I regret meeting him this way. I regret meeting such a high-ranking man of his profession when I'm at such a low point in my own. He seems to look past that, but the thought of being with him for money is degrading. Even though that's no longer the case, I feel... dirty.

This wasn't how I expected my life would play out. And yet... here I am, lying in a bed that isn't mine, in a room that isn't mine, in a place I wish I could afford. I dreamed of living a life of luxury as a teen, to be of a status higher than my own. But that didn't happen...

Life is shit like that. It can seem so bright and hopeful, but then kick you down so hard.

I look out to my left to see the San Franciscan skyline twinkling through the sheer curtains. I wish I could look at that view every day. As I stare at the faint outline of the Golden Gate Bridge I wonder to myself: How'd I get into this mess? Why did I let it happen? How did I let myself reach such a level of desperation? I know the answer, it's quite obvious, but the question still bears down on me like a weight. I could have taken a different route.

I turn my attention back to Kazmir. He's like a Rubik's cube and I have yet to find the correct method to solving this puzzle. And they say men are simple to figure out? There's something about him that's been hinted at, but I can't put my foot on it. I understand the need to not get personal, but now? Is the "no personal questions" rule still in place? Surely not... surely. I reflect back on what he said before,

"I almost feel like I can tell you anything."

Almost.

What's he hiding? I shake my head; maybe it's nothing and I'm overreacting. Maybe my trust issues have led me to doubt anything anyone tells me. The statement seems so innocent, and yet I can't let it go.

Kazmir shifts and suddenly becomes restless. His hold on me tightens. Is he having a bad dream? I tilt my head to see his face but his hair obscures it from my point of view. He begins to mumble incoherently; some of it sounds like Russian. His voice is pained, fearful. I knit my brow worriedly and lightly shake him.

"Kaz?" I say softly. I don't get a confirmation that he hears me so I shake him again, "Kaz!"

"Ne pokidaj menja..." he utters, and I have no idea what he's saying.

I shake him a little harder, "Kaz? Kazmir, wake up!"

"Ne ostavljaj menja, Èdit!"

"What? Kazmir, wake up! You're not making sense!"