Fifty Shades of BLACK SILK

BLACK SILK: Part 34

I was thinking about something the other day while Christian and I were sitting on the top balcony overlooking the lake eating our breakfast. The thought came to me in a sudden rush of palpable energy. Like the slow ebbing of waves against a rock slowly growing and thrashing against the stone. Christian wore a navy-blue robe and was looking through paperwork about some charities. I didn't get the full story, but I didn't need to. He concentrated so hard on something that was near and dear to him in more ways than one and I became inexplicably drawn.

The thought was that maybe I could see myself with Christian. I'm jumping the gun. Let me backtrack.

We walked the streets of Lake Como like we were a couple and were treated as such.

"Oh, ee-you toh are so bootiful," one lady said in her thick Italian accent. "'Ere, tak a necklace for bot of ee-you."

"Ah, dessert on da khouse for da lobely copple," another man said through a moustached grin. His eyes bright and wide.

Days like those went on and on quite frequently. People would mistake us for a legitimate couple and so I started believing like we were couple, so I started acting like we were a couple. I'd hook my arm around Christian's as we walked the beige cobble stones of the market; we held hands and laughed and spoke about our dreams and passions while we walked barefoot along the lake as the sunset eavesdropped in the distance.

So, I sat here, staring at Christian, pondering these musings and wondering whether or not it was possible we could very well be as everyone perceived us to be.

But that's the downside of it all. It was everyone else that saw us this way and I knew the truth. The truth is we were far from this idealistic, romanticised relationship. I couldn't get passed the fact that Christian was a man who just wanted sex. And not just any kind of sex but sex his way. I think I wanted to love him, and I wanted him to love me. But could I ever really believe it? With the amount of women he's had this kind of relationship with, can I ever believe he would love me?

It's pathetic to wonder this two feet afar from him. And I think I'm just trying to see something that's not there. So I kept these thoughts to myself. At least for now. Or at least until we had some dinner. Proper food in our bellies would do us good. If we're going to have a deep and meaningful conversation, I better do it on a full stomach, otherwise it's watch out world, the beast awakens and everything just agitates me.

"There's a café here that closes at 3PM and opens again at 5PM," Christian started, fixing his shirt, "do you want to go there? It's by this little nest of water and the ebb of waves under the sunset is beautiful."

I furrowed my brows. "Sounds romantic."

"It is," Christian said, noticeably confused. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," I shrugged, my voice too light, "why do you ask?"

"Probably because you said that it sounds romantic with a grimace," he chuckled.

I shook my head. "It's fine. It's nothing."

"Tell me," he sat on the edge of the bed as I was getting ready, "I want to know."

He clasped my free hand and I stared at it. Our fingers interlocked playfully, and my heart wrenched.

"What is this?" I asked, unable to wait until we ate.

"What?"

"I mean, what are we? What am I to you?"

Christian sighed, realisation spilling over. His eyes softened and his ears puckered intently.

"I want to feel like I'm someone more to you," I began. "I want to feel like I'm something more than a vessel where you can just...do your business in," I looked down shamefully.

"I don't ever think of you like that. I would never."

"So what am I to you?"

He sighed. "I want you."

"As what?"

"As...two people who love sex. Isn't that enough?"

"Maybe for now, it is," I said. "For a short while. I really short while. Because I don't want to be spending my time with a man who doesn't want to use my time wisely. My time is precious to me. I'm precious to me. Aren't I worth more than being wanted for your desires for a short amount of time, until the next girl comes along?"

His teeth clenched and his jaw ticked. "Yes."

I could see he admitted it regrettably. As though, the truth of our relationship was becoming more realised into nothing more than a been there done that. Although romantic and, at times, poetic, the idealistic verses of us written onto a piece of scroll, shoved into a glass bottle and thrown into sea; to be washed away among all the lost hopes and forgotten dreams. Truly, this is what it felt like. A neverending ending, repeating itself, knowing that at the end of the tunnel, they'll be no bright lights, or left or right turns. It would just go on—we would just go on—until...it didn't anymore.

That night we went to the restaurant by the lake. Afterwards, we cut the trip short; and when we got back to New York, we went our separate ways.