Denial (32 page)

He’s sullen as we eat our miniscule portion of the delicious dinner we created, along with a hearty serving of lettuce. If I never see another salad again, it will be too soon. This is the part of the day where I get angriest with
Luke, which is less than ideal because we end up in the playroom right afterwards. I did well today, strike count is only 12, mostly for eye rolling, frustrated sighs, and forgetting a ‘Coach’ or two. So far, I’m not getting used to being penalized for interacting with someone normally. If anything, it’s starting to piss me off more, but Isaac says that’s because I’m so sexually frustrated.

“Did you like it?” he asks in a strange voice that I don’t recognize.

“What?”

“Your dinner.”

“Yes, it was very good.”

“Even though it was just a taste?”

“Better than nothing, right?”

He exhales a bitter laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself.” An awkward silence hangs between us. “We’re not going in the playroom tonight.”

“We’re not?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s
what I’m telling you. Strike thirteen.”

But you said I was allowed to ask you questions
. My lip trembles at the simmering anger behind his words. “Okay, Coach.”

He still smiles, but it’s so sad. “You’re on your own tomorrow until after dinner, too.”

“You’re not going to be here?”

“I’m going to spend the day reading in my room. Do not bother me. We’ll eat leftovers, there are plenty.”

“Okay, Coach.”

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“At least you’ll finally get to come.”

“I guess.”

“If you have any questions, I’d appreciate it if you’d ask them right now.”

“Are you okay?”

“Maya, you know what I mean.”

“Are you okay?” I repeat.

“Yes,” he spits back. “I’m just fucking fantastic.”

“Why are you staying in your room tomorrow?”

He sighs, tapping his fingers nervously. “I can’t be around you beforehand.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t, alright?” he shouts, making me jump.

“Okay, sorry.”

“So clean if you feel like it, or don’t. Hang out in the living room and watch TV. Just relax and spend time a lot of time looking at your pictures.”
I can’t
. “I’m sorry about your necklace.”
Don’t be
. “I’ll have it fixed.” He won’t look at me.

“Isaac…”

“Strike fourteen, Maya.”

“For tomorrow?”

“Yes.” He gets up in a rush. “And wear that stupid clown face make up your boyfriend likes so fucking much. It will help. I want you collared and sitting in that room by 7:30. I’m going to bed.”

“Isaac!”

“That’s fifteen. Goodnight.”

How did he go from cuddling while we made out at lunch to unable to look at me by dinner? It’s hard not to feel guilty, but I don’t get it. He’s usually so rough as it is, what difference will some whips and clamps really make? I’m the one that should be losing it.

My mind flashes on the network of scars covering the tenderest place you could hurt someone. Maybe it’s a form of post-traumatic stress. I would never bring it up, in fact I’m relatively sure he doesn’t realize that he said it because since then he’s mentioned getting involved with this about 5 years ago several times.

I don’t dare go to my room right now because I would have to pass his and might knock, so I clean up the already immaculate kitchen. And since he’s not looking, I sneak one of those chocolate chip cookies we made out of the freezer and gnaw on it while it thaws. It’s so sweet it hurts my teeth.

He’s upset over nothing. I’ll probably safeword within fifteen minutes, though I’m not really sure. The pain doesn’t actually scare me at this point. If anything, I’m starting to like it. I think it’s because Isaac is so controlled whenever he hits me, or even if he pinches me too hard, on purpose or not. Whenever Luke does things like that, it freaks me out. He gets this weird look on his face and I can’t trust that he won’t lose control. He really likes it, way too much I think, and it’s creepy. Isaac only seems interested in whether or not I enjoy it.

But obviously, hurting me really bothers him and that is impossible not to think about. I should call this off. Go home to my roommate and her inevitable chorus of I told you so. Tell
Luke that I can’t do this, but the weird thing is, I think I can. That would be easier than this subservient sleazy housewife bullshit by a long shot. The only reason that I would bail out on this is because it’s obviously so upsetting to Isaac. Yet the only reason I was able to get here in the first place is because I let myself get so wrapped up in him. It all keeps coming back around to Isaac when it’s supposed to lead to Luke.

Why don’t I miss
Luke? I tell myself that I do, but the only time I think about him is when I feel demeaned and then I’m just angry. Maybe it’s because we’re apart. If we were spending time together like we normally do, there would be more than just everything he wants that annoys me. I keep trying to remember all the good times and how much I love him whenever I attempt look at my pictures, but it’s starting to feel forced. I know this infatuation with Isaac is making it harder. It’s fueled by lust and being in this strange situation, but it feels so real. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve never felt anything close to it for Luke. We don’t click the same way.

I’m trying to keep in mind that what I feel for Isaac will burn hot and then fade away fast, but the slow simmer with
Luke is what I need for the long haul. At first I thought I was getting what I wanted, hot sex with a hot guy that I actually feel a connection too. It would make me feel better about Luke’s exploits. But it doesn’t. It’s worse. What’s going to happen when Luke clicks with someone like this? Will he rationalize the lust and stay with me? Am I going through all of this crap for someone that will bail on me when something better comes along?

I keep staring at these pictures of us
and that sentimental response is so insignificant compared to the way I feel every single second I’m around Isaac. I can’t believe I let my emotions get out of hand like this. Stop thinking, and for fuck’s sake, stop feeling so much. Watch TV, go to bed, sleep in for as late as you want, and let’s just see what happens tomorrow. I feel guilty that I’m so excited to feel Isaac’s hands on me that I’m counting the minutes, plotting out my day so they tick by as quickly as possible. But once we’re in there, he is going to hate it. 

Shake it off. This means nothing. There are
less than three weeks left of this, then I’m going back to my real life and he’s going back to his. We’ll never see each other again. Just thinking about that gives me this horrid, sinking sensation in my belly and as much as I try to justify it as some side effect of this oxytocin-induced, orgasm-starved high I’ve been riding for the last week, I just can’t.

But we are from different worlds. In this little sex filled foodie bubble, everything is perfect. Outside of it, who the hell knows? But
Luke and I work out there, I do know that. I know I should go back to the real world, but I want to stay in my bubble with this guy who makes me feel all the things I thought were a load of bullshit. The things fairytales are made of. The mutual delusion every woman shares except for me, full of happily ever after, soul mates, and love at first sight. Cuddling with little kids between you on the couch, holding hands on a walk when you’re old.

I finally understand where it all comes from. But that doesn’t make it true. It’s just a cascade of hormones and chemicals Mother Nature uses to trick us into carrying on the species, even if you’re left unwanted and abandoned aft
erwards. And there’s no way in hell I’m falling for it. I was too smart for this shit when I was seven years old, and I’m definitely too smart for it now.

It’s a good thing that I’ve never fallen head over heels like this for
Luke. The slow simmer isn’t what we’re built on. It’s mutual goals, wants, building a life together that’s based on practicality as much as it is on love, if not more. Because that’s what really lasts. That’s what you’re left with after the lust fades away and the wrinkles settle in. Luke isn’t going to leave me if he falls harder for someone else because that isn’t why he’s with me in the first place. I’ve been looking at this all wrong, trying to prove that I love Luke deeply and forever. That’s not why I’m here. It never was.

Yeah, I feel bad for Isaac, but I can’t fix him. His life sucked before me and hopefully he’ll find a way out of it after we part, but it isn’t my fault. I can’t do anything about it, even though I wish I could more than anything else in the world right now. More than anything.

He will be fine tomorrow. He’s done worse before and he’ll probably do worse afterwards. I choke when I think of him touching someone else, but that’s a trick too. Isaac is probably just confused like I am and it’s making this harder. Maybe we have genes that would combine into some sort of super genius with superpower sperm and that’s why Nature is trying so hard to push us together.

Well, the joke is on h
er, because I’m going to stay on this ride and get my fix, a crazy experience with a crazier guy, something fun to look back on when I’m old and settled down. Why not enjoy the emotion charged lust, settle in to the delusion, have fun with it? It’s truly the most incredible feeling, more addictive than any drug, not that I’d know. But luckily for me, this has an expiration date and then I’ll have to quit cold turkey. I’ll go back to my life to finish growing up the smart way.

It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. I’m on the bed, curled up, missing Isaac’s arms around me, aching for his lips on mine, struggling to keep from begging him to let me in his room. I’m longing for an illusion, crying for nothing. Nothing that actually exists anyway.

***********

It feels so good to wake up at 6:00 am and go back to sleep. This is what vacations are about. My eyes don’t open again until ten. I creep out into the hallway, past Isaac’s closed door finding no evidence that he’s been awake or eaten anything. I’m not working out this morning, and I’m heating up a full plate of some tasty dinner a
nd eating it for breakfast. Screw it. There’s no way I’m living like this forever. Luke is going to have to deal with it. The only thing I seem to have lost since I started this rigorous diet months ago are my tits anyway, and I’m not getting those stupid implants. After years of fighting my natural beanpole figure, I finally fill out a little, and then I starved myself trying to get it back. Fuck him if he doesn’t want me.

I don’t love
Luke enough to do this but I’m not leaving. I got so wrapped up in wanting to turn him into something that he will never be. He can get his total control fix from the women he keeps on the side. He will always step out. That’s who he is. So fuck it, I don’t need him to stay with me, I just think it would be a good idea if he did. If he doesn’t want to be normal outside of the bedroom anymore, then we just aren’t going to work. Better to figure that out now than later. At least he’ll know that I tried, and that I know what I’m talking about when I say that I don’t want something.

I’l
l tell Isaac after I’ve thought about it just a little bit longer. He will probably want me to go, but I’m hoping we can move toward a more technical training program. I want more of his tricks and I wouldn’t mind fine tuning a few of my own. That probably can’t happen, Isaac has a job to do. We’ll get a few days to fuck around, though. I know he’ll go for that.

There won’t be any more of this ridiculous domestic servitude because it does absolutely nothing for me. Piper was so right about that. I really miss her, and I’m calling her tomorrow because Isaac is giving me my cell phone back one way or another.

As satisfying as it is to eat, and it is so very, very satisfying, it sucks eating alone. There’s no way in hell that I’m cleaning a damn thing today. At first I veg out for a while, but soon I find myself getting nervous and need to do something.

As soon as I’m in the shower, I hear Isaac’s door opening. He must have been waiting for an opportunity to avoid running into me. I take longer than I need to so he doesn’t have to rush. When I get out, he’s in the workout room and stays there for a long time.

There are still several hours to kill and since sitting around just make me nervous, I decide to do my hair. It’s very thick and falls to my hips, so putting it in a bunch of small braids takes a while. I haven’t taken the time to do this since high school. When it dries, it will be even bigger and wavier than it usually is, very princess like. Luke likes it straight. Screw him.

I hate looking at my reflection, at my plain face soon to be decorated and all its little defects. Pale skin, tiny eyes, funny nose. I do like my lips. Hair needs an update soon, at least by the time I graduate. I’ve been rocking this look for way too long.

I’m going to miss it. It’s been long my entire life, but I’m afraid that it looks unprofessional and juvenile now that I’m older. I could put it up for work and interviews, but that doesn’t help very much because of its massive size in a bun. Perhaps when I’m more professionally established I’ll grow it out again, but until then I need to lose at least half of the length. But it’s here now so I may as well enjoy it, and I know Isaac likes it quite a bit. That always makes me smile and get all melty and fluttery inside.