Mr. N is not saying anything; his gaze is fixed on the road ahead. I busy myself with my phone trying to see what I’ve missed on social media since I’ve been hauled up in the country club. A post from a friend of mine makes me burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
I read it to him. My friend went for confession and the priest (a really old man) started asking her all sorts of strange questions. For those not in the know, Catholics meet up regularly with a priest to confess their sins. My friend’s sins were clearly putting the old priest to sleep and he kept interrupting, wanting her to get to the good stuff. “No fornication?” he cackled.
“No,” she said.
“Never??” he persisted.
She informed him that there was nothing like that since the window of her last confession. He was strangely persistent.
“Not even thoughts of fornication???”
Hey, slow down there mister, it’s her confessional moment. Why are you leading the witness?
I actually get a chuckle from Mr. N. This girlfriend is one of the ones I had sent a fake friend request to see if she was down with some girl on girl action if you may recall. From her very mild confessional … I wonder.
When we get to my house I turn to Mr. N to thank him for the ride. He turns off the car.
“I’m coming in,” he says brashly. He follows me in. None of us says anything as he strips me down and takes me from behind. It’s quick and entirely for his benefit. He grunts when it’s over, biting my neck and leaving a horrifying hickey on my neck.
What on earth is going on? Does this mean he wants me again? Exclusively? Is GG and our plan history? I manage to finally ask one of the many questions going through my mind since we left the club. “Is the plan off?” I ask.
Mr. N releases me and gets dressed. “Why would you ask that?” he wants to know.
“Well…” My voice trails off.
“Oh because of this?” he asks gesturing at my naked body. He buckles his belt.
“Because of the way you have been acting all night,” I say. “Jealous. Possessive.”
“Acting being the key word,” he responds. “Guys want what other men want. GG had to see I was also attracted to you in order to pique his interest.”
I feel deflated. I had honestly thought I had re-ignited a spark in Mr. N for me.
“The plan is still on, Samantha, I just didn’t want you to blow it,” he continues. “GG liked you but you were acting too available. He would have bedded you and dumped you.”
He grabs his car keys. “The hickey is to make sure you don’t call him until it has faded. Make him sweat. Guys like a challenge.”
“Not all guys,” I say, feeling defensive “Because here you are.”
“Here I am,” he agrees. He walks up to me and tilts my head back kissing me full on the lips. It’s the first time he has been tender towards me since I started blackmailing him.
“Do you know how it feels to know that I can have you anytime I want?” he asks. “That I can treat you as my toy? That you are my possession to be had or discarded whenever I wish?”
“You’ve ruined it,” I say. “You always ruin it.”
“We’ll see,” he says. And kisses me again. I start to get weak. I love it when he talks to me this way. I don’t want him to know it. But my body, predictably, betrays me.
“You see?” he asks as I gasp for air. “I can destroy you Samantha, mentally, emotionally and physically. Remember that.”
Is this meant as a warning? A threat? Or a promise?