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| 23 | Tequila Poolside
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2025-07-29 05:00:06I desperately want to believe that last night was merely a dream. I want to believe that when I open my eyes, I’ll find myself back in my own bed, and this whole thing will be nothing more than an elaborate, unsettling fantasy.
But if I truly believe any of that, I'm completely and utterly delusional.
My eyes snap open, immediately drawn to the surprisingly empty sofa. I bolt upright, scanning the room only to find myself alone. A quick glance at the bathroom door shows it closed, the light off.
Where did he go?
For a moment, relief washes over me. The entire night was a restless blur of fitful sleep and racing thoughts, my mind grappling with how to face Efrem or what to say to him... if I could even formulate coherent words. Part of me wonders if he'll dismiss it as drunken behavior. Or perhaps he was so inebriated that he remembers nothing, allowing me to avoid the topic entirely.
He wasn't drunk. Buzzed? Ma
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I Am Mustafin | 27 | Shattering Truth
“How are you feeling?” Isaak asks softly as he walks beside me up the stairs.I glance at him briefly, studying him for a moment before shrugging. “I'm fine,” I respond dryly.I've spent so much time worrying about questions involving him that I never stopped to consider how I'd actually speak to him. For years, he was my best friend, and the day I lost him was the day I lost a part of myself. I spent the better part of two years believing he was dead, only to discover he's been perfectly fine this whole time... it's made me resentful, despite how hard I've tried to simply be grateful he's alive at all.Forgiveness is an incredibly difficult thing to achieve.I suppose that's the thing about resentment: you convince yourself you're over it until it doesn't bother you as much.As we approach my bedroom door, he stops abruptly and says, “I'm sorry.”I cease my movements, furrowing my brows as I turn to look
I Am Mustafin | 26 | A Quiet Sunday
As I sit here, sipping orange juice from my glass, I find myself grateful for small mercies—namely, the absence of a hangover. It's 2 PM, and I've only managed to drag myself out of bed and down to the dining table about 30 minutes ago.It's Sunday, and I know better than to expect Efrem's company. He always seems too consumed by work in his office or time at the gym to do much else. I assume he eats in his office out of convenience.Who would want to live like that?Although any other day I'd have been perfectly content without his presence, I find myself almost... missing him. Or maybe I'm trying to convince myself that I miss him because there are so many questions I'd like to ask. But then, there's that other matter.Little Bea.I'm not sure what I desire from him, but I know that the thought of having him stirs something inside me—something I'm not sure I want to feel. I'm not sure how I want him, but the most frustrating part is that I like the way his touch feels—a feeling I've
I Am Mustafin | 25 | Sunrise
“You take care, hon!” Amara exclaims, pressing a can of sparkling water and a sealed straw into my hands. She leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “These are for later,” as she discreetly slips a small plastic bag into my sweater pocket.“Baby, they've gotta get going,” Deonta'e intervenes, his arm snaking around Amara's waist as he gently pulls her away from the car before shutting the door.Through the window, I offer them a weak smile as they watch us depart, Alek at the wheel. As we pull away, the reality of my situation crashes over me. I'm acutely aware of how much trouble I'm probably in, the tension in the car growing with each passing moment. Unfortunately, there's no quick escape—it's at least a six-hour drive back home.What if he kills me when we get home?I'm left to wonder how long it'll be before Efrem finally speaks, declaring this my third strike. At the same time, I question whether it's fair to consider this the end of my last chance. After all, I didn't explicitl
I Am Mustafin | 24 | A Silent Conspiracy
As night falls, Efrem remains conspicuously absent. Not that I'm particularly worried—none of the Ringleaders have been seen since morning. And with no one to rein us in, Amara, Christana, Nana, Sophia, and I linger poolside, steadily depleting the minibar's stock.Well, they do. Somewhere between lunch and dinner, I sensed an impending blackout and scaled back my intake. Not that it helps much—I'm still decidedly buzzed. These women, however, can drink like it's their job.Around noon, Amara had summoned a guard to bring us lunch, repeating the process a couple of hours ago for dinner. It's surprising how utterly normal they seem—for the most part. I'd always imagined them as stuck-up or downright bitchy. But I have to admit, they're not so bad.Amara is especially welcoming. She even offered Alek a drink, which he refused, of course. I'm not sure if he's just taking his job very seriously or if any guard in his position would have declined.Guess I'll have to find out eventually...
I Am Mustafin | 23 | Tequila Poolside
I desperately want to believe that last night was merely a dream. I want to believe that when I open my eyes, I’ll find myself back in my own bed, and this whole thing will be nothing more than an elaborate, unsettling fantasy.But if I truly believeanyof that, I'm completely and utterly delusional.My eyes snap open, immediately drawn to the surprisingly empty sofa. I bolt upright, scanning the room only to find myself alone. A quick glance at the bathroom door shows it closed, the light off.Where did he go?For a moment, relief washes over me. The entire night was a restless blur of fitful sleep and racing thoughts, my mind grappling with how to face Efrem or what to say to him... if I could even formulate coherent words. Part of me wonders if he'll dismiss it as drunken behavior. Or perhaps he was so inebriated that he remembers nothing, allowing me to avoid the topic entirely.He wasn't drunk. Buzzed? Ma
I Am Mustafin | 22 | Game of Control
Steam billows around me as I step out of the shower, wrapping a plush white towel around my body. These long, hot showers have become my sole refuge, a small relief from my mounting stress. While I'm acutely aware that my situation could be far worse, I often find myself wishing for a more effective relief. Simultaneously, a nagging voice in my head questions if I'm being ungrateful.Maybe Iamlucky, all things considered, to have ended up here. It’s hard to really wrap my head around the possible “pros” to my situation, given the circumstances. But ultimately, at least I can say that I am alive. And that’s more than I can say for a lot of people… such as my parents.A soft sigh escapes my lips as I retrieve the brush from the bathroom counter. I slowly work it through my hair, watching droplets cascade from the ends of my wet curls. My hands, shoulders, and cheeks are flushed a bright red—a testament to the scalding shower I've just taken.I
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