THE DON'S CAPTIVE MISTRESS
My body feels heavy, used, humming in that awful, empty way that comes after everything burns out too fast.
I can feel his presence behind me, solid, unmoved, already distant. He’s dressed. Completely. Buttoned. Put back together.
I pull myself upright and sit on the desk, naked, unashamed and humiliated all at once. I force myself to keep eye contact. If he’s going to erase me, he’s going to have to look at me while he does it.
“Nine minutes,” he says, checking his watch again. “Get dressed. Get cleaned up.”
Bab Populer