where his money came from, he told me he worked for his father in a family business. I knew his parents were separated, and I never thought much to ask about his dad because I met his mom on numerous occasions, and she was always very friendly and accepting of me. She was from Brazil, and even though she understood English well, it was very broken when she spoke it. Typically, she and Ish spoke in Portuguese to each other in their home, so I began to study it when I was home late at night or when he was working. I’ll never forget how proud I felt the first time I surprised them both and spoke it during dinner one evening. That night, he rewarded me for my hard work by performing oral sex on me for the first time; usually, it was me who did it to him, thanking him for taking such good care of me. I quickly became obsessed with trying to please him, never wanting to disappoint him. Somehow, I always knew if I upset him the price to pay would be more than I could afford.
The vibration of my cellphone yanks me from the dreadful memory, and I find myself crouched in a ball on my bedroom floor, knees curled tightly to my chest. Thankfully, I haven’t hurt myself—at least I don’t feel any pain or taste any blood. Glancing at my phone lying on the floor next to me, I study the two messages staring back at me from the screen.
Let me know when you’re home.
Blake, please let me know if you’re home safe. I’m worried.
Both messages are from Madden, and after reading them, I realize why I drifted off into the flashback. Inhaling and exhaling several deep breaths, I stretch my legs out in front of me and pick up the phone. Quickly, I type out a response.
I’m home. Didn’t mean to worry you.
My heart rate takes a few minutes to return to normal from the panic-driven anxiety attack that always occurs when I think about my life with Ish. My mom was always right when she said things that seem too good to be true usually are. Ismael Oliveira was way too good to ever be true.
Using my dresser as a crutch, I pull myself up to a standing position and strip out of the clothes I’ve been in all day. The events of the last fourteen hours have exhausted me physically, mentally, and emotionally—from the anticipation over the morning presentation, to the overwhelming nerves during the dinner with Madden, and everything else in-between. I detest that the last thing in my mind is the memory of him , which taints all of the positives. Part of me wants to forego the shower and just climb into bed, but I know I’ll feel better once I scrub myself clean, at least for a little while.
The following morning, Jae is waiting for me in our office with a look of hopeful enthusiasm evident all over her face. Before the door even shuts behind me, she pounces.
“Blake, Blake, Blake. Tell me how wonderful it was! I can’t wait to hear all the sordid details,” she cries as she races to my side.
Laughing softly, I shake my head at her. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jae, but nothing sordid occurred.”
“What? You’re joking, right? Did you turn him down?” She fires questions at me faster than I can set my purse down to answer.
“We had a nice dinner. The conversation was good; we talked a little about ourselves, but mostly about work and the project. Then, he drove me back to my car and that was it. I drove home.”
I’m not sure why I don’t want to tell her about the sweet kiss on the head and his final words; I just don’t. I guess I’m afraid she’ll make more out of it than it was, and I don’t want to have to answer continuous questions about if I’ve heard from him or seen him. Chances are—other than for business purposes—I won’t have contact with Madden Decker again, despite his auspicious remarks. A man of his stature doesn’t strike me as the type to spend many nights alone.
She stares at me in disbelief. “I’m not buying it. The man was interested the second he laid eyes on you, and he even went
The vibration of my cellphone yanks me from the dreadful memory, and I find myself crouched in a ball on my bedroom floor, knees curled tightly to my chest. Thankfully, I haven’t hurt myself—at least I don’t feel any pain or taste any blood. Glancing at my phone lying on the floor next to me, I study the two messages staring back at me from the screen.
Let me know when you’re home.
Blake, please let me know if you’re home safe. I’m worried.
Both messages are from Madden, and after reading them, I realize why I drifted off into the flashback. Inhaling and exhaling several deep breaths, I stretch my legs out in front of me and pick up the phone. Quickly, I type out a response.
I’m home. Didn’t mean to worry you.
My heart rate takes a few minutes to return to normal from the panic-driven anxiety attack that always occurs when I think about my life with Ish. My mom was always right when she said things that seem too good to be true usually are. Ismael Oliveira was way too good to ever be true.
Using my dresser as a crutch, I pull myself up to a standing position and strip out of the clothes I’ve been in all day. The events of the last fourteen hours have exhausted me physically, mentally, and emotionally—from the anticipation over the morning presentation, to the overwhelming nerves during the dinner with Madden, and everything else in-between. I detest that the last thing in my mind is the memory of him , which taints all of the positives. Part of me wants to forego the shower and just climb into bed, but I know I’ll feel better once I scrub myself clean, at least for a little while.
The following morning, Jae is waiting for me in our office with a look of hopeful enthusiasm evident all over her face. Before the door even shuts behind me, she pounces.
“Blake, Blake, Blake. Tell me how wonderful it was! I can’t wait to hear all the sordid details,” she cries as she races to my side.
Laughing softly, I shake my head at her. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jae, but nothing sordid occurred.”
“What? You’re joking, right? Did you turn him down?” She fires questions at me faster than I can set my purse down to answer.
“We had a nice dinner. The conversation was good; we talked a little about ourselves, but mostly about work and the project. Then, he drove me back to my car and that was it. I drove home.”
I’m not sure why I don’t want to tell her about the sweet kiss on the head and his final words; I just don’t. I guess I’m afraid she’ll make more out of it than it was, and I don’t want to have to answer continuous questions about if I’ve heard from him or seen him. Chances are—other than for business purposes—I won’t have contact with Madden Decker again, despite his auspicious remarks. A man of his stature doesn’t strike me as the type to spend many nights alone.
She stares at me in disbelief. “I’m not buying it. The man was interested the second he laid eyes on you, and he even went
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