21

Aurora “Over there?” I mean to snap, but my voice comes out low. Why the hell do I sound turned on? I’m not. It doesn’t matter that his suit jacket moulds to his body with the sitting position or that the slow way he eats with those veiny hands is like watching a food porn show or that – “Do you have a problem following simple instructions, Aurora?” “Don’t you dare question my worth, Jonathan.” “Then come here. Now.” The edge in his authoritative tone leaves no room for negotiation. Now I know why people fall at his feet — willingly or unwillingly. He’s the type of person you can’t say no to. Especially in my case when he has a metaphorical gun pointed at my chest. Or that’s what I tell myself as I throw the napkin on the table and walk to him with angry steps. I ignore how my legs slightly shake or how, with every movement, friction builds at my core. The idea that he’ll repeat yesterday wraps around my neck like a tight noose, only it’s not strangling me. Or maybe it is, but it’s not