Page 29 of Twisted Little Thing

Yuka is the lead drummer in her band, and she saved up for a long time to be able to afford her own little drum set. It is not a very large set, but it still takes up almost half of her room.

She is out the door for band practice shortly after our chat. After that, she has another shift to cover at the bar, the same schedule as last night.

And here I am, just sitting here, alone in my room, with nothing else to do but to wait for a message from him.

I question myself more and more with every minute that passes, so I decide to pursue one activity that Yuka would never consider: running. I run a lot, not only because I like to stay in shape, but because it is the best way to clear my head and be by myself for a few minutes. I always leave my phone behind in my room, and sometimes I even decide to run without listening to music and just take in my surroundings.

Not today, though. I need to move and get out, but I don't want to be completely alone with my thoughts. I don't want to think about him too much, and music could help with that.

Five hours have passed since he read my message when I head out of the house for my run.

Six hours have passed by the time I get back.

Seven hours have passed by the time I shower and prepare myself a simple dinner.

It has almost been eight hours when I finally hear the relieving beep signaling a text message.

I am standing at the kitchen sink in the middle of washing the dishes when I hear it.

I take a deep breath and quickly dry my hands before turning around to fetch my phone.

It's him. Finally.

"Do you want to see me again?" the text reads.

I frown at the screen. Was my last message not clear?

I ponder whether I should make him wait as long as he made me, but decide I have displayed enough childish actions this weekend.

So I start typing.

"Don't you think that would make it easier to talk to each other?"

I hesitate for a moment before I hit send. If you ask me, it seems that it's up to him to make the move at this point and not up to me to beg him.

I set the phone aside and turn around, ready to continue my dishwashing duties, when the phone beeps again.

My hands are shaky when I pick it up this time.

"Is that the way to speak to me?"

Damn. Okay, he does not take my sassy side well.

Another message pops up.

"If you want to see me again, I need you to say it. And address me properly when you do."

Address him properly?

My cheeks blush when I realize what he means. The dominant type. I didn't know this sort of power play would be extended beyond the bedroom.

An excited little tingling inside me tells me that I like it. A lot.

I quickly look around, as if checking that no one is watching me. Ridiculous, of course. I am all alone. Yuka's curious eyes are nowhere near me at the moment.

And I would never have to tell her about this. I never will, I am sure.

I nervously chew my lower lip as I type my reply.

"I would really like to see you again, Sir."

Send.

It is baffling to me how this excites me. It is so different from the way I usually act towards other people – and especially towards men. And it’s so incredibly satisfying.

This man makes me want to please him, serve him. And only because it gives me pleasure.

This realization is only underpinned by the gigantic leap of my heart when I read his instant reply.

"Good girl."

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