Page 51 of Twisted Little Thing

CHAPTER XVIII

Nicky

"Damn!"

Damn indeed. Yuka has always been good at summarizing even the most outrageous or weird things that happen to anyone. Of course, she was right there waiting for me when I returned home that night.

She greeted me with a mischievous smile the moment I walked into our apartment, ready to squeeze out every little detail of my meeting with Evan – and noticing the hickeys right away. It was just the kind of welcome I had expected.

Two days have passed since then.

I am recapping the evening in my mind while absentmindedly wiping down tables at the burger restaurant that currently provides my main income. This week will be tough for many reasons, and one of them is the fact that I am swamped with a bunch of really inconvenient shifts. I have been able to pick up fewer shifts than I had the week before and not at all during the weekend – the shifts with the best pay. I have to catch up if I want to be able to pay my rent this month.

It is still early and rather quiet, giving me way too much time to think about the events of two days ago.

I didn't tell Yuka all the details she wanted to know, but luckily, she was able to overlook that fact because the most exciting part of my story – our departure from the hotel – was by far the most enticing aspect of it all to her.

"Oh my God, you're going to be famous now!" she exclaimed.

"You're saying that as if it was something good," I noted, and she just laughed, continuing to make jokes about me joining the celebrity ranks just because I have slept with the right man.

"Right man?" I asked. "Wrong man, I'd say."

I paused for a moment, regretting my words. Calling Evan the 'wrong man' when everything felt so right every time we were together doesn't seem to be fair.

My feelings toward him are growing stronger any way I look at it. The ambivalence is increasing; I feel drawn and pushed away at the same time.

"Well," I eventually added with a low voice. "I don't know what to think. About him being right or wrong for me..."

At that point, Yuka actually got serious for a moment and looked at me with sincere concern.

"You really like him, don't you?" she asked.

I nodded.

Yes, I do like him. I feel comfortable with him and I have never wanted to please someone as much as I want to please him. Seeing him happy has become more important to me than I ever anticipated possible.

But how could I deal with this? With all the secrecy, his growing possessiveness, and his continued unwillingness to share more about himself. His arrogance toward both of our lives. His intrusive demands and the fact that he is giving me homework now. Homework that I have to finish before seeing him again.

Whenever that will be.

We have hardly talked since that abrupt departure from the hotel. He wrote me a text right away when I was still in the car driving me home, asking whether I was okay. He apologized for what happened. I told him it was okay.

But was it, really? After the initial shock passed, I actually felt ambushed, betrayed almost. Did he know that there would be paparazzi waiting outside the hotel? It didn't seem like he did. But maybe that was all for show? It certainly wasn't the first time for him to run into something like this. Could he not have anticipated it?

And why did they show up in the first place? Why was there any interest in him at this point? The tabloid article was published this month, but it seems so mundane and unimportant to me. What is Evan up to right now? Did it have something to do with the appointment he 'canceled' that night?

So many questions, but Evan is so reluctant when it comes to sharing anything about himself with me. It’s frustrating as hell.

The only thing he wants me to believe is that he really didn't know that the photographers would be there – and that he was just as surprised as I was.

"That teaches me to use the same hotel for too long, I guess," was one of his comments.

Using the same hotel for what? His sexual exploits? How many women has he had there, in that same room? We never talked about being exclusive – which is nothing that would usually concern me after meeting someone just twice. But I feel very uncomfortable thinking that I might be one of many. Of little value. Disposable.

I would hate to be that kind of woman.

Until now, he has not asked to see me again – and neither have I asked to see him. I am busy anyway, but I am also unsure what to make of the things that happened. I met him that day to talk, to clear up some of the secrets surrounding him – and I left confronted with even more.

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