Page 2 of Lust
The Marcolfs were a family of politicians with every heir harboring secret dreams of running for Presidency. Due to his untimely death, Dad fell short of becoming a senator. By God, even if it were the last thing I did on earth, I would achieve his failed ambitions.
Raguel could help get me there. Our family’s ‘white privilege’ had long been brought into question. What better way to break the norm than by having a diverse father?
Not to mention, Raguel understood my political dreams and the weight the name Marcolf carried. So much so that he offered to change his and his daughter’s last names to match mine.
So, yeah, Raguel was a great man. And there were only upsides to this arrangement.
“I suppose that’s true,” I conceded.
Michael smiled. “This is great progress, Tristan. On that note, let’s finish our conversation from the last session.”
Dad.He wanted me to discuss the night of Dad’s death.
Michael looked me over with unfathomable eyes. This time he didn’t refer to his notes. “Are you still having the same dreams?”
I nodded.
He sat up, elbows leaning against his thighs. “Should we revisit that night?”
I had given Michael tidbits of the first time I had such a dream. It had been years since, yet the nightmares continued to haunt me. It was time to divulge and get to the bottom of this.
“I was a mess on the night of Dad’s accident. I had finally forced myself to go to sleep when someone appeared in my dreams with a… premonition?” I contemplated. “No, that’s not the right word. It was more like an offer.”
Michael watched me under hooded eyes with an unfathomable expression. “What did the manifestation sound like?”
“Manifestation?”
“Our minds can sometimes manipulate our inner thoughts to help us cope,” he explained.
“The… manifestation,” I said tentatively, “sounded deep… distorted.” It was odd not to have a better description for the voice that had frequented my dreams for years.
“What did it say?” he prodded.
“He offered me desirable things if I gave up my heart and soul.”
“What kinds of desirable things?” he asked curiously.
I shrugged. “Money, women, power, looks… superficial things, I guess.”
I swallowed several times, then looked away. It sounded absurd. Like I had sold my soul to the devil in exchange for power and women, or something equally ridiculous. Michael was probably seconds away from having me committed.
Nevertheless, it was hard to deny that life had, in fact, improved superficially. Dad’s previous investments had brought on significant returns out of the blue. My looks had changed, too. After turning fourteen, my amber-colored eyes had lightened to resemble gold, attracting attention I had never known.
I could make no sense of these fortunes. Instead, I gave into my teenage urges and started having sex. Lots of girls, older ones, threesomes. Everything. My appetite had become insatiable to the point that it scared even me.
“He said I could have everything I desired. My looks will only grow with age. My image and success will be unmatched. More money than I’ll ever need.” I looked at Michael and smiled, “And the female interest will never waver.”
“In exchange for?”
“Love,” I replied simply. “Or anything real for that matter.”
“Lust versus love,” he rephrased. “Materialistic desires in exchange for love.”
“I guess.”
Michael didn’t speak for several moments. “Do you believe in God, Tristan?” he asked abruptly.
Surprised by the turn of conversation, I frowned. “I suppose.”
