Losing Control(67)

I tug out the plate, cursing that it’s so hot and then carry the food into the dining room. Shoving aside the boxes, I fall into my food. I guess my surly mood is fairly evident because the laughter and chatter from the two magpies in the living room has shut down. I’ll add “mood killer” to my list of sins.

Mom bustles over, showing more energy than I’ve seen out of her in weeks, and gives me a little hug. “Glad to see you’re home safe, dear. I think I’ll go into the bedroom and read before I turn in.”

“‘Kay,” I mutter sullenly. She hesitates and then squeezes me again before disappearing down the hall.

“I think you’ve hurt your mom’s feelings,” observes Ian as he drops into a seat opposite of me. It is the same chair where he asked me how much to suck his dick. And while no money was exchanged, the sum that he’s spent on me in the form of clothes makes it seem like it is payment in kind. When I don’t respond, he heaves a sigh and then kicks out his long legs.

Because I don’t know what to say that would sound rational at the moment, I continue to eat my pasta until every last noodle and vegetable is gone. The popcorn setting is surprisingly good for heating up food so long as I take it out after the two minute mark. Maybe I won’t have to learn how to use the microwave.

I drop off the dirty plate in the dishwasher and then drain a bottle of water. I dispose of the plastic bottle in a recycling bin that I noticed under the sink this morning.

“Not talking to me?” Ian has followed me into the kitchen and is leaning against the island.

“Don’t really know what to say,” I tell him evenly. Grabbing another water, I follow my mom down the hall and step inside the bedroom that is temporarily my home. The bed is made and Ian’s blue T-shirt that I’ve been sleeping in is folded neatly and resting on the end. The white glove service apparently includes a daily maid. The comforter is like a cloud, and I wonder if I can take it with me when we move out.

“How much does this place really cost?” I ask Ian, who has followed me in and is leaning against the wall. He’s closed the door behind him but hasn’t made a move toward me.

“Five million, give or take a few hundred thousand.”

I’m glad I’m lying down so I don’t faint.

“Is it the money that bothers you, Tiny? Because I thought you said you were all about the money.” He’s mocking me now but it’s gentle and without spite.

“I don’t know what it is,” I say slowly, staring up at the white ceiling. At least the ceiling looks normal here, if not a little higher than my old apartment. “I feel like I’m always playing catch up with you. I said I’d do the Howe project for you and now it feels like I’m getting fired. You’re spending money on me like . . .” I struggle for a comparison and use the clothing lady’s version, “like nothing is more than a latte from Starbucks, and it makes me feel like we’ll never be equals.”

“And being seen as an equal is important to you?” He’s moved away from supporting the wall and is now sitting on the edge of the bed. I move over, not sure if I’m making room for him or getting away from him.

“Wouldn’t it be for anyone?” I counter.

“I really only care what is important to you.” He settles next to me but is careful about not touching me.

“It’s so fast, Ian, and I’m not a plastics company. I’m a human and moving into this apartment, getting all those clothes, and now, having you say things that suggest you are interested in something serious when we don’t even know each other confuses me.” I figure there’s no point at subterfuge, not when I want honesty in return. “I don’t know how much is an act and what’s real.”

He shifts me closer and his implacable hand turns my head so that we are eyeball-to-eyeball. “That I want you? It’s no act,” he says harshly.

I can’t hide my misery. “This game is too hard for me. I don’t know the rules, and I’m afraid I’m going to get hurt in the process.”

Ian releases my neck and cups my cheek. “Let me tell you what you need to know about me. I'm loyal, generous, and I like to have things my own way.”

“The last one isn't really a plus,” I mutter.

“Who said I was itemizing my attributes? This is who I am. I want you, Tiny. In my bed and in my life. You aren’t being fired. We’re reassessing the situation. Let’s enjoy each other in the process.”

“For how long?”

“For however long it lasts. Tell me what you want out of life, Tiny.”