LITMIR.BIZ

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out of this.

      ‘Ah. So you do remember. We have progress. Would you really call that duress, sweetheart? It certainly seemed to me like you were more than enjoying yourself.’ His words are as wry as his smile.

      ‘Even so, it doesn’t mean that it wasn’t duress. You knew I was in a situation of weakness and just played on it.’ I’m trying to sound convincing.

      ‘Are you ready?’ he says firmly. Obviously the time for discussion is over.

      ‘Really? You want to go through with this stupid promise thing? It’s so silly, nonsense really. We don’t need our time together to be like this, Jeremy. It would be so much nicer to spend time together without … well, without … having this tension between us, without playing games. We’ve grown up, there is no need for this. It is just childish,’ I say, my rising alarm giving way to a little exasperation.

      His eyes narrow and zero in on mine as he steps toward me. I automatically take a step back; I can’t help myself, as if erring on the side of caution, attempting to avoid the enveloping sense of danger, as enticing as it may be. He continues to close in on me. As I step back again I realise I have reached the edge of the table. What was I meant to do now, run? It seems ridiculous, running away from my best friend, my ex-lover. I don’t want to run and therein lies the problem. I have to reason with him.

      ‘Please, Jeremy, please, must you do this?’ I say urgently, almost begging for both time and space. He places his arms on either side of my body, wedging me firmly against the table. His body presses against mine, my personal space vanishes and I have nowhere to go other than hold firm or lie backwards on to the table. I feel his eyes penetrate me, seeking my soul with their glare and know I must avoid looking at him at all costs, knowing that if I do, they will bore straight through me and penetrate my inner sanctum. There is no need for him to feel my pulse now; he can sense it all over my body. Like a Formula One racing car driver, my pulse only has one pace — fast.

      ‘Alex.’ He is close, firm, dominating. I sense his patience is diminishing rapidly. ‘You promised; you know what that means between us. You know we never promise something we can’t commit to, to ourselves or to each other. It has been that way since we met. Our word is our bond.’

      The intensity of his words and the force of his response momentarily stun me. I hadn’t anticipated the heated emotion trapped within them. A deep shiver runs down my spine. Once again my mind replays the promise memory again as if on cue, conjuring up the same images as before. I remember his words had a similar tone and finality.

      ‘You know I am serious, Alexandra, I won’t let this go.’

      But will you let me go? Do I want to go? These silent questions float through my head.

      I know he is not to be messed with whenever he uses my full first name.

      The air between us is thick with pent-up energy, emotion, and anticipation. There is so much I want to say, so much that isn’t coming out of my mouth. Where are my words? Where is my protest? Where is my escape? Why am I still here, accepting this? There must be something I can do. My mind is blank. Could I want this reality? Do I desire it? Is he tapping into something I’ve been denying in myself for years?… Oh no, my own mind has just given him the opening he is looking for.

      I continue to search his eyes in an attempt to find further explanation as to why this is so important to him? Why so persistent? I know it is in his character; he has always been determined, always the winner, but why now, what is he winning? What could I be losing? I just don’t understand. He must have sensed my analytical mind switching into gear because his voice interrupts my thoughts in their tracks.

      ‘Enough! The time is now,’ he proclaims in a booming voice. ‘Make your decision.’

      ‘Is it really my choice, Jeremy?’ My voice shakes with emotion.

      ‘It is always your choice, Alex, never forget that. You didn’t have to promise and I am not forcing you to stay. I am simply outlining the conditions if you do.’

      Oh, Jeremy, the supreme mastermind.

      He takes my hands and gently leads me to the second bedroom suite. I can feel my heartbeating faster by the second. I can’t decipher whether it is due to the absinthe, adrenaline or sheer emotion. I try to twist slightly away from his grip, without success. Oh god, I think, what have I gotten myself into? As my eyes scan the room, I notice an elegant silk blindfold cascading over the edges of a petite, expensive looking box — it is the same colour as my dress and interwoven with delicate black lace. Alongside it is a velvet face cloth, a tiny bottle of ointment and some eye drops laid out on the bedside table. My heart pounds erratically as my feet become firmly planted at the door.

      There is a voice in my head screaming Walk away now, right now! Move your feet and run. You are giving him complete control. It is wrong, you don’t want this. You are a mother, a wife. Move, get going. Do not become a part of this.’ Another voice says in three simple words Bring it on! I begin to tremble. Jeremy hugs me possessively. Like a big brown bear paradoxically in love with its prey. My arms fall limp by my side.

      ‘Why is this so hard for you, Alex? It is meant to be exciting, intoxicating, not make you shake like a leaf on a tree defending against gale force winds.’

      His voice is low, caring, caressing. His words sum up my feelings more eloquently than I can describe them myself.

      ‘Why is it so important that I comply, Jeremy?’

      ‘You made a promise.’

      ‘I feel this is about so much more than that, so tell me, please, just tell me what is going on. Why is this so important to you?’

      ‘Let me have this moment with you, it won’t last forever. I will look after you, I promise you that. When have I not?’

      I let out yet another great sigh knowing his last statement is true. We have had some wild times together but he has always looked after me. I feel as confused as any human being on earth. Jeremy is telling me I have a choice, but I don’t feel like I have one — if I want to stay, that is. Is that a true perception or merely my imagination? I honestly don’t know. I am drowning in my thoughts and emotions when I notice a bowl of perfectly formed red apples sitting in the middle of the round table. Strange how I didn’t notice them before, their symbolism being so obvious. For a fleeting moment I reflect how Eve must have felt when being tempted by the snake to eat the apple. Perhaps knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but also knowing intuitively that fate was clearing her path forward regardless of her own actions. Was she destined to play her role in the biblical story because the temptation was predetermined, beyond her control? Or was the choice she made solely of her own accord and she wanted to eat the apple to see what would happen? This internal debate is not helping my immediate dilemma.

      ‘I’m not sure what to do, Jeremy, I just don’t know.’

      Deep down, I know these words are the wrong ones to say to the man standing before me. Nonetheless, his response catches me completely off-guard.

      ‘I know I’m asking a lot, but remember; it was inspired by your lecture this afternoon. At the very least it will be a learning experience for you and I know you have never turned your back on continuing your education. I know how important it is to you. Think about what you ask your clients and students to go through to achieve personal growth. Is this so different? Except that I am asking you to go through it, instead of the other way around? I’m giving you the opportunity to understand first-hand the impact of lack of visual stimulation, to explore sensory deprivation for yourself, the very topic of your expertise. It may be the beginning of a whole new thesis for you, important research based around personal experience that you may have otherwise never considered.’ He pauses, assessing my response to his line of argument, which is at least thought-provoking. I reluctantly admit to myself that his proposal intrigues me, though I’m just not sure I’m brave enough or have the strength to explore it on such a personal level.

      ‘I don’t want you to leave here now. I want to be with you, to touch you, to connect with you.

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