by Caroline Day
I cannot follow her advice. There is no way to get back my life. I’m stuck on the stranger. The contract drew us together. I can’t leave now.
My life will not be the same even after the completion of the contract, no matter what I think...
Chapter 18.
I can't sleep at all this night. The neighbors behind the wall are having a noisy party, the moonlight is shining on my face unpleasantly. Did I have too much coffee on my way home? No, that's not the problem.
I settle myself in the bed, cover myself with a fluffy blanket, doing my best to fall asleep, but as soon as I close my eyes, Mr. Sullivan's face flashes in my mind. At first it has a serious expression, as at a recent lecture, when his sharp cheekbones were visible even from the last rows, then it became relaxed, and his eyes are sparkling, and then it starts smiling happily, as if I told him the good news and gave him inner peace.
That’s weird... I feel like I'm flying off the handle. Yes, my roof is definitely on fire. I don't know what else to call my current state, but I can't get a wink of sleep. That's just another delusion. But this is nothing compared to the ever-hovering thoughts in my head, the haunting memories of the past day. Some flash more often, running through my head again and again, some appear less often.
One of these memories is my intimacy with Sullivan. Well, not with Sullivan, but with the stranger. Though, it probably was... Heck, I feel confused. His strong shoulders burning under my hands, the first kiss that made me think only of his lips... He was wet. Hard. Spreading waves of pleasure throughout my body… One can hardly estimate shape of lips after only one kiss, so I am not able to attribute it to Sullivan or Dr. Connor. The only way to do it is to kiss both of them...
Heck! What am I thinking about?
I would never able to fall asleep after that. Anyway... What should I do? Dwell on my thoughts? Recall the hard day I had minute by minute? The intensity of emotions that swung me back and forth like a teetering board… Or, rather, like scales... First, one weighing scale goes down, then another... I guess I am going slightly mad, and that started long ago.
‘I always keep an eye on you, Donatella.’
Sounds romantic, right? Well, it would sound romantic if I heard it in a different place, from a guy, seeking for serious relationship. However, it doesn't sound romantic from a stranger who paid to have sex with me.
My conversation with Alice, or rather, her advice to abandon escort and stop humiliating myself, is still haunting my mind.
But I am already in business! I am bound by the treaty for the rest of this month, and I don't think I can escape. But if the opportunity presented itself, would I follow her advice? Would I be able to terminate these mysterious encounters? Would I leave the mystery unsolved? Would I deny myself the pleasure that is overwhelming me? Yes, I probably would.
‘Things may end up badly.’
I know it. I think of it during every damn encounter, I can’t stop thinking of it... But the main thing escapes my notice. I forgot about the reason why I’m doing it – to earn money and save Adam’s life. It eludes me as soon as I start recreating the image of the mystic stranger, comparing him with...
If I had focused on the man instead of my feelings, I would have solved the riddle. I would have realized who’s hiding from me.
In the pitch darkness lit only by moonlight and slowly falling snowflakes, my gaze falls upon the ringing phone. I wonder who stays up that late. Andrew. Sure, he’s working tonight until morning.
Andrew: ‘Get it and stop torturing yourself.’
This is what the message says, and there is an Instagram profile link lower. Mr. Sullivan's profile.
That’s an average social profile of an average person. Well, he is not just average, of course. His photos are great. Some were taken at lectures, at some ceremony – a crowded hall, an audience raised from the seats is applauding, while an elderly man is handing him a statuette.
‘Awards of Scientific Merit’.
He turns out to be smart. Well, I'm not surprised at that. No wonder he teaches at our University. Besides, he is good-looking. I'm sure the girls are crazy about him, his gorgeous body, tightly clung by a slightly wet t-shirt after jogging in the next photo. In this picture, Sullivan looks natural. His gaze was no longer so tense. The counterfeit severity faded away. There is a certain difference between him in everyday life and the person I saw in the University and met at our encounters...
I continues to look through the photos. I scroll through some photos without focusing on them, but the others capture my attention. For example, a picture of him and some man flexing their muscles tattooed with the same slogan... I am not sure what the slogan is about since the strong arms of men draw my attention.
The title of the photo says: ‘Having fun with my brother’.
What does he mean? Do they have fun building muscles or making the same tattoos, one – on his left arm, and another one – on his right arm? Besides, I have no idea which one of these men is my professor...
Then, things are getting interesting. I see a lot of pictures from his athletic training, his body half-naked... There are photos, taken at close range, at long range, back and front pictures, taken from different angles... His body is strong and perfect. He looks like an actor! Small beads of sweat are trickling down over his tanned broad shoulders, his strong chest, over his abs. They stick out so much, as if they were lined with shadows to impress girls... I should thank Andrew for sending me the link. I would never come up with the idea.
Wait a minute...
I: ‘Yeah, Adrian is a handsome. Anyway, I don't see why I need to see it.’
Andrew: ‘Compare and check your guesses, silly!’
I: ‘Do you think looking through his pictures would help me to find evidence?’
Andrew: ‘How about coming here? We have a great party, and we can search for evidence together.’
He attaches the photo as proof. My friend in his favorite hat and sunglasses smiles happily in the foreground, and in the background – Alex hugs a fair haired girl, and a huge crowd is dancing in the spotlight behind them.
I smile fleetingly, happy for my friends, but I feel in my heart that I am not in the mood to go somewhere right now. I don't want to spoil their fun.
I: ‘What time does your shift end? Could you come to me? I'd be really grateful.’
I know it's probably impossible. They might have hundreds of customers at Christmas time, but still… I don't often ask him for help.
Andrew: ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’
Thank you, my dear friend!
I probably should have agreed to Andrew's offer and gone to the club, but the endless stream of thoughts is bothering me. Everything – events, memories, feelings – has got all mixed up in my head. I need to have a rest. Fortunately, it's Christmas, so I have time to get my act together.
Andrew comes up an hour later, right at the time when my head is about to explode with guesses, memories, and images flashing before my eyes.
‘What have you got?’ My friend asks wearily, dropping his hat and glasses on the table and plopping down right next to me.
I realize suddenly that because of the overabundance of information in my head I’ve got...
‘Nothing.’
‘Really?’ Andrew asks, surprised. ‘Why did I come then?’
‘You told me to check my guesses, and I...’ I turn my face away from my friend, feeling that I am getting too emotional.
‘Well, then...’ He comes up to the rucksack that he left by the door, pulls out a bottle of whiskey, and goes back to me. ‘Have a drink.’
‘A bottle of whiskey? Really? Are you crazy?’
‘Take a couple of sips and stop whining!’
Andrew, keeping a stern, serious face, hands me the bottle, and after a certain hesitation I accept it. I unscrew a top, take a sip, then another sip. That’s enough for me. My throat is burning, a wave of heat penetrates into every cell of my body, envelops me, makes me plunge int
o glow. It leaves a nice taste in my mouth, and things around start blurring.
‘Do you feel better?’
‘I don't know,’ I reply him, trying to fix my eyes on his face.
‘Fine. Listen,’ he turns to me, takes my face in his hands, and says softly: ‘I sent you the link so that you would have stopped worrying and searching for him. You have to ensure whether he is your stranger or not. Have you found any evidence?’
His question made me stuck. There is no clear evidence. His scent? It has much in common, just like his voice, that makes me shudder. But isn't that enough? However, the same is true for Dr. Connor.
‘Then stop searching for him. Don't worry. Just work out the remaining three weeks and forget him like a nightmare.’
‘What if it's Sullivan?’ I yell at him, pushing his strong hands away. ‘How am I supposed to continue my studies? How should I look into his eyes? I was going to take his course next semester, by the way. What should I do?’
‘Stop it! Until you find hard evidence, there's no point in panicking and making up things that don't really exist.’
I know that I have to calm down, but I can't help it. My chest rises and falls, too sharply and too often. Lungs literally pushes out the air onto my friend's skin, and alcohol seems to fade away due to the surging emotions. The fleeting dizziness has faded away as soon as it emerged.
Actually, Andrew says things that make sense. I know that I should do as he asks, and I even repeat his instruction under my breath. I have to get him out of my mind. Stop searching for him.
Something inside me doesn't let me do it.
I feel like that search for the stranger has become my mission. I am like a damn private detective, a lousy detective, I should say...
Wait a minute!
‘Give it to me,’ I grab my phone, open Instagram and go back to the photo with Sullivan’s tattooed arm, the one where only men’s strong shoulders and pumped forearms are visible. I look at the tense muscles, at the black lettering, and notice the critical detail that I missed before.
I see an edge of a large mole on the back of the left shoulder of one of the men, which I discovered during our last intimacy. It is barely visible, I doubt anyone ever noticed it. But I saw it, even though at the second attempt. Well, I am sure now...
‘That's him! I am sure!’ I call out without looking at my half-asleep friend.
‘What?’
‘Look,’ I point to the shoulder. ‘I felt that mole during our last encounter, I touched it! I bet that’s him, Andrew! That's Sullivan! He is my stranger!’
‘Stop screaming like crazy,’ he hugs me, trying to comfort.
‘Stop screaming? Are you kidding?’ I'm in big trouble! Got it? He is... Just think...’
‘Hush! Calm down!’
Calm down? Really? I should never be able to do it again! I can't figure out what scares me more: the man that hides his personality for some reason or the fact that he attracts me.
I'm attracted to Mr. Sullivan…
This thought takes hold of me, makes me freeze in one position and stay still. Dear me!
‘Can I finally start panic?’
‘You'd better not,’ Andrew says in a relaxed voice. It looks like he doesn't understand my feelings at all! ‘Do you remember what I told you after the exam?’
‘What?’
‘It's no good for him to display... your relationship.’
‘But... How am I supposed to attend his lectures?’
‘How do you know he's going to be teaching here next semester? Anyway, you can choose another professor.’
‘But...’
‘Don't be scared, OK? Let's get some sleep now,’ Andrew closes his eyes and falls immediately asleep, leaving me completely alone. What about moral support? Much obliged, Andrew!
Well, it is easy to talk like that when you are not the one who's fucked by a professor for thirty thousand! I am the one! And I enjoy it, no matter how much I deny it. I forget myself in his arms! I enjoyed it physically, until I realized who he is.
‘I always keep an eye on you, Donatella.’
Unfortunately, he keeps his promise!
Heck!
Memories wrap me in a sort of aura, and various images are flashing in my mind. Vulgar, dirty images that make me feel a pleasant languor in the lower abdomen. But now, instead of my fancy ideas of the stranger’s appearance, the professor’s face is flashing before my eyes. His dark, burning eyes, sly smile, and strong arms with protruding blue-purple veins that squeeze my skin, making it red and causing slight pain.
Andrew was right, I wish I'd left it as it was, never searched for him, never guessed who was hiding behind the silk blindfold. It would be easier to finish the... ‘job’. And now...
The pumped, rippling muscles are still glowing on the screen of my phone, perfect as if it's a sort of anatomical chart. Yes, I have to admit that he is handsome. I could admire him, watching his photos for ages, but a weird idea comes to my mind. I know I will regret it one day. But not now.
I: ‘I know who you are.’
Anonymous: ‘Who am I then?’
Should I reply? That's probably a bad idea.
I: ‘Adrian Sullivan.’
There is neither response nor sign of ‘Typing message’, no matter how hard I’m peering at the screen. Five minutes pass. Then another five minutes pass and nothing happens. I am about to follow Andrew's advice and fall in the arms of Morpheus in a desperate hope to fall asleep finally, when a new message emerges on the screen.
Anonymous: ‘You are a lousy detective.’
A crying-with-laughter emoticon is in the end of the text. Liar!
I: ‘No need to deny! I recognized you!’
Anonymous: ‘How?’
Should I say it or not? I hold my finger over the Send button for a while, but after a while, I hesitantly touch it.
I: ‘It doesn't matter. I don't believe you.’
Anonymous: ‘As you wish. Just don't get stuck in thoughts about sex.’
Is that all? Really? I know his identity, I can tell everyone that he paid a student for having sex! I can say that he forced me to take that step but he doesn't care! Damned Sullivan!
I: ‘Why do you need me?’
Anonymous: ‘You offered your body for sale, I accepted the offer. Any other questions?’
He’s asking me? I have a million questions! Although after I found out who he is, some of these questions vanished. He could get the information about my brother and price for his treatment at the Dean's office. But how did he find me on the escort site if I registered under a pseudonym, and my face is not visible in the photo? How does he have so much money to pay thirty thousand for fucking an ordinary girl? There are a lot of pretty girls in the University, and I bet most of them would be happy to sleep with him for free.
Why did he choose me? He never answered that question.
I: ‘I know who you are, so you are not going to hide your face from me anymore, right?’
Anonymous: ‘Wrong.’
I: ‘Why?’
Anonymous: ‘I am a public figure. I don't want a student to dish the dirt.’
A terrifying thought creeps into my head – what if I made a mistake? It could be just a coincidence! Then my evidence sucks! No way, that’s him. I know it.
I: ‘You could have put in a non-disclosure clause to avoid that problem.’
Anonymous: ‘That's for wimps. I know you’ll never tell anyone about me.’
What a self-confident bastard! He's already said that before, and I don't want to ask what makes him think that he can trust me. We are not in love; we just have sex under the contract and enjoy each other too much.
Anonymous: ‘I’ll send you a package tomorrow. You must get it personally.’
I: ‘Why? Does it contain something important?’
Anonymous: ‘Only for you. Congratulations with successful completion of the semester, Donatella.’
That’s it! Here is another proof that he
is Sullivan! Who else can know that stuff if the exam results are posted tomorrow?
I feel sleepy for the first time in many hours, but the thoughts of the new professor are still running through my head. I am definitely trapped. I will be lucky if this month ends without any consequences and scandals. I am not sure that we will be able to pretend that nothing is happening between us.
I know in my heart that it is impossible. Pressure of these thoughts and mind games is about to break me, and that man will break my fragile body, and burn my soul. He will break my heart.
We’ll stay on the ruins of our lives until we are reborn as one…
Chapter 19.
‘Wake up, sleepy-head!’ my friend’s voice reaches me through the dark haze. He sounds cheerful and sober, unlike me.
‘Oh no…’
‘Wake up, Lo! Don't you want to inquire how you finished the semester?’
I already know it. Fine. Adrian told me about that yesterday. If that was not a dream… If he didn’t lie to me… If that was him at the other end... Heck!
‘Damn it!’ I exclaim, shooting up from the bed. Damn! The light is too bright! My perfect eyes are not used to daylight, while my mind is not used to the fact that my mysterious stranger is Mr. Sullivan.
‘What’s wrong? ‘Are you worried about yesterday?’ Andrew glances at me shrewdly through the reflection in the mirror.
‘You’re right.’
‘I told you not to worry. It's unlikely that you will meet up until the beginning of the semester.’
I am not sure about that. He may walk along the halls of the University today, he may come to the Dean's office. He may take revenge for what I’ve found out and make sure I didn't say a word about him! What a mess!
‘What if...’
‘Let's solve problems as they come, okay? Now get ready and let's go to the University.’
‘Fine,’ I mutter under my breath, trying to get out of the bed. That's weird – I have neither headache nor hangover, but I am terribly thirsty.
