Learning to Trust Part 2: Full Submission (2 page)

I went out to eat by myself Saturday night, once again staring at every happy couple like they were the luckiest people on earth. Even though they probably had their own struggles that I would have deemed petty and annoying, they
knew
what they had
—
and I had
no idea
in my situation
.
Did I have anything at all
asid
e from one very fiery encounter? Assuming seemed like a very dangerous choice. I guess that meant I had
nothing
, if I was going to be realistic.

This internal back and forth just served to remind me that
the whole
eating out alone
thin
g hadn't been a very good idea, once again
. I went home defeated, drinking a bottle of wine in my room until I passed out.

Sunday
I decided to go shopping, realizing that my microscopic
collection of casual outfits
probably wasn't adequate for the rest of my time with Roland. I picked out some cute dresses and skirts, some low-cut shirts and jeans, just seeking comfort like he had
demanded
. It was kind of fun, something that actually loosened that noose of confusion around my neck. I felt like I could finally breathe again.

I spent hours looking through the racks of clothes, trying on anything that I wanted to. I had no time limits, no restraints, nothing to hold me back. I got som
ething to eat, but I took it to-
go, not wanting to sit alone in a restaurant
of
happy people
again.

I would see Roland the next day and it would
mean something
. I was certain I'd have some sort of incredible personal awakening
—
and oh yeah, I'd get a great story at the end of it. It was amazing to me that I kept forgetting about my job, literally the only thing that
I'd cared about
for almost 10 years. One very passionate encounter with a man
and suddenly I forgot who I was and what I cared about.

What business did I have getting intimately involved with a source? Everything I knew about journalism told me an unwavering no when it came to the methods I was employing. But I was confused—was this for
me
or a
story
? How could I truly remain unbiased in these circumstances? What good could really surface from this arrangement? All of the controversy aside, Roland’s request for my trust seemed to calm my nerves when confusion felt like it could kill me.

Fear and curiosity began to blend in my mind as Sunday passed me by. What sort of difficulty was Roland talking about? It’s not like I feared for my life, but I also just
didn’t know
. Men were confusing—especially the rich ones.
No more,
I thought to myself. Whether I actually liked Roland or not, he was having his way with me—right now.

I kne
w that he chose his words wisely, intending for them to keep me awake at night. He wanted them to burn in my brain like embers in a campfire—you know, the ones that just won’t seem to go out
, even after the rest of the fire had vanished
.
I needed to let it go until the next day.
I had been through so much on my own thus far, so what was this after all?

I would make it
out
just fine, right
?

***

Monday rolled around quickly after my
wine
drinking began Sunday night. I really disliked the fact that I was drinking to numb the pain of my life, using it as a way to hide from the questions that I didn’t have answers to. It felt like a crutch, one that I did my best to deny the next morning when I was
hung over
.
I was grumpy as hell when I rolled out of bed, desperately clutching for my water bottle. As usual, I hadn’t consumed enough
of that
precious resource
before passing out.

Oh
,
dehydration
!

It took me a long time to get out of bed, my thoughts drowned out by my
screaming
brain.

I stared at myself in the
full bathroom
mirror, ashamed of the dark circles around my eyes and my overly sullen look. I felt as dead as I looked, like a walking corpse or something else that had just stumbled out of a graveyard and wound up in my bed. I stood in the shower for
a good five
minutes before I realized I hadn’t even turned the water on.

When I finally realized my error, my hand shot out reflexively and quickly rotated both knobs
, releasing water onto my body—
it was
too hot when it hit me
and I screamed, the scalding liquid stinging against my skin. I nearly stumbled out of the shower, stabilizing myself with that same metal rack I had used for stability the other day
(during much happier times, might I add!)
while my other hand fumbled with the knobs until the temperature was more appropriate.
Great way to wake yourself up, Marisa.

I made myself up nice and headed down to the lobby to guzzle as much free coffee as my stomach could possibly handle prior to eating. I looked like shit and felt like shit, and until I got my coffee, it was just going to have to be that way.

Once my caffeine buzz had set in
—I drank quickly since the coffee wasn't that hot anymore—
I figured it was okay to eat. I kept the meal small, realizing tha
t my stomach was feeling
slightly upset, a combination of harsh realization and an overabundance of
caffeine
.

Mentally, I was still exactly where I was the previous day, a woman without a clue what to do, a woman that felt
in trouble
due to her own crummy choices.
I left the hotel lobby and went back to my room shortly after that. I wasn’t going to sit there in public and mourn my poor
decisions
from the previous night and my uncertainty about today.

Realizing that I couldn’t wait anymore, I put on one of my most comfortable outfits—a pair of jeans and a tank-top—and got in my car to make a slow drive out to Roland’s house. I just couldn’t
stand it.
No more waiting
.

Even though I'd made the trip multiple times now, today was the first day that I actually noticed the beautiful scenery as I drove. Normally I was in a hurry, hoping not to be late. Y'know, trying to make sure the really rich guy didn't have to wait an extra second. They all told me that
time is money
, a statement I'd learned to loathe.
However, I was early—I actually had the time today to look at the rolling hills and rocky surface of the mountains that loomed over the horizon, huge formations that were nearly invisible from within the city.
Roland didn't live that far out of town, but it was still far enough that it was a considerable aesthetic change. He wanted some seclusion for sure—but not so much that you could only reach him via helicopter. And with his money, he probably could have done that anyway.

When I got to his driveway, I found the gate already opened. When I saw the house, my heart started to pound, threatening to burst right out of my chest. Ugh, my mouth was dry too. After parking, I quickly downed all of my water and took a deep breath as I swallowed. I was here for business
and
pleasure. I needed to relax. Roland knew that he was leaving me to think, to debate, to agonize.
He was going to push me to my limits—and I realized that pretty quickly.
I wanted his dirt and he wanted mine.

I was 20 minutes early and figured I should probably wait until the right time. I stared out the window at the house; it was such a beautiful mansion, one that I couldn't have even conceptualized if I had the money to build it. Suddenly a figure tapped on the window. I
yelped and faced the intruder—i
t was Roland.

"Roland!" I cried, my heart beating even faster than it had when I saw his house.

"Ah, Marisa! So nice to see you here. I figured that you might arrive early." He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt again,
almost identical to
the first day.

"Yeah, I just didn't have anything to do."

"I hope you weren't
bored
," he said. "I can't stand it when people say that. Such a lovely world. So much to do and see.
If people read books whenever they said they were
bored
, we'd all be a lot better off."

His voice actually tickled me as he talked, his words
acting like a feather inside of me
. "Yeah, you're right about that," I said, giggling. "I swear I wasn't bored! I just was anxious to get started."

"Ah, well, we're going to go to another part of the house today. Do follow me when you're ready." He turned around and slowly walked toward the side of the house, a side I hadn't yet seen.

Where was he taking me if it couldn't be accessed from the main door?

I immediately started to get nervous again and wished that I hadn't downed my entire water all at once. For a minute, I had forgotten about our last encounter, totally fixated on the one that was about to happen.
This man had taken me on his couch, something I had allowed him to do. Well, mostly allowed him to do. Why was I so worried about today?
Shouldn't I trust him by now
?

I basically threw myself out of the car and onto my feet, my balance wobbly as my legs adjusted to the sudden weight they were carrying. I closed the door and trotted after him, following along the fence that ran from the front porch to his garage area. He opened a gate
and we walked through, pausing after I passed to ensure
that the opening was closed securely behind him.

I fought to control my heartbeat, trying my damndest
not to freak out
.
Okay, you trust this guy, Marisa. Relax.
Despite my wild imagination, he hadn't
even done anything
crazy yet.

Well, that was about to change fast.

"Come in through this side door. We've got some stairs ahead of us."

I walked in as he turned on the light, surprised at how far down the stairs went. It was like there was a bunker under his house or something.

"I know what you're thinking, Marisa—a bunker. Well, you're absolutely right. My dad built this during the whole red scare business. I use it for slightly different purposes now."

I laughed. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

"
Everyone
thinks that," he said.

Okay, good. I'm apparently not the first person to come down here. Or he's done whatever he's going to do to me to a lot of other people before me...

"Marisa, quiet down that mind of yours. I can tell how hard you're thinking by that look in your eyes. You'll go home safely tonight, I promise you that."

His words cal
med me. However, his consistency in knowing
what I was thinking was maybe a little spooky. "Okay, Roland."

We walked down what seemed like several winding flights of stairs, going in a circular pattern. I couldn't see in front of me, so I had no idea how much further we had to go—or how far we'd gone already.
When there were no more stairs, we walked down a
short
hallway, finally arriving at a big steel door.

"Sorry about all the traveling," he said. "I just have my privacy, you know?" He unlocked the door with a key he had in his pocket, turning it until I heard several loud
clanks
from deadbolts releasing. Roland pulled the heavy steel door open and flipped on a light switch. Fluorescent lights came to life slowly, one-by-one, until the whole chamber was lit.

I couldn't believe what
I was seeing. This room was three
times larger than my entire
apartment
—and it was filled with whips, chains, tables, mats on the floor, and various other stuff that one might use to tor
ture someone else. This was
a
dungeon
.
I walked inside, not even thinking, so overtaken by this incredibly foreign and mysterious room. The walls were dull grey and went on forever, blending into the same grey color of the floor. His toys were the real excitement, not the room. No, this dungeon would probably never get a
makeover
, nor did it need one in Roland's mind.

"R-r-r-roland," I muttered. "What the hell is this?"
He closed the door as I spoke, putting the deadbolts back into place behind us and turned a lock with his key—on the
inside
of the door.

"It's not what it looks like, dear. I don't torture anyone down here—unless they ask for it." He smiled brightly as if his comment should comfort me for some rea
son,
proudly
standing next to the freshly locked door
as if
it was some sort of accomplishment