Making things clear
1090 Words
The afternoon passed with relative calm, though Jeremy’s words, his strange look, and, of course, the conversation with Viviana echoed in my mind from time to time.
I tried my best to focus on my work, but when the clock struck the end of the workday, the relief was instant.
I gathered my things and headed to the parking lot. My car was in its usual spot, and I felt grateful for the routine.
I got in, started the engine, and adjusted the mirrors while deciding what to do for dinner. Something simple, maybe instant soup. I wasn’t in the mood to cook.
“I’m going home to rest. I won’t go to that meeting, even if it costs me this great job,” I told myself, looking at my reflection in the rearview mirror.
I took the route to my apartment, letting the music on the radio fill the silence.
Traffic was moderate, and I stopped at a red light that seemed eternal.
While I waited, my fingers tapped on the steering wheel, but my mind, as treacherous as ever, returned to the card.
Why would someone be so interested in me? Hadn’t that mysterious man been with women before?
Logic told me to ignore it, that it wasn’t my business.
But another part of me, one I couldn’t silence, insisted I should go—just to set things straight.
“This is crazy,” I said aloud.
But before I could convince myself otherwise, I turned on the blinker and exited onto the road leading to the hotel.
“Just to tell him I don’t want him contacting me again,” I repeated, as if saying it out loud would make my decision seem less impulsive.
The traffic thinned as I approached the city center. The lights from the buildings flickered, reflecting in the puddles left by the rain earlier.
The hotel wasn’t particularly luxurious, but it had an elegant, discreet air that made it stand out amidst the bustling streets.
I found a parking spot near the entrance and turned off the engine. I sat in the car for a few minutes, observing the building from a distance.
Part of me wanted to turn back, go home, and pretend none of this had happened.
But something inside me wouldn’t let me. Five minutes, I murmured, as I opened the door and stepped into the cool night air.
I walked into the lobby with confident strides, as if that could mask my nerves. I laughed at myself in that moment.
The receptionist barely glanced at me, busy with his screen. My eyes scanned the space until I spotted the elevators at the back.
Without overthinking, I headed toward them. I pressed the button and waited, feeling like every second stretched on forever.
When the doors finally opened, I stepped in quickly and pressed the floor number written on the card.
The elevator began its ascent, and with each passing floor, my heart beat faster.
“I just want to set things straight,” I reminded myself in a whisper, though the insecurity in my voice was evident.
When the doors opened on the designated floor, I stepped out and walked down the hallway. The lights were soft, casting shadows on the walls that seemed to shift with each step I took.
The room number appeared in front of me before I was ready. I stopped, staring at the door as if expecting something or someone to open it.
I took a deep breath. Five minutes, I repeated one last time before raising my hand to knock on the door.
The wood felt cold under my knuckles, and the sound echoed louder than I expected in the quiet hallway.
I waited, but in truth, I wasn’t expecting anything. I wished the door wouldn’t open.
I knocked again, this time a little harder.
A few seconds later, I heard footsteps on the other side of the door. My heart seemed ready to burst from my chest.
The lock turned, and the door opened slowly, revealing a figure I hadn’t expected.
My words caught in my throat, and all I could do was stand there, staring in disbelief.
When the door opened, the first thing I noticed was the dim light. The hallway lights faded behind me as the man closed the door, leaving the room nearly enveloped in darkness.
The only source of light came from a small lamp across the room, too weak to illuminate more than a corner.
The shadows filled the space with an air of intimacy that made me feel trapped.
He stood in front of me, his silhouette barely discernible in the gloom. I needed to see him clearly to know who he was; the lack of light made it impossible.
His deep, magnetic voice broke the silence. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I immediately tensed, planting my feet firmly on the ground to keep from stepping back. I tried to adopt a steady stance, though my heart pounded so loudly I feared he could hear it.
“I only came to make one thing very clear,” I began, my voice stronger than I expected. “You can’t ask me to come here or anywhere else. I’m not a woman who prostitutes herself—elegantly or otherwise.”
He laughed. A low, deep sound that reverberated in the air, filling the space between us.
That laugh wasn’t mocking or derisive, but it made me feel even more vulnerable, as if he knew something I didn’t.
“I know that perfectly well,” he replied with unsettling calm.
I frowned, feeling my indignation rise. Though I could barely make out his eyes, I could feel the way he looked at me—it left me disarmed.
“Good. That said, I have nothing more to discuss with you.”
I quickly turned, still standing in front of the door, ready to leave immediately. But before I could take a step, I felt his hand grab my arm.
His grip was strong but not aggressive. I couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp as he gently pulled me toward him and shut the door firmly behind me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice trembling as I tried to stay calm.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed me gently against the door, trapping me between the cold wood and his body.
His closeness was overwhelming; I could feel the heat radiating from him, his quickened breaths brushing against my skin.
- Writer
