12
En Route for Mauritius
I wake up before the Captain. Sliding carefully up the bed to sit against the pillows, I look down at him. I love this man, but things between us were off-kilter last night. He’s always admired my hair. Said how much he loves long hair on women. That it’s more feminine and downright sexy. So when he asked me—no, instructed me—to have my hair cut short I was taken aback. First that he should want me to have it cut and, secondly, because of the way in which he told me, as if I was his to command. It was not a request, nor was he persuading me; he was ordering me to have it cut.
I watch him lying here beside me, lost in sleep, his chest rising and falling softly as he breathes. He looks gentle and caring, and he is most of the time. But now and then of late he has
