As Zelda sat on the couch, a sudden memory crashed into her mind like a wave. She recalled a time, two months ago, when James had briefly returned for a meeting. He was supposed to fly back out that same night, but Zelda had managed to convince him to at least go home and change before his flight. She remembered how she had hoped to get him to stay longer, maybe even spend the night with her. She had pleaded with him, her voice soft but insistent,
"Why don’t you spend a little time with me? You’ve been gone for months."
James had looked back at her, his eyes unreadable, and asked, "You’re horny, aren’t you?"
The question had stung, but Zelda hadn’t responded. When he approached her, his touch had been both possessive and unyielding, a force she couldn’t resist. That night, their
