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Pressure. It was the first thing I felt when my body began to wake. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know what it was; but even if my mind wanted to flee from every thought surrounding it, it was inevitable. A large hand gripping my ribs, while a strong arm kept me pinned in place. I tried to move, to break free from the embrace, only to have my body pulled back against the person holding me there. Warm skin against mine, which was cold from the room's temperature, made me shiver. Even unconscious, that damn woman messed with my body’s reactions.
I forced my body against that hold in which thousands of women in this country and around the world would love to be. I sat up in bed, the cold leaving my body sensitive. I leaned down to pick up her button-down shirt from the floor — the sleeves were far too long, leaving me lost in so much fabric — and snatched my panties on the way to the bathroom.
Messy red strands contrasted with a mark peeping through the neckline of the open buttons. I pulled the fabric back to see the mark she had left: it was like a galaxy of lust in all its shades. With my eyes fixed on the mirror, I let my fingertips trace the vestige of last night. It had been different. It had been different the last few times. It was as if she were rediscovering my body; her dark eyes, which were always full of lasciviousness, now held something I preferred not to name, but it was similar to the heat I felt when the weight of her arm kept me close.
What we had wasn't a relationship, but it didn't feel like the agreement I had defined at the start anymore either. We spent several nights together and I knew she had turned down other models — it was all I heard backstage. When we worked together and other models approached, she treated them with indifference, casting a look of such contempt at anyone who invaded her personal space that, more than once, I had to suppress a laugh.
Kris had been a turning point. That disastrous night had ended with yet another attempt of mine to put an end to that awkward arrangement. The push-and-pull we kept up for weeks was actually fun at first; but having to deal with Prim and Bambi nearly merging in the middle of Blossom was already hard enough. Added to that, seeing Kris sing that song that seemed far too good to be inspired by someone as superficial as Shasha, plus the two of them flirting brazenly as if I were just another bar decoration... it was too much. I almost gave in to the kiss of that woman who seemed so small on the crimson-sheeted bed. Almost. But the anger it all brought me turned almost all that attraction into hate.
However, Shasha knew exactly where to go to bring me back.
I woke up the next day with a heavy head, but my mother’s laughter brought me lightness, at least until I saw the source of her good mood. She spoke excitedly about how 'Shashasha' was so funny and had even brought flowers. My mother gave a complicit smile to the model as she left the kitchen, patting my arm. Shasha responded with that cocky but sincere smile; that stayed marked in my mind and, for a moment, I almost forgot what had happened the night before.
So here I was again, in the most sought-after penthouse in Bangkok, with one of the biggest rising models in the country. The imposing figure everyone respected, but who turned into a whiny kitten when she wanted her long-awaited morning snuggles. I can't explain how those devilish eyes became so soft when she asked to hold me before making our breakfast.
Thump. Thump, thump. Thump.
I dragged my fingers from the mark that had made me wander through memories until I pressed my palm against my own chest. Remembering how warm and comfortable she could be made my heart falter more than any clothes she might wear, or the lack thereof. And that was terrifying. We had an agreement and I, in a consciously stupid way, was still waiting for Prim. I felt it in my bones that sooner or later Bambi would slip up, and that would be my chance. After all, it was Shasha who offered herself as a pastime... and why say no, when on the very first night I discovered the true reason for her fame?
My thoughts were cut short when two long arms wrapped around my waist. The weight of a head fell onto my shoulder, her nose tucked into the curve of my neck.
— Shasha… — My tone was one of fake irritation. I already knew it would be the first thing she’d do upon waking; it was truly becoming a habit.
— You complain too much. We should have the contract for this agreement of yours in writing… — I watched her through the mirror. My lips betrayed me, their corners turning up into a discreet smile. — That way, I could put in a 'cuddling clause' as payment for this incredible breakfast.
I slapped her arm and almost pulled away, but she turned me to face her.
— You think quite highly of yourself, calling your weak coffee "incredible."
— Then let it be payment for the multiple orgasms I provide you.
I made a face and pulled away for good.
— You’re disgusting, Shasha… — I said as I ran to the bathroom, slamming the door in her face.
I heard her laughter fading as I smiled to myself, forehead pressed against the cold wooden surface. She hadn't lied about that; the coffee might be weak, but the desire that woman felt for me was strong and full-bodied. When I stepped out of the shower, wearing the robe she had bought specifically for me — hers were always too big — my clothes were already folded on the counter by the sink. There was no longer any sign of the model.
Thump. Thump, thump. Thump.
Once again, the heart wanting to meddle in a matter it should stay out of. I dried my hair, got dressed, and brushed my teeth with the brush she had set aside for me. When I put it back in the holder, I looked at the other one she had also bought for me: conventional and simple. Everything involving Shasha was my choice; it was how I wanted, when I wanted, and the way I wanted.
I looked at myself in the reflection again. I should just be using that superficial woman who was out of my league. Everyone was warning me: Prim, Shasha's manager, and even Bambi said that one day I would be discarded. Even if it wasn't what the model showed me, I knew it was temporary. I was just the interest of the moment.
I went downstairs with my stomach in knots. I was in a game that was far too dangerous; it was time for a recovery break. Shasha was just a placeholder, nothing more.
— I want to see you say my coffee is weak today… — She approached with a cup in hand. — I called your mother and asked for a tip or two…
— You called my mother? — My voice sounded confused, thick.
— Yeah, she even sent a kiss.
She went to lean in for a kiss, but I dodged it with a rage that came from I didn't know where.
— Don’t bring my mother into this, Shasha.
— It was a joke, I didn't call anyone... — She set the cup on the table, trying to step closer, concerned.
My mind spun. I knew my mother would adore that woman who would soon discard me. She didn't have the right to involve my parents in this. I didn't have the right to involve them in this madness I had put myself in.
— I’m leaving now. — I stepped toward her as she stood there, not understanding anything. I felt my eyes stinging and, on impulse, I leaned in and kissed her jawline softly. — Thank you, Shasha.
I didn't give her time to react. I hurried through the front door, carrying my shoes in my hand so there was no room for a reaction or for her to stop me — as she did every time I tried to leave.
This time it wasn't an empty promise. I would leave before that flame became a wildfire. Already in the elevator, I took out my phone and slid my finger until I found the contact I wanted.
— P’Mor, is that spot at the New York atelier still available? — The tears began to flow. — Thank you, P’Mor. I’ll settle everything tomorrow.
It was the end of that confusing chapter. I needed to get out of the whirlpool that was slowly drowning me. When I was safe and sound, I would understand what was reality and what was just desperation. In that moment, I chose myself.