Have You Changed Your Mind?

I opened the door, got out, and heard the sound of waves lapping against the shore. Which was a surprise. Lisbern was a coastal city. Developers had staked their claims of the waterfront a long time ago. Hotels, upscale restaurants and luxury apartment blocks dotted the 360-hectare stretch of prime real estate. There were very few single-detached houses left here. And I was standing in front of one. It wasn’t so much a house as it was a villa. A cobblestoned driveway led up to a two-storey bungalow, with a lawn and a swimming pool in front. No other house was in sight. Was Hannibal Lectre rich? I wondered. This was shaping up more and more like the opening scenes of a horror movie. Would I live to see the sun tomorrow? ‘Come on.’ The stranger parked his car and led the way to the front door. I touched my arm. My skin felt cold and clammy. Whether it was from the night breeze or fear, I couldn’t tell. But it was too late to back out now. The invisible hand of fate propelled me forward. I followed him. He placed his thumb on the fingerprint door lock. The door clicked open. He went in and, two seconds later, light flooded the foyer. I squinted in the bright chandelier light. The living room was clean, minimalist and monochrome. Everything was in black, white or shades of grey. White ceiling, white walls, white display case. Black sofas, black coffee table, black TV cabinet. Grey carpets and area rugs. It was obvious that no woman lived here. He changed out of his leather shoes into a pair of indoor slippers. He brought me another pair, identical to his. They were at least one and a half sizes too big for me. ‘Are you hungry? Thirsty? Need a drink?’ He still wore his cap indoors. ‘No, I’m good.’ ‘Shall we go upstairs then?’ I nodded, following him mechanically. A clock somewhere chimed once. In the past, Landon would work himself up into a lather if I weren’t home by this hour. But tonight, he watched me leave the house, didn’t chase after me, didn’t come out to look for me. He probably didn’t care if I lived or died. In that case, why should I feel guilty about stepping out on him? I dismissed the last shred of qualms and headed up the winding staircase. The master bedroom was huge. He didn’t turn on the light. A glass sliding door offered a breathtaking view of the ocean. I moved towards the balcony, keen to drink in the view. Two powerful arms wrapped themselves around my waist. His breath was hot against my ear. ‘Let’s begin. I can’t wait.’ His voice sent a tingle down my spine. The close physical proximity gave me goosebumps. I tilted my head, trying to move away from the source of the heat. Did men have higher body temperatures than women? The skin-to-skin contact was conducting heat to my face. My cheeks were burning up. But his arms were like oversized clamps. I couldn’t move an inch. Something else soon drew my attention away. I felt another source of heat behind me, much hotter than the one up top. ‘I w-want…I want to take a shower first.’ I swallowed hard. My voice had gone hoarse. I hoped he didn’t notice the quaver in it. He buried his head on my shoulder and didn’t speak. A long while later, he let go of me. ‘Bathroom’s the second door to your right. There are fresh towels inside.’ I sucked in several quick breaths. I hadn’t realised my heart was thumping. I saw the door he was pointing at, fled into the bathroom and shut the door. I fumbled for the light switch. The face that stared back at me from the mirror looked like a stranger’s. My face was flushed. My hair was a mess. My knee-length dress was rumpled. The bathroom was decorated in the same style as the living room downstairs—all black and white and shades of grey. A stark contrast to my bathroom back home. A sharp reminder that I was standing in a stranger’s bathroom. A stranger I was about to have sex with. Landon and I dated for four years. We had been married for two. A friend jokingly reminded me to look out for the seven-year itch. But I was never worried. Landon would never cheat on me. He could barely tolerate holding my hands—me, the woman he loved. How could he stomach touching someone else? It took him six years to make it to first base—closed mouth, no tongue. He’d never touched my breasts, let alone any part further south. While we slept in the same bed, we each had our own blanket. But tonight, I was about to go all the way with a stranger. I couldn’t tell whether it was the first-time jitters, or cold feet, or the last vestiges of a conscience acting up, but I stayed in the bathroom for a long time. Almost a full hour. The skin on my fingers got all wrinkly from being soaked in water for too long. Then a gentle knock came on the door. I turned off the shower, grabbed a big fluffy towel from a rack, and steeled myself. It was too late to back out now. I was being ridiculous. I got in his car. I followed him into the house. I walked into his bedroom. No one drugged me. No one put a gun to my head. Why was I dragging my feet now? I told myself I wasn’t going to chicken out. He was standing right outside the door when I opened it. ‘I can drive you home if you’ve changed your mind.’