The act was over, and a languid silence wrapped the room. The man pulled away from me, took a shower, dried off with a towel, and grabbed a fresh beer from the fridge.
As for me, covered in sweat, semen, and his scent, I lay face down on the floor, unable to move. Every muscle in my body was slack, enveloped in a pleasant exhaustion and the heat that still lingered deep inside.
The man sat down next to me and pressed the cold beer can against my cheek.
“…Want some?”
He loosened the towel in my mouth just a little. My throat was parched, so I greedily slurped the remains of the beer. The cold liquid washed down my throat, soaking into my flushed body.
“You’re surprisingly obedient.”
He gave a short laugh and patted my head with a rough hand. I found myself feeling a strange sense of security at the touch of his rugged palm. The term Stockholm Syndrome flashed through my mind, but for now, I just wanted to surrender myself to this time with this dangerous man.
The window began to turn white with the morning light, and the chirping of sparrows drifted in. It was dawn.
The man stood up and began to get ready. He put on his scattered clothes and stuffed the remaining bread from the plastic bag into his pocket.
The look he gave me was devoid of last night’s passion; his eyes had returned to the cold, calculating look of a fugitive.
“That was a pretty fun night.”
He pulled a few bills from my wallet and shoved them into his pocket. He didn’t take everything. I wondered if that was his personal code, or perhaps payment for my services.
He headed for the entrance. Relief that I survived mixed with a powerful, chest-tightening loneliness that I was being left behind. Bound as I was, I desperately followed his back with my eyes.
He put his hand on the doorknob and looked back just once.
“Call the cops if you want. I won’t be here anymore.”
There seemed to be a faint smile on his face.
Click.
The door opened, and the sound of the heavy iron door closing echoed. The sound of the lock turning signaled a definitive farewell.
Total silence returned. The morning sun mercilessly poured into the room, illuminating the traces of last night’s disgrace—the stains on the floor, the disheveled clothes, and my figure, still miserably bound.
“Nn… guh…”
As I shifted, the ropes, which I had spent the whole night getting used to, bit into my skin again. My stamina was depleted from the night’s activities; there was no way I could untie them on my own.
Pressing my face against the floor, I focused on the lingering traces of him. The pain and heat remaining in my body, and the hole left in my heart. My daily life as a semi-pro football player would return. But the memories of this night would be carved into my heart forever, just like the marks of the rope.
I closed my eyes, searching endlessly for the presence of the man drifting further and further away.
