Page 15 of The Crimson Lily

B laaaaarghhhhhhh!

The greatest of migraines. I wake up, woozy, and I feel like I want to die. I check my phone, which I’ve meticulously placed by my nightstand. I thank past Liliana for being so self-preserving while still being so drunk.

Shit! How long have I slept? I raise my upper body in a flash and take a second to analyze my surroundings.

I didn’t notice the cream walls with decorative arches before.

I know the floor is carpet, but I can now see the color, this purplish light brown.

I’m surprised I didn’t wake up earlier from the faded green velvet curtains being wide open.

The sunlight is raining into the room and especially pouring onto my head. And speaking of how late it is…

I turn around to check on Maksim; he’s gone. No sign of him. I unthinkingly tap the right side of the bed with my hand, just to make sure he isn’t there. There are no folds, no mislaid or misplaced sheet by my side. I doubt he even spent the night with me at all.

I roll to the middle of the bed and start a staring contest with the ceiling.

It’s judging me. The events of last night race by, and I remember the Belgian diamond guy, the lady in blue, the two daffodils in cocktail dresses, the food, William, Mr. Zhang…

?My memory isn’t particularly in the correct order, but I pretty much remember everything.

And I instantly feel bad. I kissed Maksim last night.

I start feeling stupid again, beating myself up and all of that.

I rub my eyes with my fingers, massaging both sides of my face in a foolish attempt to get rid of this miserable headache.

The conversation with Mr. Zhang echoes in place, and I suddenly remember how Maksim disappeared with him.

Maksim came back with the dagger’s location, but what has he possibly done to get this information?

I’m not feeling stupid anymore. Instead, I have this faint shadow of fear covering me.

I am picturing Maksim beating the hell out of Yi Zhang.

I am picturing Maksim, a gun to Yi Zhang’s temple, threatening to take his life if he wouldn’t comply.

I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to think about this anymore.

Because it’s not Yi Zhang I am seeing anymore—it’s me, back in my apartment in New York, tied up to a chair, Maksim’s grip around my face.

The image whirls and changes to Maksim, in the Opera hotel, his hand pressing my shoulders into the wall.

Me pleading, begging him to let me go. However, as I strive to scratch these images out of my mind, they whirl again and change to last night, to the moment he ridded me of my dress.

To the way I felt his lips on the crook of my neck.

Or was it a figment of my craving imagination?

In any case, the image of him sliding my dress down my legs is all I can see.

I close my eyes, focusing on that one particular moment where my body cried out for him.

I picture him, Maksim, turning me around and leading me to the nearest wall.

I see him, still at my feet from pulling the dress down, his hands creeping up my thighs.

His face, right before the center of me, complemented with a smirk, and his eyes raised to me.

I see him right there, his lips kissing between my thighs, gently making his way to his target.

I feel it, his tongue swirling into me, giving me an intense pleasure that I need more than anything else right now.

My fingers run through his black hair. He stays there, giving me this brief moment of rapture, until I reach the pinnacle of pleasure.

The longer I hold my eyes closed, the clearer the images become, and now my hand has already slipped between my thighs.

I arch my back, sinking deeper into the bed, keeping my eyes closed.

I let out a soft moan, then, instinctively, unsure of what I’m doing and letting my urges drive me, I bring my free hand to my neck.

The pictures have changed from Maksim on his knees to Maksim on top of me, his big hand around my neck, pressing, stealing my ability to breathe.

I focus on the sensation of him taking my breath away, literally.

I have no idea what has gotten into me, but seeing him like this, imagining that the hand around my neck isn’t mine, sends me on a wave of pleasure I swear I’ve never felt before.

Not like this anyway. I moan loudly. I call out his name.

I didn’t want to do that, but it just happened with the burst of ecstasy that coursed through my blood.

My body still writhes, but as I’m slowly recovering, I feel watched for a split second, observed, like prey being tracked by a voracious predator.

Knock, knock, knock.

Fuck!

I instantly bounce out of bed. I’m naked, I feel clumsy, my hair is all over the place, my breasts feel sore, and I need to hide.

Before I can get to the bathroom to steal a bathrobe, the door opens, and Maksim walks in.

Shit, shit, shit! I am standing in the middle of the room, basically naked, greeting the man I just touched myself to with one arm hiding my breasts and the other moving awkwardly to cover my belly.

He wears a white T-shirt again with jeans. A typical summer outfit for a man who doesn’t really seem to like shorts. His black hair is no longer combed, and I notice he actually has curls. He carries a cup holder tray with two Styrofoam cups full of coffee. I can smell it from here.

“Check out is at twelve,” he states.

I just look at him with mouth agape, thinking I should really go wash myself before he notices something. Did he hear me from outside? The thought crosses my mind and makes me instantaneously blush.

“I…?was waiting for you,” I say, lying out of my teeth.

He doesn’t respond and simply hands me a cup of coffee, which I grab, then realize my breasts are now free again.

I swear I see a little playful light in his eyes for a second.

Oh, what the hell. This situation can’t get any worse.

I place the cup on the coffee table by the chairs, quickly pop into the bathroom to do what I have to do, then return, still basically naked, pick up the cup of coffee, and sit on the bed.

I don’t even look at him. I just gesticulate around like he doesn’t exist.

“I brought you some clothes,” he announces as he places a bag on a chair that looks like a smaller version of his duffle bag.

I ignore him. My head turns to the window while sipping on that amazing coffee. “Did you bring some aspirin too?” I ask, distancing myself.

He walks up to me and hands me a box full of my favorite white pills on this trip. He also holds a water bottle close to my face.

“Thank you,” I say before gulping down two pills and a large sip of Evian, then pursue my quest to finish that coffee.

But then, curiosity takes over, and I really want to know what these clothes are about.

I stand up and go check the bag. These are actually my clothes.

He brought my jeans, one of my black tank tops, my white lace bra and matching thong, my sneakers, and even a pair of socks.

I feel more surprised that he thought of everything than offended that he actually went through my stuff.

I don’t even wonder at this point when or how or why he even went back to the Opera to get all this.

He did pick the tightest tank top and the sexiest bra out of all my stuff, so I’m wondering if he did that on purpose or if it’s mere coincidence.

I dive into my clothes, happy to be back in comfort again.

My feet are tired, but oh well, there are worse things in life.

I carefully slip my evening dress and pumps into the same bag.

Maybe I need to keep them in case I’m ever invited to an artists’ reception again.

When I turn back to Maksim, he’s checking me out with his intense blue eyes.

The tank top is really tight; my breasts look at least twice as big as usual.

I actually like the way he looks at me, but when I notice he’s clenched his fist a little, Mr. Zhang’s face instantly pops into my head.

“What did you do yesterday with Mr. Zhang?” I just have to ask. I’m getting anxious about what the answer is going to be.

He doesn’t reply. Typical.

“Did you do to him what you did to me?” I challenge, crossing my arms and raising my chin to him.

He holds my gaze for a minute, then stands from the chair.

“That’s none of your business,” he declares, stern, not letting me respond.

I am silenced. I know I’m not allowed to ask anything more on this subject. I first twitch my nose at him to express my vexation, then sigh in capitulation and lower my arms.

“What does zaya mean?” I ask out of the blue. Tough life, Maksim, I’m not going to be silent.

“It’s Russian for bunny ,” he replies.

“Bunny?” I say with a titter.

That’s too cute. Bunnies are adorable! I feel a spark of glee, but it’s soon replaced by mild irritation. How cheesy . I’m still annoyed by this mute giant, who’s like a closed book to me.

“What’s the plan for today?” It seems as if asking for the plan has become my signature move.

He doesn’t reply, but casts a quick glance at me.

“You do you, I do me,” he says.

He opens the door and lets me pass through first. We head downstairs, he checks us out, then I go right, and he goes left.

There I am, walking in the sunny street, typing on my phone again.

Hi Alejandro, it’s Liliana. Can you meet me at the Louvre Pyramid today at 3 p.m.?

I found Alejandro Reyes on Facebook. We’re not friends, but I sent him a message request anyway. I got a response not a minute later.

Yes, I’ll be there.