Learning to Trust Part 2: Full Submission by B. B. Roman

***
     
    My head throbbed when I woke the next morning, my temples feeling like they were two sizes too small for my head and wound as tightly around my brain as possible. I groaned and rolled over in bed, checking the clock on my cell phone —i t was 11:45am.
    “Shit,” I said out loud. I never slept that late — but I hadn't set an alarm either . Why did I have such a headache? I guess the excess sleep had literally gone to my head . I needed to check in with my boss, but I wasn't quite ready to do that yet. I needed to eat and have some coffee before I could function around other humans , even through the phone . I took some ibuprofen and planted my head back on the pillow. I wanted a couple more minutes in this bed.
    I had come home the previous night, entirely flustered, heart still burning with desire. Roland had toyed with me in a way that I had no experience with, made love to me in a way that was as foreign as Latin to my untrained ears . I simp ly couldn't understand it, instead just feeling , allowing it to flush my skin and my mind with its truth (whatever that truth was) . The whole ride home I had fought with myself, my urges telling me to turn around, my common sense telling me to just go home .
    God, I wanted so much more — but he had given me specific instructions and I had no right to violate them, as much as I wanted to. It seemed that want was a big part of his game, a big part of his overall strategy, but what did I know? Why did I try to understand what was going on in his brain? He was a mastermind, I was not. Could I really ever grasp what went on in his head? Was it really worth it to try?
    I finally crawled out of bed and got some coffee from the lobby. I sat in my room , sipping it with desperate need, allowing the ca ffeine to trickle into my brain. Ah, the drug acted as a painkiller as well. Relief! I was only a few sips in and already feeling better. My pain was evaporating as my awareness returned to normal. I wasn't feeling that great about waiting for Roland 's next move — but I could at least function again. I figured that I should probably just call my boss and get it out of the way. He picked up on the first ring when I tried.
    “Marisa, how's it going out there?” He seemed especially cheery, probably because it was Saturday. He didn't even say hi , just went straight into conversation.
    “Hey Pat, it's going well. Sorry this is the first time I've made contact.”
    “Don't worry about it. We've been swamped here. The Mayor was busted in a money laundering scandal and everyone is going nuts about it. Even if you had called me and told me that StarChem was staffed by M artians, it would only be on page five. God, that would be weird. ” He laughed at his own joke.
    “Ha, yeah. But Roland 's got ties with Al Qaeda , so — “
    “Eh, that'd be page two maybe.” He laughed again, his hearty laugh still so booming through the tiny speaker . He was a big guy; you could even tell through the phone. “So what's up? Do you have anything yet?”
    “Not really,” I said, unsure of what I should tell him if anything. “I feel like I'm making progress, but he knows what I'm up to. He's taking his sweet time.”
    “I trust that you're doing the right thing, Marisa.”
    I blushed after he said that, thinking about what Roland had don e to me the previous afternoon. I was very thankful that we weren't video chatting . Yeah, some interview , all right. “You know me,” I said. “I always do what it takes to get a good story.”
    “You're damn right. Damn right . I don't know what I'd do without you.” There was some commotion in the background. “Al l right, Marisa. I gotta get going. The kids want me to take them out today. Museum or Coney Island?”
    “Take 'em somewhere educational,” I said. “Museum.”
    “Alright, Coney Island then.” His l augh was even louder this time.
    “Thanks for taking me seriously,” I said, laughing in return.
    “Marisa, I'll talk to you