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

responded like an animal, like my brain was suddenly removed and replaced by only instinct and desire. My body had been poisoned by lust with only the most subtle touch of water in the right place .
    I got out of the shower shortly after, filling up my water bottle with tap water. It was the same bottle that Roland had given me the previous day, the gesture replaying in my mind. The water had an overwhelming chemical flavor, something I had gotten used to during my many business-related hotel stays. He had left me longing, wanting, only satisfying my literal thirst and nothing beyond that. Sure, he made me feel incredible — but he cut it off after that, leaving our sentence unfinished. Hell, maybe it was a whole paragraph that he left unfinished. I knew what I wanted it to say, but really had no idea what his pen had in mind. I only knew that it was going to get harder .
     
    ***
     
    I did the best I could to pass the time during the rest of the weekend, watching movies on my laptop and just trying to zone out as much as possible. My mind went back and forth, hating Roland and then wanting him even more as I struggled to figure out what I was really feeling. It didn't take me long to realize that I had stopped thinking about the story at all, instead obsessing over this man and what he could do to me. The more I tried to convince myself that I needed to focus on my own career, the more I realized that I simply couldn't. My struggle was probably the reason why I had kicked my emotions to the curb for so long, allowing my job to replace that volatility with something a slightly more stable.
    I went out to eat by myself Saturday night, once again staring at every happy couple like they were the luckiest people on earth. Even though they probably had their own struggles that I would have deemed petty and annoying, they knew what they had — and I had no idea in my situation . Did I have anything at all asid e from one very fiery encounter? Assuming seemed like a very dangerous choice. I guess that meant I had nothing , if I was going to be realistic.
    This internal back and forth just served to remind me that the whole eating out alone thin g hadn't been a very good idea, once again . I went home defeated, drinking a bottle of wine in my room until I passed out.
    Sunday I decided to go shopping, realizing that my microscopic collection of casual outfits probably wasn't adequate for the rest of my time with Roland. I picked out some cute dresses and skirts, some low-cut shirts and jeans, just seeking comfort like he had demanded . It was kind of fun, something that actually loosened that noose of confusion around my neck. I felt like I could finally breathe again.
    I spent hours looking through the racks of clothes, trying on anything that I wanted to. I had no time limits, no restraints, nothing to hold me back. I got som ething to eat, but I took it to- go, not wanting to sit alone in a restaurant of happy people again.
    I would see Roland the next day and it would mean something . I was certain I'd have some sort of incredible personal awakening — and oh yeah, I'd get a great story at the end of it. It was amazing to me that I kept forgetting about my job, literally the only thing that I'd cared about for almost 10 years. One very passionate encounter with a man and suddenly I forgot who I was and what I cared about.
    What business did I have getting intimately involved with a source? Everything I knew about journalism told me an unwavering no when it came to the methods I was employing. But I was confused—was this for me or a story ? How could I truly remain unbiased in these circumstances? What good could really surface from this arrangement? All of the controversy aside, Roland’s request for my trust seemed to calm my nerves when confusion felt like it could kill me.
    Fear and curiosity began to blend in my mind as Sunday passed me by. What sort of difficulty was Roland talking about? It’s not like I feared for my