CLEANER II: Chapter Six - Part Eleven

MELISSA

Dahlia looked awful when she opened the door to her room.

Back at my hotel, when she had shown the confidence to stand up to me there had been an patter of dancing potential energy lifting her features and her limbs. That wasn’t there now. She looked weary and drawn, but surprised that I was there.

I did not visit her. She visited me.

“Uh, hi,” she said, stepping back as though she might invite me in, but there was reservation there and I could see why. The curtains were closed in the room in it was terribly dingy; terribly cluttered; possibly even filthy. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk,” I said. “After... what we discussed. I felt we needed to. Can I come in?”

She took another step back but chewed her lip. Perhaps she was considering suggesting we went down to the bar or something instead but I stepped into the doorway regardless. I could see her reservations but I didn’t care. I wanted in. I didn’t want to wait and I didn’t want to be discussing these things in an open theatre where others could eavesdrop or where she might be afraid they could.

She let me through and I entered as she closed the door behind me.

It was a dingy pit of degradation. It was quite shocking actually. I’d never seen anything like it. Compared to my pristine room at the Satine Palace, this was like a beaver hole. It was revolting. There had been no attempt to keep it tidy or clean over a greatly extended period. There may have been a time when she was on top of it. It looked like one of those dens you see on documentaries of people who have gone off the rails and totally gone to seed.

The evidence of alcohol abuse was everywhere but there was masses in the way of discarded food wrappers and cigarette packets too. I turned my nose up at the sight of it, realising instantly that there would be nowhere to sit. It actually felt like it might taint me, it was that bad. My body recoiled slightly, my skin crawling.

Dahlia loitered by the door, her fingers crumpling at her waist, her face troubled, then she hurried round to the little window and pulled back the curtain. It did little to help and only helped to illustrate how bad it was, defining more piles of detritus.

“I’m sorry it’s so messy in here,” she said. “I... I don’t tend to... After I’ve been cleaning all day I guess I can’t be bothered to clean... in here too.”

I thought about my house with Robert back in the UK. Had it really been so different there? It had never been pristine; a certain degrading creep of filth omnipresent. I knew exactly what she meant. In fact it brought it all back; that deep resentment of the back-breaking labour along with the bitter awareness that I lived in squalor while those who thought themselves better than me lived in the beautiful environment I’d created.

“It’s fine,” I said. “Really. I’ve seen worse. Don’t worry.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m more worried about you. You left so quickly yesterday and we hadn’t really had the chance to talk things through as much as I would have liked. You left so quickly. I’d intended for us to really talk; maybe get a bite to eat together.”

This was a lie now but it occurred to me that it might still be good strategy after all. We could go out to a local restaurant. She could get her fill on more tempting food while I coaxed her along to make the right decision.

“I’m sorry,” replied Dahlia. “I was just... taken aback by what you said. I didn’t know how I felt. It was all so... unexpected.”

My eyelids creased down slightly of their own accord as I questioned that. Was my suggestion to indefinitely swap so out there? Was it really so unexpected? Surely that fantasy had been wound up in everything from the very beginning. I wondered if she knew she was lying to herself; if she really believed that or if she even recognised a thread of lying to me.

I gave her another brief comradely smile. “It’s a lot to consider. I know it is. I’ve questioned it myself. I even questioned my own motivations.” I mimed a chuckle. “All this time I’ve been telling myself this was all for you but deep down there must be a part of me that thrives on it. I mean of course there is. It’s been wonderful to become you. To pretend I was you here in Greece at least. I’m so grateful to you for giving me this opportunity. It’s funny isn’t it? It was only really meant to be a favour to you.”

She squirmed a little uncomfortably.

“I just wanted to reassure you about some things,” I said. “Because I gave you so much information in a short span of time yesterday and... it must have been an awful lot to take in.”

“Yeah. Yeah it was a lot to consider.”

“Everything about how I’d got it organised enough to proceed so quickly,” I said. “Maybe you’d need more time to digest the idea. Decamping right away and going to Thailand... That’s a lot to take in.”

Something flickered on her face like a tick and I tried to read her. We were skirting round the real issue here but we hadn’t dived in at all. For all I knew she had made a firm resolution already. For all I knew she would never go through with it.

My nerves jangled and I wiggled my hands and fingers to relieve a sudden sensation of numbness in them. I had an awful feeling that I was buggering this up. And how the hell was I supposed to control it anyway? How could I hope to persuade this woman of anything as preposterous as I was hoping to?

Underneath my hairline I felt beads of perspiration exude.

How did I get myself in this ridiculous situation?

It wasn’t up to me to persuade her – I told myself that. She wanted this. She would persuade herself. But if that was the case then why had I come? Why was I pushing?

God, this was stressful. I hated not being in control.

Dahlia folded her arms with some difficulty, the action accentuating how doughy her bulbous arms were now. “I have been thinking about it; what we should do; how to... proceed with this. It is a lot to consider.”

“You have?”

She nodded, unfolding her arms again and looking down at her body. “It is... incredible what we’ve done here. Look at you. Look at me. Look at us! We’re just not who were we before. We’ve transformed entirely.”

“You’ve really become a different person.”

She nodded again. “I’ve become you. Or I thought I had. But maybe you’re right and maybe I did want more. Maybe I still do. Maybe being you back in England was what this was always about. It was. It is.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “Just imagine how cool it would be to go back there entirely as each other; to move into our opposite lives; to live in one another’s houses. Just imagine being back in your home town and walking down the street but not being yourself at all anymore; being me; actually being me.” I giggled. “It wouldn’t be a game then. It would feel totally real. We wouldn’t be just a couple of silly women play-acting anymore. We could actually turn into one another for real. I think it would be incredible!”

“For you maybe.”

“Huh?” The wind went out of my sales. I had got caught up, becoming exuberant and she was just looking at me as though she were totally detached, almost unkindly. “Sorry, what? What do you mean?”

“Just that you would be the one who got to be Dahlia. You would be living in my house with my cars and all the money. What would I have? That street you’re talking about... That would be some scummy backstreet of Barton; not the lane outside Summertop.”

My smile became embarrassed and a little desperate. “I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t take it like that sweetheart. I’m not...” I got flustered. “I didn’t mean to say that— Look, I’m not here to persuade you. I’m not trying to do you out of your life or anything. I’m not trying to steal your money. Of course I’m not. All I’m interested in is this... this glorious adventure, you know? Becoming somebody else for real – taking on their life; wearing their face. Really becoming them. I just can’t think of anything more incredible that we could do and now that we’re so close to it it seems crazy to pull back. Not when we’re so near.” I turned away from her, tried to gather my thoughts, then turned back.

“If we could just go back now as we are and do it then that’s what I’d say we should do. It’s... unfortunate that we can’t really pull it off without the surgery; but think about that as... as a magic wand, you know? We can’t do real magic – nobody can – but it’s the closest thing to it. We’ve done something here already that nobody else has ever done. We’ve almost totally swapped places. All we have to do is take this last final step and we can truly become one another – just fo as long as we want to. Then we can change back. We can change back at any time.”

I shut my mouth. I was coming on too strong. I was being obvious; almost bullying her. I needed to dial it back or it was going to go wrong. I could see her indecision and there was the potential for hostility. I couldn’t risk that. If it got onto those terms then there might never be any rescuing from it.

“I’m sorry I’m blathering on,” I said. “I’m just so excited about it. I really... I really want to go through with it; to make that dream come true for you, you know?”

“To make my dream come true?” Dahlia’s voice was brittle. She made a tight twitch at the side of her mouth that gave little semblance of a smile. “Look at me,” she said. “Look at what’s become of me. Does this look like a dream?”

We both regarded the squalor of the room; the empty bottle of alcohol; her ruined figure and face and eyes.

“It looks like a nightmare,” she said, “and one that I can’t wake up from. Or haven’t been able to in so long.”

“Listen...” I said, stepping closer, reaching for her wrist. Her arm tensed and I didn’t take it. I didn’t know what to say. I was fucking this up like I fucked everything up in my life.

“It is a dream,” I said. “This was your fantasy. I know I’ve come on too strong – I know I’m shit at trying to explain what I mean – but I just keep coming back to thinking that deep down, this is what you want, if only you had the strength to see it; to follow it all the way to the end.”

She shook her head once. “Strength? What’s that? I haven’t felt strong in... months. Years maybe. All I am is weak. I sometimes think that Katherine... I think I should have listened to her.”

My cheeks hardened to hear the name. I said nothing.

“Maybe I should leave you to think more on it,” I said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come round and started to push. You have to make up your own mind. I just wanted you to know that I will support whatever decision you make. And I think you should...”

Shut up Melissa...

“I think you should do it. Should make the change. We have to. We have to go to Thailand and see it through to the end; become one another entirely.”

There was a long moment between us, an absence of sound or movement. It made me uneasy, almost scared, because the relationship between Dahlia and I had never been normal – not since this had started. It was almost impossible to accurately predict anything about it within normal social experience. And neither one of us was quite right in the head – I acknowledged that too – especially her.

I felt that I’d fucked this up. I knew I’d fucked it up. But then there was still this pause: this potential. There were still words to be said. It could still go either way.

Dahlia inhaled; a simple sound that nonetheless rasped within her, as though the inner part of her was struggling to catch one last breath. She didn’t release it right away. She looked down at her distended arms again, stroking her round belly with one hand. She touched the ends of her brown bobbed hair and then pushed the thick frames back into place on her nose. Then she looked at me.

There were tears in my eyes; in hers too.

Still she said nothing. Still she hadn’t released that breath.

I itched to speak myself; to somehow guide what was about to happen; but all my instincts told me not to; to keep my mouth shut.

I tried to smile though – something reassuring and encouraging – and something changed in Dahlia’s face when she saw it; something almost violent; as though the effect of that crease in my lips was a stabbing blow to her somehow. I couldn’t conceive of what was going on in her mind; not really.

The breath came out of her that she’d been holding. She took in another. Then she locked my eyes in hers and said, “We can’t change any further. We just can’t.”

I couldn’t reply. I stared at her.

“We can’t go through with any more of this, ever. It has to end right now. Right. Now.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe we pushed it as far as we have.” She let out a sad chuckle then she looked at me again and her eyes were clear; determined; set in stone. “I’m sorry Melissa. I know you’ve got your hopes up about this but I’m not going to go to Thailand and that’s definite. I’m not going to have an operation on my face. That’s never going to happen. This has been a great fantasy and everything; an incredible holiday; but we can’t let it carry on any more. It would be ridiculous. And dangerous. It would be insane. It already is. We both know that.”

“But...” I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I know how much you’ve done for me and you’ll never know how much I needed it; to truly escape... but it has to be over now. It has to end.”

“But...”

“I’m not going to Thailand with you Melissa. I’m not going to swap places. We’re going to go back to England as ourselves.”

CLEANER II: Chapter Six - Part Ten

DAHLIA

I came awake very early or... no. No. I wasn’t sure really that I had ever slept.

Throughout the night I had remained on the dirty rim of unconsciousness, my thoughts not dreams or nightmares as such but similar enough; disjointed and disturbing enough; that they might have been.

It was still dark and that gave me the sense that sleep was, or had been, still continuing, but as I tipped up vertical on the side of the bed like a wibble-wobble doll that can never truly fall over, I felt that ghastly enclosing corpulence gripping every part of the slim woman trapped deep inside me; smothering her.

That beautiful Dahlia was surely still there beneath these sweaty bulges, pressed into the grimy crevices, struggling to climb free; but she was running out of air. She was dying. Reaching up with a single grasping hand for the light from the folds of this gargantuan body she was trapped in, desperate to get out of it while she still could.

My chubby hand scrabbled on the bedside cabinet for the crumpled pack of cigarettes I’d discarded there the night before. Several fags lay strewn amidst the rubbish and food scraps, the ribbons of spilled whisky, partially dried.

No cleaner ever saw the inside of this room.

My eyes didn’t focus – my vision was so piss-poor nowadays that in the dingy first light there was no hope of real clarity – but I found a dry, uncrumpled cigarette. The second lighter I tried gave me a flame.

My mouth filled with the filth of the smoke instantly and I drew it down into my lungs, stifling the Dahlia trapped down there, reaching for fresh air, clotting up her lungs and dowsing her as the chemicals in the fag dowsed me, dulling my thoughts.

I sat there, half tilted on the bed, blotting out the clean air and sucking this filth into me over and over again. With the first one finished it wasn’t enough. The stench and dismal corruption weren’t enough. I scrabbled for another fag and put that in my lips, cursing the whisky dampness as it wouldn’t light; found another; lit that.

I shambled to the window and creased back the curtain half an inch, my breathing laboured, my grimy eyes squinting out at another day of drudgery and increasing self-hate.

I looked back at the whisky bottle on the side of the bed. There wasn’t much left to it. Dregs. But it was enough.

I lumbered back and slumped down then drained the thing, chasing the vibrating inebriation down with more cloying smoke.

I found my pebble glasses and got dressed. The clothes were soiled – they always were – but not enough to be a problem for the work. Cleaners in an establishment like this weren’t expected to be perfect; not once the first splashes of the day had had chance to settle. I did my hair, getting it as straight as I could; knowing I was letting life destroy me; knowing that I shouldn’t feel this low regardless of which path I took.

I’m just tired. I told myself that. I’m just utterly and completely exhausted.

And it didn’t help, the weight I was carrying; that at some level I still couldn’t be entirely used to.

I felt awful, and that couldn’t continue. I couldn’t let myself go on like this; whichever life I chose.

Melissa’s life hadn’t been this bad. She had lived an ordinary life as a cleaning woman back in England with her husband; content in her simple ways with the down-to-earth constraints of her everyday life. It was that touchstone with Robert that I lacked; that I’d had only a grainy simile of with the cook. There had been no love there between me and Vasilis; not even real affection. With all the guilt and doubt I was feeling, was it any wonder that I had spiralled; that I was still spiralling? Even my friendship with Melissa had been tenebrous at best since coming to Greece; we’d been so busy playing our allotted roles.

It shouldn’t have been like this and I knew that it wouldn’t go on being if only a final decision could be made. Some new status quo would form; a reconciliation with reality and an acceptance of how things were; how they would go on remaining.

Surely once a decision was made then I could start to resolve a clear path ahead. I would form a peace and happiness with what was awaiting me. Surely that was what would have to happen.

But I knew I’d ruined my body; surely forever. I’d set out on a silly game like a schoolgirl, thinking that there would be some magic spell to weave me back from it whenever I wanted, and there was no spell; no magic to transform me back into a beautiful slender woman on the verge of a glorious comeback.

“Hngh!”

I sneered.

Had I ever wanted that comeback? Had it all been Tommy, my agent? Or had it been the guilt; that I was throwing away my last chance to have another slice of that life before I really was too old or before my looks slipped away of their own accord?

Maybe that was all this had ever been: not some crooked immersion into corruption and ugliness for sordid perversity, but a fuck you to the aging process: me taking the choice to let go of my looks on purpose before nature could take it out of my hands.

Beauty didn’t last forever. Time was going to have its way sometime soon regardless. By leaping off the catwalk like this, at least it had been at a time of my choosing.

I left the room and started my work. I avoided the other cleaners, as usual. I slaved, feeling the grimy build-up of sweat in the fatty crevices on my body, seeing only the sweep of the broom; the swish of the mop; the growing mottled piles of filthy bedding, gathered up in my round arms too close to my face.

I stopped for two more cigarettes half way through the morning, hating the taste of the smoke and glaring at first one lit end and then the other. I tried not to think about Melissa and her expectations, because surely she expected an answer now quite crucially. This was coming to a head regardless of my own interia. I couldn’t put her off together.

I had ruined my body. That’s what I kept coming back to. Maybe it was permanent already. Maybe the slender me had already suffocated beneath the folds of flab. Maybe she could never be resuscitated now. Maybe the only way to stave off final and irrevocable madness was to embrace the inevitable coming; to accept that it wasn’t a case of choosing to finally become Melissa forever but to realise I already had done.

There was no Dahlia left now to be seen. She was gone, surely for good.

I went back to working. I slaved. I toiled. I let the harsh reality of this life I had chosen be everything.

The decision was everything – it had to be everything – but it was clear to me that it had already been made. Surely it had. I could pretend to myself as much as I liked that there was a rational process continuing that might allow me to take a certain fork in the road.

There was only one sane choice. There could only be one sane choice with the facts as they were; with my life as it was; with this body and the strain I had put it under; with the favour that Melissa had done me by effecting this trade in the first place; coming out here; living these strange, sham lives.

Yes I knew the answer. I had known the answer even before she asked the question. I knew what I wanted. I knew which way to go. It was the only option that made sense.

I finished my shift and went back to my room, stopping only long enough at the local convenience store for dry, uncrumpled fags and more whisky; a huge bag of salted, ridged crisps and two chocolate bars.

In the room I slumped back on the edge of the bed, one hand resting again, my round body tilted almost uncomfortably, a rasping wheeze coming out of the side of my mouth, the lit, drifting cigarette hanging from the crack at the other.

Was that wheeze the last embers of the slender me, the fat now squeezing the very last life out of her, deep inside my bulging chest? Was she blind now, buried under all that fat as it filled her mouth and her eyes and blocked her off from the world where once upon a time she had lived as a princess?

I withdrew the cigarette and looked at the glowering end.

There was an ashtray squatting right there beside me on the bedside cabinet. Maybe all I had to do was stub it out now. Maybe that simple act would be enough to save the girl inside.

I moved to do so but hesitated and brought the fag back closer to my lips. Lowered it again.

I just felt so tired. I didn’t know what to do anymore.

But I felt I’d come to a decision. I had to have done. It was so obvious what my only choice was.

There was a tap at the door.

I groaned, wondering if I should ignore it.

It came again, more insistently.

I looked back at the end of my cigarette and shifted on the bed, letting out one last wheeze.

The door knocked a third time.

I got up with difficulty, leaving the fag smouldering on the edge of the ashtray.  

My body ached as I walked across, from the effort of managing my bulk and the weariness of my cleaning work. Even at the verge of opening I considered breaking off; of keeping silent and hoping the visitor would go away.

But I didn’t. I opened the door.

And there was Melissa, looking radiant and bright-eyed.

Wanting nothing now clearly except the answer that was due to her.

And suddenly I realised this was the moment; that I couldn’t put it off anymore.

She wanted to know and I had a responsibility to tell her.

Everything was coming to a head and the fork in the path was finally here.

CLEANER II: Chapter Six - Part Nine

MELISSA

I shut off the cross trainer and climbed down, grabbing my towel to wipe my brow, and took a swig of my drink. I had pearls of sweat on my chest and back; on my arms; but I didn’t feel tired, despite the length of my workout. If anything I felt energised.

A slow clapping came from behind me and I turned to see Ambrus, my personal trainer, smiling; stepping forward from the mirrored wall where he’d been leaning. “You’ve done terrifically well Dahlia,” he said. “Outstanding.”

I grinned, feeling so pleased. “Do you think so?”

“Of course.” He came level. “Just look at you. Look at how far you’ve come since our first meeting. You were a little on the flabby side, you would have to agree, and although I could see the first glimmer of willpower shining, I could also see a woman who craved food in large quantities. Where is that woman now?”

I thought of the real Dahlia and smirked a little, then I said. “She’s long gone. Gone forever I hope.”

“I know it’s forever,” he said. “Come.”

We walked to the doors leading out onto the hotel poolside from the first rate exercise room and went out into the sunshine.

“You made it clear what your objectives were when we first spoke,” he said. He chuckled. “I asked you how much weight you wanted to lose. Do you remember what you said to me?”

I chuckled too. “All of it.”

“Exactly. And now look at you. You said you wanted to be slim. You’ve achieved that. You’re probably more athletic than most women in the world. You’ve done this over a substantially long period, making it more than likely that you’ve broken your old habits and you’ve built up the kind of metabolism that is really going to help you staying the shape you want to be.”

I didn’t know what to say. This was everything I had wanted. He might have been confirming things I had already seen with my own eyes, but hearing his congratulations and... approval meant the world to me. “I’m just so grateful for your help,” I said.

“No.” He shook his head. “No. It wasn’t me. It was you. I merely provided minimalist encouragement.”

I thought about the early morning jogs along the beach with him bellowing in my ear but decided not to say anything.

“But it’s clear to me that you don’t need me anymore,” he said.

“What? Really?” I didn’t like the idea of that.

“You’ve grown into a strong, slim, beautiful woman with a will of iron. All I am now is a crutch. You need to cast that crutch aside and walk forward as strong and assured as I know you are.”

“Well...” I thought about it. If all went to plan I would be leaving soon anyway. “Okay, I guess. But I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll be around,” he said. “I have other clients here and at neighbouring hotels. In fact... I need to go. I’m meeting one shortly.”

“Oh. Okay. Right.” I extended my hand. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.” He took my hand and shook it.

“And, uh, now that we aren’t working together anymore... What do you say to that dinner invitation of mine? I’d love to get to know you better.” I smiled seductively. “And I’d love to let you get a closer look at the body you helped create.”

He held my look for a moment and then released my hand with a smile, saying, “As I said before, I’m very flattered, but I will have to decline.”

I frowned. “But... Before you said it was because you were my trainer. There’s nothing stopping us anymore. We could have dinner tonight and then drinks afterwards, maybe a little dancing; then later on we could go up to my penthouse room and...” I gave a broad and suggestive smile. “... get up to foul play.”

He looked uncomfortable. Then he gave a brief smile. Then he looked uncomfortable again; almost pained. “I really must decline,” he said. “But I’m very grateful for the offer.”

“Why must you decline?” I asked, my temper rising a little. He’d always been very kind to me. He’d always laughed at my jokes and seemed to enjoy my company.

He squirmed. “Perhaps it is better if we do not discuss this further,” he said. He clearly wasn’t going to change his mind.

“No. Hang on,” I said. “I really want to know. Don’t you find me attractive?”

He held up his hands. “No. Please. You are a very beautiful woman now.”

“Now? Oh, is that it? Is it because I was fat before? You knew me as a tub of lard and now you couldn’t bear to be with me; is that it?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Then why not?” I demanded. “Why won’t you come to dinner? Or drinks? Why won’t you fuck me?”

He glanced round to see who was listening which made me even angrier and then blushed red. “Please Dahlia,” he said. “I’d really rather not say.”

“Tell me,” I said. “Please. Look, I’m sorry I got shitty with you. I’m really... I just want to know. Why won’t you... spend time with me now the training is done?”

His face darkened more. He was clearly going through some internal decision-making process. “Because...” He shrugged apologetically. “I’m... You aren’t...” He looked away and looked back at me. He lowered his head and then looked me in the eye. “The truth is, it is nothing to do with you being overweight before. I think you are very pretty now. I simply cannot be with a woman who is... not nice.”

I was disarmed. I said nothing at first. “What? Not... nice?”

“I’m sorry to say it,” he replied. “I would have preferred not to. But I have known you for a long time now. I have observed you in many situations; speaking to the staff here; flirting with all your men...”

My own cheeks coloured red.

“I cannot come to dinner with you, or... sleep with you... because I cannot do that with someone I... don’t like. I’m truly sorry.”

He gave a curt bow and withdrew.

I stood there staring after him, flabbergasted. I couldn’t believe it.

But part of me... Part of me had known all along that this was the reason he had politely avoided my flirtations. Part of me knew, because part of me knew that no matter how much I made myself slim or come to look like Dahlia, I would never truly be her. I never could be. Because deep down I was cut from different cloth. I was too bitter. He was right. I hated other people more often than I didn’t. I hated almost everyone.

I straightened, wiping the corner of my eye, then put my sunglasses on so no one could see the moistness that was developing there.

How could I go back to England and pretend to be Dahlia? Pretend to be a charismatic, personable, kind woman? And she was kind. I knew that too deep down; no matter what I’d thought of her when I worked as her cleaner. That was the bitterness talking too. She was a good woman who cared about other people; someone innocent enough and trusting enough to believe someone like me was after her best interests.

The tear streams trickled away from my eyes and then silently started to thicken.

This whole plan was doomed. Why hadn’t I accepted it before? I could never pull it off. Anyone who knew the real Dahlia would see straight through me, and anyone who knew of her reputation would not believe someone of my character was a duplicate.

I put my head in my hands, sitting down, elbows resting on my bare knees.

It was over. Or as good as. There was no point taking it any further. It was time I accepted defeat and gave up.

At least I’d become slim – if I could keep it off. There was that. At least I’d had this long, free holiday.

The life theft wasn’t going to work. I should call Dahlia and tell her to forget about the surgery. All that would lead to would be exposure, public disgrace and shame.

I wasn’t a nice person. I shouldn’t have needed Ambrus to tell me that.

But...

I raised my head. I let my hands fall away. I looked out across the pool to the palm trees beyond. And my tears slowly stopped and then started to dry.

Because a crisis of conscience or determination didn’t suit me. Was I really going to throw this opportunity away because it might not work? Because I thought people might people might find out?

No. Fuck that.

Fuck that.

I would rather die than give up now.

I had nothing else waiting for me that was worth a damn. I had only a horrible life awaiting me.

This gambit was my only choice; my only chance. I knew I would rather die – literally die – than give it up.

I stood up. I folded my arms. I unfolded them and then looked toward the front of the hotel.

I was sick of waiting for Dahlia to think about it. I was sick of leaving her with the initiative. She didn’t have the motherfucking power anymore – I did – and I was going to use it.

This was going to come to a head... right now. No more waiting. One way or the other this day would see the conclusion of the conundrum. Were we going to do it? Were we going to swap our lives FOR REAL?

And I wasn’t going to leave it to chance.

Screw Ambrus if he didn’t want me! I didn’t want him, the swarthy bastard! I could get any man I wanted.

Almost any man.

I started walking toward the hotel doorway to go and get changed and order a taxi.

By the end of the day I would know, one way or another.

Either we would be planning our trip to Thailand or we would be packing to go back home. I didn’t know for sure which way it would go but I was sure as hell going to fight for what I wanted.