At His Mercy

part 3 Aya

I'm standing in the open air restaurant, it's full of people, glitz and glamour, chatter and muted laughter and I wonder what is really going on. This is so unlike Adam. When we were out -we were out but when it was us, it was always just us. He preferred the quiet. No distractions. He liked his privacy and this is anything but that. Immediately, I am conscious of the crowd. Glancing at the items on the menu (in the waiting area). I can see this is the hotspot of Lahore's nightlife. Cropped pants and sleeveless shirts are all around me. And I know this is definitely not the Pakistan I remember as a child.
Thank God I chose to dress to impress this evening. Gone is the girl in jeans and simple t shirts. On impulse, I bought a fancy outfit from a boutique on the way back to my aunt's. It's a little more expensive than I would usually spend on a smart casual outfit. But I need to look different, he needs to see me as someone else. A lot has happened since we were at uni together. I'm no longer the passive girl ready to do his bidding.
The outfit is perfect for tonight, the burgundy is just the right shade of confidence I need and the jacket- a chic touch.  I've thrown in a pair of boots as a curve ball. He won't know what to make of me. Hopefully he'll see me as a stranger. No longer the naive girl desperate to bend to his will.
I could see he was angry earlier in the afternoon. The air had been heavy with tension. His gaze had burned into me and I could feel the anger radiating from him.
Perhaps he thinks I'm here for the money. It's going to kill him when I tell him I don't want anything. Just a signature.  The only thing that could add insult to injury is to be out of his influence completely. Wanting nothing is worse than demanding something- for Adam.
I realised as soon as he left, all those years ago- I had relied on him for lots of things but money had never ever been one of them.
How many months had I worn his t- shirts after he left? How many minutes had passed silently with me begging the phone to ring or beep when I needed to  recieve a message from him? How many times had I sat alone outside the student union waiting for him- despite knowing he wouldn't be coming? How many years had passed in each night, when I was haunted by his smile? How many times had I awoken to the phantom feeling of his stubble grazing against my neck or shoulder?  It had been torture. Moving through life like a ghost. Mourning what we had.
A time of doubt and self loathing. I had hated myself and resented my mother.  Playing out different alternatives to that fateful day back again and again.
Had I really meant so little to him? He had turned away and not once looked back to see what he had left behind. Had I been so unremarkable? So easily forgotten?
I hate myself for thinking about that girl, havent allowed myself, for years, to dwell in any insecurity- and yet now. After years of waiting, my mind was playing traitor.
Following the hostess, I straighten my shoulders, head up. I remind myself firmly: The only thing I want to do is to close this chapter of my life.  I want to move forward: new job, new life, possibly one day -a new love.
But right now I need to prepare for war. If Adam senses any weakness, he will use it to his advantage. Without a doubt, he is a natural born predator.
I feel the eyes of other patrons follow me across the rooftop. Clearly, I'm not a usual on this scene and I know they are curious. I have been told I have a  classic beauty, which is rare. Usually, this embarrasses me no end and I've never really learned how to take a compliment-but its time to stand tall now.
I know that something in me has been tarnished by my experience with Adam.  I am aloof and sometimes come across as being detached. My friend Sara has told me that people interpret this as pride and arrogance. In those early days, i told her they were the symptoms of a broken heart, but now it's become something else- I've learned that I can't rely on anyone else.  If I want something, I need to make it happen. When you start getting emotional, things start getting messy. So I have chosen to look at life differently. I know it makes Sara sad to see me that way, but I remind her it's about survival nothing else. 
I have more power than I think- I remind myself.  No amount of false charm, intimidation or heavy handedness is going to sway me. I've learnt the hard way how to be selfish and look after my own interest - it's the last and most important thing Adam taught me.
Then the hostess suddenly turns away  from the hustle and bustle, I see a table under a wooden  canopy tucked away in a corner. There are plants entwined around the trellis, creating a certain degree of privacy. Elevated but never the less separate from the rest of the tables. Clever.
He's sitting there waiting for me. Not on his phone as I expected - illustrating how busy and powerful he is. Just sitting and waiting. I'm never late. He knows this and smiles when he sees me. I notice the smile doesn't reach his eyes. He stands to greet me and leans forward to kiss me on my cheek, before the hostess pulls out my chair for me.
Adam looks Sharp.  The suit, silk tie, shirt- ooze wealth and power. I'm not sure I've ever seen him like this. He looks good I concede. He's filled out on the shoulders I notice and the beard suits him.He looks groomed, polished. A man of power. Gone is the young man who smirked and smiled, played the rascal; all that was endearing about him has evaporated.  Instead the layers have been striped back and all that remains is a serious man, who looks at me with such cool suspicion, I wonder how it is possible for him to be the same person I once knew.
' You look well,' he says and I see his eyes linger at the apex of my neck and then back to my eyes.
' You too.' I say meeting his gaze. He's impressed. I can tell from the measured look he gives me.  Perhaps he's disappointed that I don't look like the absolute disaster I was back in uni. Crumpled t shirts and faded ripped jeans.
'Shall I order?' He says picking up the menu. He's being polite by asking but I'm pretty sure he's confident he can take control of the situation.
'- No. Thank you' I say opening my own menu 'I like to order my own food now-a-days.' I know he's surprised because he stares at me. He thinks I'm being rude. When I glance up at him, I see him purse his lips and I know I'm being juvenile but inside I'm pump fisting the air 'There's no point in ordering something, if it's not to my taste,' I say as way of explanation.
'The steak here is excellent.' He says through gritted teeth without looking at me.
'Super. . . ' I reply ' . . . I'll have the chicken' I turn to the waiter. I know I'm pushing my luck but I can't help it.
I turn to look at Adam and half laugh ' Oh come on Adam, I ordered the chicken - it's not the end of world-well except it most certainly is for the chicken but that's an occupational hazard. Small price to pay for a few moments of gastronomic bliss wouldn't you agree?!'
'Sacrifices have to be made!' He says non-pulsed without so much as sparing me a glance.
What am I doing? I'm speaking too much, it must be the anxiety. Slow down, I tell myself. Don't give him the impression you're nervous.
' I'm sorry to hear about your mother,' he says leaning back in his chair, looking straight at me. He fixes me with those black eyes.
' Thank you,' I say hating the vulnerability in my voice. There is a lump in my throat. And i swallow hard trying to focus and regroup. I should have expected condolences, but hearing him say the words hits me with the same force as a sledge hammer. He is the one person- who actually knows what i went through. I feel exposed, suddenly, open and raw. Knowing he'll see through the composed confident veneer and see the child inside. See the hurt that hasn't quite healed -and just like that I can't meet his eyes.
'Yes, it was tough.' I have no other words now. None to describe the loneliness, the sadness and sometimes the relief that has come in waves since she died 3 months ago.  I can't bring myself to look at him. To let him really see me.
I force myself to look up from my lap, up And around at the skyline, in the direction of laugher to the right of us, the candle burning on the table, anywhere but at the one person I can't hide from.