Caged Nightingale

51-Saara

There is a nervousness to my preparations which is novel. I cant remember the last time i felt this sense of anxious excitement. A part of me cant stop thinking about Atif's face when it darkens. When i see the mask slip ever so slightly. There is something so potent about his anger. I cant deny the brooding look is sexy. But i suppose part of the attraction is that i know he won't seriously hurt me. He wants me too much for that. His face softens instantly when he sees me give in to him, which i so badly want to do. There was something so thrilling about him grabbing me around the throat in the shower, the force he applied to it as if he could snap me in two so easily or when he took me by force in the lounge after our disagreement. The simmering power that sometimes boils over is a turn on, especially when he reels it back in, never quite giving into it. But today could be different. I could end up seeing the full force of his fury, he's admitted clearly he gets turned on by pain. What if he enjoys mine too much? What if i enjoy mine too much?
Asim was a safe harbour, i never felt anything but trust, with Atif i know that he's only showing me a part of him. What if I can't undo what i see? What if things between us become tainted by his control and my submission?
I shake off the worries. The old me would never have done this, ever. It was too risky to my own self worth. But the new me, who knows i could be leaving soon, feels more reckless, fearless. I want to see what lies on the other side of the abyss. The other side of my fear.
I dry my hair slowly, padding about in the dressing room in my bathrobe and bare feet.
Should i wear perfume? Yes- its sexy? no- he wants me clean and bare for himself? I cant decide. In the end, i dab on some perfume to my pulse points. I think about how much i love the way he smells, how it's satisfyingly comforting when i inhale him. Perhaps my fragrance will also be a reminder of his affection for me.
At 6pm i go into the bedroom and sit on the floor, on my knees, next to the door, knowing he'll be home soon. I turn off the air con- because its getting a little chilly in here, there are goosebumps up and down my arms.
I wait. Wait and wait. I look at the clock, its 6.30, 6.45, 7.10, 7.25, 7.50. 8.05. The time crawls by. I sit on my bum and stretch my legs, the muscles are beginning to seize up. Its been 2 hours. I wonder whether i misunderstood Atif's instructions. Im tempted to get up change and get into bed. I dont want to get annoyed at him, dont want to fight. In fairness, i made the assumption he would be home like usual. I didn't actually check. Sitting here like this is foolish and tiring. My patience and nerves are fraying. My muscles are aching. But an instinct tells me to stay. So i do. i change my position, to sit more comfortably. Clearing my mind of irritable and annoying thoughts. I focus instead on the ache in my legs. It felt like this after long sessions in the studio. At the end, i would be unsteady on my feet. My carves stretched and sore. The endorphins would kick in and my moves would become a little less sharpe. Madam Marie could see the signs of fatigue immediately, she would tut and tell you to call it a day. It must have looked so strange- how we would giggle and fidget like teens on drugs as we left, affected only by the light headed effect of fatigue. Other days we were too tired to talk, a silence hung over the changing room, all you wanted was your bed. Thats what i want now. Bed.
I'm about to stretch out on the floor when i hear the door click open behind me.