Chronicles Of A kept Woman III

We met that same evening, in the quiet corner of a dimly lit but expensive bar and without love or hate, he laid down the terms and conditions before me. We could have been signing a government contract the way we carried on. In summary I shall be his but he was not to be mine. I said yes. I shrugged and nodded and said yes. I could do it. He drank his ale mixed with mineral water, a drink I have become a pro in fixing. 

I remember those first days and my eagerness to please; folding and refolding his clothes, shining his shoes till he begged me to stop, fussing over the hairs on my legs. I was thinking, this is how to bind a man to you,with subservient and childlike devotion. But try as you may, what’s not yours isn’t. It was wise to guess there were a string of others like me whom he retired when they tired him,for he was a man whose resources were capable of such claims.  I’d reckon me a fool to think otherwise, to think that somehow I was the only one. Even in the privacy of the little house he got me, his phone calls indicated he had vast interests and this singular action doused my faith whenever it reared its hopeful head. It sadly assured me of my replace-ability in his life, the fickleness of our agreement, how time bound the whole thing was. 

But I wanted to hold sway of his mind, to get under his skin, to own him, to have him all to myself. I’d close my eyes and will him, Now he shall be mine, Now I own him, but how terribly I failed. I learnt my lessons. You can will anything to you: a new car, a new house, new wardrobe, a promotion, but you can never will a soul into loving you, save you are a sorcerer.The harmonies of love and friendship cannot be compelled. No one coerces a heart to beat. No one pleads the sun into shining. It just…shines.

Out of anger, I’d bridge the pact; I’d be cross and rude; I’d make trouble, be inquisitive. He’d leave for weeks or even months, and I would begin pining for him, my intestines stretching in hunger. This new lifestyle replaced every desire I once had for hard work. I’d dial his number, cutting the call halfway and in no time he’d be at my doorsteps, fuming. 
Such routines.