Self talk

"Sara's POV,"

"Aaron, your coffee."

I handed him his regular mug in greeting.

Compared to the previous night, I sensed a fresh change. He showed me a side I had never seen before. He became friendly with me. In his presence, I was able to express myself freely.

"What are your plans for today, Sara?" He took a sip of his coffee and met my eyes directly.

He had never looked with such intensity. Though I couldn't detect lust in his eyes, he was staring at me differently than usual.

"I have nothing planned; I plan to spend the day alone." I smiled awkwardly, unsure of what to do when stranded at home alone for two days without any creative spark. Writing is the one activity that keeps me engaged; without it, I have no idea what I will do.

"Sara, what made you decide to write sexual novels?" He earnestly asked me.

Why does he seem to care so much about my life? Rather than asking him about the reason behind his sudden interest in me, I felt it would be a good idea to share my journey to becoming an erotic novelist. Perhaps now that he knows my story, his perspective will shift. Maybe he will understand that I don't have any interest in strangely satisfying my lust, and he won't force me to engage in sexual activity.

"Aaron, there are times when we must surrender to our fate, as our plans rarely unfold as we had hoped." I gripped my coffee mug tightly and stared at the table while all the painful memories played out like a movie in front of my eyes.

"What exactly happened to you? Would you kindly tell me?" He stopped sipping coffee from his mug and stared at me with curiosity.

Should I confide in him about my past? I questioned my subconscious. I never find someone with whom I can open my heart, so I am doubtful about sharing my traumatic past with him. Despite our proximity, I never disclosed to Neil the harsh reality of my early years. Neil only knows about the problems I faced after separating from my father, so it's quite uncomfortable for me to share my past with Aaron.

"Aaron, my life is just like everyone else's. I became an erotic author because I was able to capture readers' attention so readily and because creating sexy books enabled me to make money quickly enough to meet my basic needs." I finished my response with a shrug of my shoulders.

Since I didn't want to confide in him, I'll just give a brief overview of my journey to become an erotic novelist.

"It's okay if you choose not to tell me, Sara. I know exactly why you find it hard to put your trust in me." He looked serious as he touched the rim of his coffee cup.

Oh, so he felt my awkwardness.

"I am sorry, but this is personal. I hope you can understand."I don't want to go over the boundaries I set years ago with other people.

"Sara, have you met the one who can see through your silence to the storm within?" Once more, he peered intently into my eyes.

What happened to him? What made him go so far into my words? Why is he questioning me as if he understands the misery hidden behind a false smile when he has no idea what pain and suffering truly entail? He is unaware of my emotions and feelings.

"Aaron, when did you notice a change in my behavior? I'm always chattering like a bird." I made an effort to turn our serious conversation into a lighter one. This is due to my desire to conceal my pain behind a composed exterior.

I have yet to find someone who can read my emotions and understand my pain without needing my explanation. I communicated my frustrations to the various characters in the piece I wrote.

"Indeed, I never saw you being quiet. You seem to be a constant chatterbox. You talk to yourself in the mirror sometimes." His grave expression softened into a smile.

"What? How were you aware that I spoke to myself in the mirror?" I looked at him in confusion.

I thought there might be hidden cameras in this house at times. This meant that he knew exactly what I was doing while he was away. However, during my search, I was unable to locate any cameras within this house. Then how was he aware of my behind-the-back activities?

"I'm just speculating because, in one of your books, your female character used the mirror to converse with herself."

"So you've read all of my books?" I gave him a startled look.

"Yes, I enjoy your stories, but I believe I need to read them again to learn more about you."

Why is he so interested in learning about me?

"Aaron, my works are not autobiographical. When creating the characters in my books, I usually use my imagination." I don't want him to read my books again because he will surely find new things to tease me about.

"Sara, don't worry; I can now tell the difference between your imagination and reality."

How can he so strongly assert that there is a distinction between my emotions and my creativity? Is it he who sees through my composed grin to the anarchy beneath?

No, that's not possible. How does one who lacks emotion possibly comprehend another's profound sentiments?

"Don't you have to go to the office today?" I noticed it was eight in the morning.

"Oh, I completely forgot that I own a multinational company." He quickly rose from the couch.

"Aaron, we frequently fail to appreciate the things that come to us with ease." I grinned as I observed his haste.

"What do you mean?" He turned to question me.

"Nothing." I took a deep breath, thinking about my life's struggles, and went to the kitchen to make him breakfast.

Despite my contract not requiring me to cook for him, the sight of his adorable puppy eyes last night compelled my heart to prepare for him every day. Even though his sexual abuse of me caused me great pain, my empathic nature prevented me from refusing him.

I sometimes think about how fortunate he is to have everything a typical person could ask for, which makes his life seem wonderful. He has had a prosperous upbringing, a fulfilling profession, and a multitude of individuals who are always willing to lend a hand.

What about me, though?

I don't have any of them. My writing abilities are the only ones I have, but they are also not easy and full of challenges.