CHAPTER SEVEN
DİLA
As I ate my meal with dissatisfaction, I tried to calm the anger inside me. First, because of that jerk Evren, I had to stop by Penti and buy myself some underwear, then, again because of that same jerk, I was late for work and got scolded by that jerk Reha. As if that weren't enough, now there was talk of hiring a legal advisor to give seminars to company employees. This was yet another responsibility I had to take on, one that would waste my time with boring seminars.
As if dealing with customer relations and marketing wasn't enough, I also had to deal with extra seminars within the company. The part of me that believed Reha Durmaz was doing this to torture me was constantly at war with the part of me that said it was a necessity born out of the company's desire to provide employees with the necessary information. Even though I knew Reha, that madman, couldn't have made this decision alone, I was sure he was the one who put the idea in the company's head. It was like a curse that he had no one else to torture but me. He fought like a warrior sworn to make my life even more miserable.
I pushed Reha out of my mind and focused on last night's incident. I had broken Oya's heart, and I needed to fix it. As much as I didn't want to admit it, Mehmet was right about one thing. Oya was my only friend. The only person who had accepted me throughout my life, with all my quirks, my strange habits, my loose and sharp tongue. If she left my life, I would be completely alone. Still, the possibility of losing someone as precious as Oya was more painful than the possibility of being alone. I had been rude, and I needed to win my friend back.
There was just one problem: I didn't know how to do that yet.
I had sent Oya a message saying I wanted to see her, but she hadn't seen it yet.
I knew Oya wasn't ghosting me. Most likely, she was still upset with me and wanted to talk to me when she had sorted out her feelings and was ready to listen to me. Knowing this about her, my friend ignoring me didn't hurt my feelings. I wasn't someone who cried easily, but I knew that if Oya never spoke to me again, I would cry myself to death.
As I spooned the broad bean stew in front of me, my mind suddenly drifted from Oya to Evren.
At first, I couldn't understand what was happening when a lump formed in my throat, but then, as images from last night flooded my mind and a strange feeling passed over my back, I exhaled wearily.
I never imagined my first time would be like this. I wasn't a traditional person; I had no desire to "save" myself for my husband like many women who are oppressed under the guise of tradition. It was just that I hadn't had the chance to have sex until now. My ex-boyfriend didn't like my body, even though I was thin when I was with him. He told me he didn't desire me, that he didn't love my body. I really cried that night when he said that. The part of me that believed all the insecurity I had built up over the years would disappear once I lost weight was hurt. Even though I was now at my ideal weight, I still somehow didn't meet the "expected" criteria. If the man in my life didn't like seeing my naked body, why was he in my life? Was the reason he didn't like me the stretch marks covering my hips and stomach? The cellulite on my thighs? My slightly sagging breasts after losing weight? My pale back covered in sunspots? My odd-looking belly? The moles on my arms?
Once these questions started, there was no end to them. The human body was not a work of art that could be changed, remade from scratch if one didn't like it, not dough that could be kneaded anew. Yes, losing or gaining weight was a goal that could be achieved with effort and consistency, but once I was healthy, why did I have to worry about the moles on my arms or the cellulite on my thighs and spend money on countless methods that were actually useless and unnecessary just to make myself appealing to a man?
My insecurity had grown even more that evening. At some point, I knew no one would like me because I couldn't hold my tongue, I ate too much, I constantly made dirty jokes, I didn't easily open up to anyone, and even though I talked a lot, I was the jerk who ruined the atmosphere in social settings. But that wasn't what I was experiencing. Now I had learned that no one would like me because of my body either. The insecure part of me cried over this, while the strong woman inside me cursed it.
Who is this little prick, this male specimen whose mind is only on football, sex, pussy, and tits, that he's putting me down?
That thought had pulled me out of that relationship. No matter how well I knew how to protect myself and even though the relationship was over, I couldn't shake off that insecurity. No matter how modern I became, no matter how much I knew I wasn't obligated to present myself with the body of an Instagram model, even if I suppressed the ideas society had engraved in my mind, I couldn't completely erase them.
That's why I believed I would end up alone.
I was that woman who would never have a decent relationship in her life.
That woman no man would desire.
That woman no man would go crazy to undress.
But last night, that changed in an instant.
The most charming, sexiest man I had ever seen desired me. I couldn't silence the part of me that craved acceptance. Even though I told myself I didn't need anyone's approval, I needed someone to approve of me. It was like one of those fucking paradoxes.
Evren liked everything my ex-boyfriend didn't.
He was turned off by me.
He was erect because of me.
He found me attractive.
It was as if I was the only one in the world who could make him feel that way, and he fucked me all night long.
It was strange to be desired because until last night, I never thought this would happen to me. I had to admit, I liked it. A lot.
Seeing him get turned on by me, hearing him moan for me, it made me feel like a woman in a way. It was as if until that moment, I was just Dila the worker, and last night, I became Dila the woman.
I knew Evren didn't like me, and I didn't like him either. There was nothing emotional between us, and I didn't want there to be. But even this sexual attraction between us made me feel alive. Feeling someone's touch was truly a beautiful thing. Being sexually desired was like a blessing for the insecure Dila.
Evren was a total asshole. He probably gave red roses to every woman and didn't even look at their faces in the morning after fucking them at night. I was sure he'd be fucking another woman in the living room tonight. I didn't even care.
The sex I had with him also helped me understand myself. The controlling maniac in him had found incredible harmony with the part of me that wanted to let go of control. At one point, that was exactly what scared me. He liked the other person to obey. He liked hitting, tying up, spanking, insulting, and being rough. After sex, he didn't hug you or treat you gently. I, on the other hand, loved both causing trouble and obeying. I loved breaking away from the Dila who could handle everything in her personal, everyday life, who was self-sufficient, and not having to think or calculate anything, even if only for that moment. Last night, I understood this much better. I liked being insulted, talked dirty to, hit, having my body used roughly, being slapped, treated harshly, and maybe even tied up, and many other things.
This side of me that I had discovered worried me. Because this was a desire that required clear boundaries.
You can hit me in bed, but if you raise your voice at me outside of bed, I'll shit in your mouth.
You can insult me in bed, but if you try to insult me outside of bed, I'll cut your dick off.
You can put a leash on me like a dog in bed, but if you treat me like a dog outside of bed, I'll smash your face.
You can tell me in bed that I'm yours, that I belong to you, but if you treat me like an object outside of bed, I'll dance on your grave.
I knew I couldn't have this kind of relationship with everyone. That's what scared me.
If I wanted to experience something like that, I knew where to go.
That's what annoyed me.
I had no plans to fuck Evren again. I didn't want to be in a relationship where I had to worry about whether the womanizer had slept with someone sick the day before.
What's more, at some point, I was scared.
I was so lonely that I was afraid of getting carried away by something.
I had fallen in love with the wrong man once, and I wasn't going to do it again.
Never.
Absolutely not.
I would never again give my heart to a man so he could break it.