CHAPTER NINE
DİLA
"What are you looking at?" I asked, suppressing my feelings.
"You don't seem happy to see me," he replied, tilting his head slightly to the right.
I raised my eyebrows. "Should I be happy? Why didn't you tell me? If you had, I would have prepared my sweetest smile."
I put a fake smile on my lips to annoy him, but his expression didn't change. I was torn between wondering what he wanted from me and melting under his gaze, which was still scanning my body. But I was a woman, and I had no intention of kneeling before my libido.
"You're quite charming today," he said slowly. "To what do we owe this? Or is it seeing my face that puts you in this state?"
"You're talking nonsense. Who falls for this?" I laughed to myself.
He curled his lips as if amused and finally fixed his eyes on mine. "Not everyone is as smart and sharp-tongued as you, Dila."
It was as if he had to say my name with a rude tone. He deliberately pronounced my name, drawing out the letters and deepening his voice.
"If they were, your hands would be calloused." He laughed at my retort. His eyes narrowed with his smile as he pointed at me with his hand.
"This hand?" he asked, showing his right hand. Then he raised his left hand and bent his fingers suggestively. "Or this one?"
Deciding to ignore his insolent implication, I asked, "What do you want from me?"
"Who said I want anything?" He lowered his hand and shrugged. "I just wanted to say hello."
"Did you really think you could pull this off by shoving me into an unused room?" I pursed my lips and shook my head as if impressed. "Wow, there really is a 300 IQ in this room right now, and I'm not ashamed to say that 298 of it belongs to me."
"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" he asked, taking a step toward me. He looked into my eyes as he slowly placed his right hand on his thigh. He was talking about me provoking him. "Are you enjoying this?"
"Enjoying humiliating people or humiliating you?" I tapped my finger on my lips as if thinking. "I guess yes to both."
He took another step toward me. "Are you doing this to drive me crazy?"
I shrugged. I knew he was a jerk who thought he was bigger than he was, but hearing it from his own mouth had a different effect. Without breaking eye contact, I gave him a bold look. "You go crazy over a bird flying by."
"Tsk tsk," he said, quickening his steps toward me. When he suddenly stopped right in front of me, he bowed his head slightly. I was looking up at him because I didn't want this son of a bitch to think he had any effect on me. "You're the only woman who can make me like this."
He reached out and took my right hand without taking his eyes off mine. I had to force myself not to flinch at the touch of his warm fingers. I stubbornly continued to look into his blue eyes. He pulled my hand toward him and pressed it against his thigh, right where his penis was.
I frowned. "Don't you have any professional ethics?"
"Where did you get the idea that I have general morals?" he murmured, leaning his face a little closer to mine. "If I were a very virtuous fool, I'd be very boring." He didn't let go of my hand, his fingers wrapped around my wrist. He looked into my eyes for a few more seconds, then lowered his head toward my neck. With his other hand, he pushed my hair behind my shoulders, slightly unbuttoned my shirt, and rubbed his nose against my neck. My lips were dry. I could feel his throbbing penis under my hand. "If I were a boring person, I wouldn't have met you, would I?"
"Wow, you helped me realize at what point my life went downhill," I teased, but when his lips touched my neck, I had to swallow.
"You're a very manipulative woman, Dila," he said in that mystical voice of his, trying to charm me. "You're the biggest liar I know."
"I guess you don't know yourself?" I asked mockingly. His lips were wandering around my neck and my hand was still on his penis, but despite that, my attitude was as if nothing was happening. Even if he was annoyed by this, he didn't show it to me.
"That's why you suit me," he whispered, planting another kiss on my neck. "Two liars, two fools." He gently bit my flesh and then kissed the spot he had bitten. "Could there be a better pair than this?"
"I have no intention of fucking you again." I tried to pull my hand away, but he wouldn't let me. "Stop playing games."
"Are you sure?" He put his right hand on my waist and pulled me closer. It felt like I had experienced a different version of this scene before. My hand was on his penis, caught between us, and his lips were drawn to my earlobe as if to seduce me. "I can smell your lie."
His hand came down on my ass. He squeezed my ass slowly and began to suck my earlobe between his lips while purring with pleasure. I pressed my lips together, trying to stay calm, but it was impossible. The warm feeling of his growing penis under my hand, his lips sucking my earlobe, and his hand squeezing my butt caused a stirring between my legs. When I realized my throat was dry and all sorts of indecent positions were popping into my head, I tried to pull myself together.
That was what he was trying to do. He was trying to seduce me for what he wanted from me.
He wanted to use me.
"I can smell your insincerity too." I tried to pull my hand away again, but he had no intention of letting me. "If you don't get off me, I'm not responsible for what happens."
Without taking my earlobe out of his mouth, he whispered, "What are you going to do, Dila? What more can you do to me?"
I gritted my teeth at his strange flirtatious remark.
Although I liked that he was attracted to me, I hadn't given him permission to touch me. He couldn't come to my workplace, pull me into a secluded room, and touch me whenever he wanted. He couldn't show up next to me whenever he wanted sex and try to seduce me. He was such an egotistical man that he thought he could solve everything this way. He assumed that if I got aroused and wet enough, I would fall to my knees for him.
But he didn't know me.
"This." I tilted my head to the right. At first, he thought I was trying to get away from him or escape, but when I quickly slammed my head into his, he let go and staggered.
It wasn't a very good plan because my head hurt from the blow too.
Fuck you, you bastard, you're the reason for this torment I'm going through!
I moaned as I broke free from him and moved away. Evren moaned in pain too, and as I took a couple of steps toward the door, turning my face toward him, shaking from the concussion, rubbing the temple I'd hit, he looked at me.
He didn't look angry.
More like...
He looked even more aroused.
Fuck. Did this guy ever stop?
His eyes gleaming, he murmured, "Dila, Dila, sweet Dila." He straightened up and fixed his eyes on me like a predatory animal. Rubbing his temple with his fingers, he said in an ominous voice, "You're begging me to hunt you down."
"Fuck off, you bastard," I replied, holding my head with both hands, trying to keep my balance. "I'm not begging you for anything."
"How quickly you forget the times you begged?" When he lowered his hand, I took my hands off my head. As we stared defiantly into each other's eyes, he suddenly burst out laughing.
"What are you laughing at?" I growled angrily. His mood swings were starting to get on my nerves.
His laughter lasted a few more seconds. Then suddenly the playful expression vanished from his face, a dangerous shadow fell over his eyes, and in a voice that made my heart race, he said, "I want to fuck you until those defiant eyes are filled with tears."
"You can only fuck your hand." I straightened myself and rubbed my neck dry with my hand to dry the wetness he had left there. "I have to get back to work, don't you dare follow me."
"What do you mean?" he said, pretending to be hurt. "Can't I come to your office, bend you over the desk, and fuck that little ass of yours?" He put his hand on his heart. "You hurt me."
I raised my middle finger and flicked it, and he laughed again when he saw it. "Don't talk to me at work, you pervert!"
I turned around and unlocked the door. Just as I was about to leave the room, he said, "I hope you brought a spare pair of underwear, Dila." I could have sworn he was smirking. "Because the ones you're wearing are so wet you need to change them."
He was right, and I hated it.
"Son of a bitch!" I cursed and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me. When I heard him laugh again from inside, I pressed my nails into my palm and let out a silent scream.
This guy was the last thing I needed!
I hadn't seen Evren for the rest of the day, and I was very happy about that. I had arranged to meet Oya after work. We were going to have coffee together, and I was going to apologize to her. As I swiped my card and headed for the parking lot, I was rehearsing what I was going to say to Oya in my head.
I'm sorry, I'm a stupid asshole. Please forgive me.
I didn't want to overshadow your happy news, I'm just such a big jerk that I didn't know how to react.
I love you so much, I would do anything for you. Please forgive me for my stupidity and idiocy.
Rewinding the sentences in my head over and over, I walked towards the F side where I had parked Rahmi. Rahmi was waiting for me, looking all worn out, with his head bowed among the fancy cars in the company parking lot.
I sighed, knowing I couldn't afford a new car anytime soon. My brother's debt wasn't paid off yet, and unless I got a promotion and my salary suddenly increased, I couldn't afford a new car.
I went to the driver's seat, inserted the key, and unlocked it. I sat down, threw my bag onto the seat next to me, and fastened my seatbelt. After a quick glance in the mirror and turning on my music playlist, I prayed it wouldn't stall and started Rahmi.
Fortunately, the big guy had decided not to make things difficult for me today.
When the engine started up powerfully, I breathed a sigh of relief and drove out of the parking lot toward the exit. I was meeting Oya in Beşiktaş, and it should have taken me no more than half an hour to get there. But because of the damn traffic, I only managed to reach the café where we were meeting 50 minutes later.
I parked Rahmi, grabbed my bag, and quickly dashed into the small café tucked away between the streets, where I found Oya looking at her phone. She was sitting at a table by the window, and it was clear she was getting bored waiting for me from the glass in front of her.
Damn, I was late again.
I quickly went over to her and blurted out, "I'm so sorry!" When Oya's eyes found me, I said sadly, "There was traffic. It was like all the drivers in bloody Istanbul had suddenly decided to take the same route as me. I would have gotten there faster if I had run."
Oya smiled gently. "It's okay, sit down."
I took off my jacket because I was sweating and hung it on the chair, then put my bag on the table and sat down. Oya didn't seem angry with me, but I shouldn't be fooled by that. That was just Oya's nature. She wasn't like me, prone to outbursts or snide remarks. She was one of the calmest and kindest people I knew. Sometimes I couldn't even understand why she was friends with me.
"Did I keep you waiting long?"
She shook her head. "The coffee came five minutes ago. What would you like to drink?"
Remembering that I drank coffee to relieve the stress caused by Evren throughout the day, I said, "I'll have something cold." I turned my head and waved to the waiter three tables away who was about to take orders, calling out, "Excuse me?"
When I ordered lemonade from the waiter and turned back to Oya, I noticed she was looking at me too.
I had to start talking.
I nervously clasped my hands on the table.
Since I'm not very good at beating around the bush, I started directly by saying, "I'm sorry. I was an asshole." When Oya continued to look at me without saying anything, I moistened my lips with my tongue and continued talking. "I didn't want to ruin your evening, I just didn't know how to react. Of course, I'm very happy that you're pregnant, and I'm sorry for making you think otherwise. At that moment, I just..." I sighed. "I didn't know what to say."
"I know," said Oya, shaking her head. "That's not what I was angry about anyway."
"Really?" I blinked in surprise.
"What upsets me," she repeated, "is that you always tell me how to live my life." I cowered like a guilty dog. Even when the waiter brought my lemonade and placed it in front of me, Oya didn't take her eyes off me. "I know you care about me, Dila, and want what's best for me, but you need to come to terms with some realities."
"I know," I murmured, but Oya shook her head.
"I don't think you know." She sighed heavily. It was as if she didn't want to have this conversation either, but we both knew it had to be done at that moment. "I know you don't like Mehmet, and I know he doesn't like you. I also realize that you both often put up with each other for my sake, but there's a reality you have to accept, and that is that Mehmet is my husband. I know he hurt me a lot in the past, but I saw that he made an effort to correct those mistakes in some way, and I decided to give him a chance. So far, he hasn't made me regret it."
"Oya, I—"
I was about to say something when Oya raised her hand and silenced me. "I know he was very rude to you too. What he said that evening was unforgivable." She shook her head disapprovingly. "You should know that I was very angry with him and took a serious stance." She looked into my eyes again. There was still hurt beneath her gentle gaze. "But it can't be said that you were kind to him either. I don't want you to be close friends with Mehmet, and I have no intention of wanting that anyway. I just wish that my best friend and my husband could sit together without fighting every time they meet. I don't think I'm asking for too much."
"You're not asking for too much." I managed to murmur. What else could I say? Oya was absolutely right. She wasn't bullying me or my husband. She criticized us both equally and looked at us both the same way. On the one hand, this flattered my pride because it was clear how much she valued me from the way she defended me against her child's father.
Oya was truly a friend I feared losing.
"I want you to understand me. The good and bad things I experience will always be my choice. I will face both the good and the bad. You have to accept that you can't always protect me. Mehmet may not be the right man for you, but he's the only man I can imagine for myself. Please respect that."
"I hear you," I said anxiously. Stressed, I lowered my hands to my legs and wiped them on my pants. "I won't fight with him."
"I have no intention of changing my baby's father," she said slowly. "But I also have no intention of changing my baby's aunt." She looked at me as if to reassure me. "I know you've been through hard times. Life has never been easy. I want you to be by my side, not against me, just as I want to be by yours."
I pressed my lips together. What could I say? I was completely guilty, and no matter how many times I apologized, the fact that I ruined Oya's night wouldn't change.
"I don't envy your happiness, as Mehmet claims," I finally managed to say. I was trying to choose my words carefully. "It's true that I'm alone and will probably remain alone until I die, but... that doesn't mean I want to see you alone. I'm happy that you're happy, that you have someone who loves you by your side, and that you've expanded your family."
"I never thought you envied me anyway." Oya's fingers traced circles in her coffee cup. "It's just..."
I frowned with concern. Fearfully, I asked, "Just?"
"You're too lonely," she said, her gaze fixed on the coffee cup. "You're very lonely, Dila. You don't see anyone but me, and now I'm pregnant. It's a fact that I won't be able to see you constantly while I'm taking care of the baby. I proudly watch you walk your own path while I walk mine, but sometimes I can't help thinking that it would be nice if you had someone to lean on."
My throat went dry, and I quickly said, "I don't need anyone."
She looked up. There was pity in her eyes.
That's what hit me in the heart.
A strange feeling rose inside me.
I was sad, but it wasn't sadness for my situation. I was sad because she looked at me that way. I was sad that my closest friend felt sorry for me.
I was a little angry too, but I didn't know why.
"You know this isn't right," she murmured. "It never was right."
"Oya, please let's not talk about this."
I reached for the cold glass of lemonade. Oya put down her coffee cup and sat up straighter.
"I need you, Dila, but not as much as you need me. This loneliness is consuming you, and I'm worried about you continuing like this."
I felt my eyes sting. Did Oya really think that? Was I suffocating her because of my loneliness? Mehmet had said something similar.
I grabbed the body of the glass and squeezed it. With my eyes burning, I said again, "I don't need anyone."
I need someone too.
"Everyone needs someone. Even you." She reached over and took her bag from the table. She stood up and left the money for her coffee on the table. "Especially you." She looked at me one last time. My gaze was fixed on the table. My eyes were burning, my tears were welling up. I wouldn't cry, so I squeezed myself. "Don't punish yourself with loneliness."
I felt Oya smile at me one last time. After that smile, she burned out and left the cafe.
Her last words began to spin in my head.
They spun and spun and spun.
Then they transformed into something else.
"Don't punish yourself with loneliness."
"Stop forcing yourself into my space to avoid being alone."
I continued to squeeze the body of the glass.
Was that it? Was my best friend really fed up with me? Was I bothering her too much? Was I so lonely that I was constantly hanging around her? Or did she think I was clinging to her because I was lonely?
Or did Oya really think that, or was interpreting her words that way just my imagination?
I didn't know what to think. I was both angry and very sad. I wouldn't have been surprised if I had burst into tears at the cafe, but I made a great effort and managed to suppress the urge to cry.
Everyone needs someone. Even you.
Who did I need? My family, who cared more about their sons than me, who never once asked how or under what conditions I paid off the loan I took out for their sons' debt? My coworkers, who didn't even consider me human, who looked at me like I was a piece of shit? My ex-boyfriend, who I gave everything to, but who didn't find me attractive and humiliated me? Those asshole men who made fun of my way of speaking, my cellulite, and my stretch marks from losing weight?
I squeezed the glass even tighter.
No, I didn't need any of those assholes. I was enough for myself. I was born into this life alone. I never had anyone to stroke my head, make me soup when I was sick, take things from my hands when I couldn't carry them, hug me when I was sad, listen to me when I was troubled, or pick flowers from the roadside for me, and I never would.
I had made peace with that. So why did everyone keep telling me otherwise?
Was I alone by choice?
Who in this world valued me?
Who worshipped me like a treasure?
As I unconsciously squeezed my glass tighter, it suddenly shattered in my hand.
I jumped up with a small scream. As lemonade spilled over me, the glass shards piercing my hand turned the table into a pool of blood. I clenched my teeth as the waiters rushed around me. I politely declined their offers to call an ambulance and, handing the young man the money for the broken glass and the lemonade I couldn't drink, I took my bag and the cloth one of the waitresses had wrapped around my hand and headed for Rahmi.
I knew I couldn't drive like this, but I had to because even at that moment, there was no one to come to my aid.
When I went to the state hospital emergency room, I was covered in blood. They removed the glass shards from my hand, cleaned the wounds, and stitched my hand with four stitches. After bandaging it, they asked me questions about my injury. They were going to call the police, but I convinced them it was an accident. When I got home and Burhan greeted me, it was ten-thirty in the evening.
Burhan was a stray cat I had picked up from the street. Being male, he was very affectionate, and I think he was the only male I loved in this world. As soon as he came in the door, rubbing against my leg, I remembered that it was past his feeding time. I immediately went and filled his bowl and threw myself onto the secondhand couch in the living room. As the broken spring in the chair dug into my backside, my shoulders began to shake.
Instead of eating his food, Burhan climbed onto my lap and fixed his big green eyes on me, and I found myself hugging him. Burhan always knew how I felt better than I did. When my cat started purring as if to calm me down, I buried my face in his fur and suddenly began to cry. Burhan, sitting quietly in my lap without fear of my sobs, rubbed his head against me, and my shoulders began to shake. I cried for a long time, moaning.
The only thing I could hold onto in my life was the two-year-old cat I had rescued from the street.