Го́споди. The dream I had last night is almost enough to make me go to church, and I can't remember the last time I went. I dreamt vividly, like the people who post on the network do. Every sight, sound and colour was there, as if I could touch it and breathe in the sickly odor of decay.
I was eighteen, growing up in Russia, with two sisters - the same as always. But at a party, I met
him. The liar, the manipulator, the one who charmed my eighteen year old self into sleeping with him and then turned it ugly. Not violent ugly. Betrayal ugly. It was a betrayal, that I can see from this vantage point, but I know my dream self will be very angry in twenty years. Call it a hunch.
I saw us making love more than once, with his sweet little nothings and my borderline slavish acceptance. It was demeaning; I'd never bend that way for a man now. But then he told me what the price would be, and my stupid little self accepted it. It makes me angrier than anything. Working for the KGB for the price of getting off? That's a bondage I won't accept, here or in any lifetime.