I ignore them both, and after a quick trip to the bathroom, I go in search of Christian. My inner goddess glares at me in desperation. I roll my eyes at her, grateful that a certain twitchy-palmed control freak is not in the room, and resolve to ask him about the personal trainer. My subconscious purses her lips in disapproval. I clamber out of bed feeling stiff, and for want of a better expression, well-used. What does that actually meanThis is what I need to clarify between us to see if we are still at opposite ends on the see-saw or if we are inching closer together. When the grim reality is he wants a special arrangement, though he's said he'll try more. I'm in this fantasy apartment, having fantasy sex with my fantasy boyfriend. Ironically, I feel the same up here in his lofty tower. I frown because it still doesn't explain why I can't touch him. I shudder to think what he went through as a small child, and I understand why he lives here, isolated, surrounded by beautiful, precious works of art - so far removed from where he started. A fantasy - a castle in the air, adrift from the ground, safe from the realities of life - far away from neglect, hunger, and crack-whore mothers. I lie back for a moment staring through the windows at the lofty vista of Seattle's skyline.
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