Chapter Two
DİLA
"Where have you been? I was so worried!" Oya looked at me anxiously as she slid into the chair next to mine. "Evren was supposed to check on you, but he came back alone."
"You wanted me to check if she was okay," Evren said, unfazed by the comment, a playful curve on her lips. "So I did."
"I'm fine," I said, wanting to end the conversation. I looked at Mehmet and added, "I'm not going to let a sewer rat ruin my evening. I went out to smoke."
Mehmet squinted, about to say something, but Oya placed her hand over his and stopped him. "Alright, you must be wondering why we called you." She sounded cheerful, as if trying to erase the tension from earlier.
As I lifted my glass to my lips, I silently begged, "Please say you're getting divorced."
Oya gave me a tired look. "We're not, Dila."
"You have high hopes, spinster," When Mehmet gave me a nasty look, I shrugged my shoulders and continued drinking my wine.
"So, what's the big news?" Evren asked, sipping her rum. His blue eyes were on Oya. Then why was my entire body trembling? I felt as though his gaze, even if technically on Oya, was piercing me. Could he have a third eye hidden somewhere?
I silently thought, hope it's on his dick.
Ah, I really did need a good penis. I had been alone for so long, away from the dating scene, that I was almost starved enough to think about a man I hadn't remembered for three years. I made a mental note to find someone who wouldn't complicate my life, just to avoid work and financial stress.
"The big news is," Mehmet said, shooting Oya a disgustingly smug look that made me want to gag, "you're getting a promotion soon."
"What promotion?" I raised my eyebrows.
Evren, however, had already grasped the situation more than I had, and with his glass pointed at Oya, asked, "Are you pregnant?"
I jumped in shock. "Pregnant?" I echoed her question. My closest friend, maybe my only real friend, had married an asshole like Mehmet and now… was she having a child with him? Could this really be happening?
Under my stunned gaze, Oya smiled, squeezing Mehmet's hand. "Yes, I'm pregnant."
Fuck.
"Is this a joke?" I struggled to process it. I didn't know why I reacted this way, whether it was because of Mehmet or something else, but the tension made me feel like I could vomit any second.
"Why are you acting like we just delivered the worst news in the world?" Mehmet raised his eyebrows, his voice judgmental. Admittedly, I had to give him some credit. They were married, and a child often became a milestone most couples aimed to reach as soon as they tied the knot. Many people acted oddly obsessed with the idea of having children, so my surprise seemed out of place.
"No, it's just…" I pressed my lips together. What could I possibly say in this situation? I lowered my hands and clasped them under the table. Suddenly, a wave of inexplicable calm washed over me. Normally, I wouldn't have reacted like this. I wouldn't have gone speechless or been unsure what to say. Shouldn't I have been ecstatic as her closest friend, jumping, squealing, and smothering her in kisses when she told me she was going to be a mother?
Whether that was his intention or not, Evren "saved" me in a way by saying, "Congratulations. How many months old is the baby? "
Mehmet tore his eyes from me and looked at his friend. Cheerfully, he chirped, "Two months." But Oya's gaze remained on me.
"Dila, are you okay?" Oya's voice sounded hurt. I understood her—her closest friend was far from reacting as expected. If I were in her place, I would have been furious. But I wasn't her, and I wouldn't be in the next five years. "Aren't you happy?"
"I…" I exhaled and smiled. "Of course I'm happy! Are you crazy babe, this is great news!"
"You don't seem that thrilled," she said, a trace of sadness in her tone.
"She's jealous because she can't start a family in the near future," Mehmet's mocking voice cut in, but Oya still stared at me, her face sour. Fuck, I knew I would hate myself for doing this to her. "Right, spinster? You told me Oya would never be with me, would never marry me, that we could never have a family. Remember? But five years have passed, and now we're expecting a baby. Meanwhile, how's your life going? Longest relationship? Six months?" He leaned back, smirking condescendingly.
"Mehmet…" Oya took a deep breath and warned her husband, but he pulled his hand back and frowned at me.
"No, Oya, you can't blame me." His gaze could have cut me like a knife. "You never accepted me in your eyes, and you weren't even there during any developments in our relationship. Instead, you tried to turn her against me."
"You weren't a good boyfriend!" I defended myself. How could he blame me for not embracing him after hurting Oya at the start of their relationship? "You hurt her, used her, made her cry, and left! Then, months later, she miraculously forgave you, and suddenly you're a great husband? Did you even see how miserable she was?"
"Yes, I did!" Mehmet's voice rose. I could have stabbed him, but I didn't want to leave my friend without a husband, my niece without a father, so I dismissed the thought. "I made a mistake and paid for it, but I'm tired of you acting like a child who can't move on, throwing my past mistakes in my face every day!"
"What did you pay for?" My voice rose too. It felt like it was just the two of us at the table, and if they didn't want us to strangle each other, they should intervene—but neither Evren nor Oya did. "I was the one there for Oya! I was the one who calmed her down, brought her back to herself! I was the one who saw how much you hurt her! And if I didn't coddle you on top of all that, well, sorry, sack of shit, you don't deserve her!"
Mehmet laughed mockingly. Slamming his hand on the table, he shouted, "You're the last person who should be talking about who deserves whom! You'll spend the rest of your life fingering yourself, living with your stupid cat and your broken car in a tiny apartment. Because, Dila, in this fucked-up world, not a single man will love or fuck you!"
"Enough." Oya's voice snapped me back. A lump had formed in my throat, my eyes were stinging, but I ignored it. With a disappointed glare, she looked first at Mehmet, then at me. She seemed in disbelief, tears brimming, yet she held her posture as she addressed Mehmet. "I've told you thousands of times that you cannot talk to Dila like this, Mehmet. No matter what, you cannot speak to her this way."
When her gaze turned from her husband to me, her eyes sparkled with tears. My heart shattered—I couldn't understand why. Was it so hard to fake a scream and smile joyfully? Had I suddenly lost control and ruined everything?
"I know you don't like Mehmet, Dila, but he's my husband. I can't live my life based on what you think is best for me. I want to feel that you're on my side, not constantly judging my husband or my choices. You're not the one married to Mehmet, I am. If there's pain to be felt in the future, I'm the one who will feel it. Maybe it's time you accepted that he's my husband now."
She pushed back her chair and stood. She didn't look at either of us, but in a firm, judging tone, said, "You both need to accept certain things because this cannot continue. Either you accept each other, or…" She didn't finish her sentence.
"Oya?" Mehmet looked at his wife anxiously. "What are you trying to say? You're not going to divorce me just because I can't get along with Dila, right?"
"I'm not trying to say anything." She grabbed her bag, took a couple of steps, and without looking at us before leaving, said, "You ruined my evening, and it's both of your faults equally. I hope you're happy," and walked inside.
I watched her go, stunned. My heart pounded in my chest, my brain swearing at me. She was right—I had no right to constantly give advice about her marriage. Why was I judging her choice of husband? Especially when I didn't even have one?
Was I really jealous? Was that the problem? I didn't know, but I wanted to bang my head to the wall and cry. My closest friend had wanted to share her happy news with me over a special dinner, and I had ruined it. She had also wanted to invite other friends but could only reach us with Evren. Even if the others couldn't be there, she wanted to tell me herself. And what had I done?
Fuck, fuck. Sure, Mehmet contributed, but that didn't lessen my guilt.
"Are you happy?" Mehmet snapped as he stood. "You'll never change, Dila. You're a parasite who envies others because you can't be happy yourself. You're angry because Oya isn't alone like you and hasn't devoted her life to you." He leaned slightly forward, hands on the table. Never hiding his disgust, he said, "Before judging me, look at yourself. If you continue like this, you won't just remain a spinster, you'll also lose your closest friend, the one you claim to love, and you'll truly be alone."
He spun around swiftly and walked inside to find Oya.
I wanted to cry, whine, tear things apart, but I couldn't move from where I was. I felt frozen, unsure of what to do. My ears were ringing, my throat was dry, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.
"It was a shitty moment." I jumped when I suddenly heard Evren's voice. I had forgotten he was even here; he hadn't spoken for so long that I thought he had left. As my gaze slowly shifted to him, I saw that he was busy cutting meat with his knife. A war had just broken out here, but he was eating as if nothing had happened? "Are you angry?"
"Are you eating?" I frowned.
"Since I can't go and make them have reconciliation sex, yes. They should sort it out themselves." He popped a piece of meat into his mouth and chewed lazily.
"Is that the only option you can think of?" Yes, I wasn't a great person either, and I might have said some awful things earlier, but his nonchalance rubbed me the wrong way. Of course, I didn't expect him to protect his friend's wife's unknown friend, but I thought he would at least be surprised and uncomfortable. Yet Evren wasn't bothered by either my belittling of Mehmet or Mehmet's belittling of me. In fact, he seemed to find it amusing.
Just before popping another piece of meat into his mouth, he asked, referring to the other option, "Do you want me to bend you over the table and fuck you?"
Staring at him in amazement, I groaned, "I swear!" My anger was rising again. It was all that fucking Mehmet's fault. "If anyone else comments on my sex life—"
He swallowed his bite and raised his glass. "You're angry, you're hurt, and you're looking for something to take your revenge on." He didn't take his eyes off me as he drank his rum. "To get rid of these feelings, you'll either find someone to fuck you or you'll become a murderer."
"Being a murderer doesn't sound so bad." I said, glancing at the door showing the inside of the restaurant where Mehmet and Oya had gone.
"I wouldn't recommend killing Mehmet, it would upset your friend even more than before." He looked at me as if amused. He had finished his meal, and when he took his last sip and put his glass down on the table, he was done.
"What do you recommend? Just because I'm angry, should I fuck some guy I don't even know who or what he fucked before me?" What were we talking about?
Why was I discussing my sex life with this guy?
"You're overthinking it." He smiled irritatingly. I wasn't sure if he was mocking me or being serious. "Sex isn't as important as you make it out to be."
"I'm not overthinking it! I'm just—"
"Does going to a man you don't know just because you want a good fuck make you feel small?"
I shook my head at Evren's amused gaze and said angrily, "What? No, this—"
"Does that mean you can't come to terms with your desires?" He cut me off, resting his elbow on the table and his cheek in his palm. "Every minute you resist finding a good man to fuck instead of your hand, you're allowing Mehmet to humiliate you."
"Who said I give a shit about Mehmet?" My mouth opened in surprise. As he looked at me sweetly, I moistened my lips to protest. "And where did you get the idea that I'm resisting anything—"
"You're constantly on edge because you can't release your stress. The scene you just put on was the icing on the cake."
"Excuse me?" I put my hands on the table and narrowed my eyes. "Don't talk to me like you know me. This is only the second time we've seen each other. Who are you to pass judgment on my sex life?" I shrugged my shoulders and asked angrily, "What's it to you?"
"I canceled an appointment to come here, and you stole four hours of my time that I thought you'd spend belittling Mehmet. You could say I'm at a loss." His tone didn't make him feel like Mehmet's friend at all. It was as if he disliked him as much as I did.
"Get to the point, now you're wasting my time too." I looked straight at him. He might have been an attractive man, but right now I wanted to punch him in the face.
When he asked, "Do you want it?" I looked at him blankly.
"Excuse me? What?" What was this guy talking about?
As he pulled his cheek away from his hand, he asked in a sweet voice, "Do you want me to fuck you?"
"What? Wha—"
"Because I want to fuck you."
I was speechlessfor the second time.
Was this guy serious? No, wait, what was going on? How did things get to this point? This guy, whom I had seen for the second time, had first questioned my sex life and made some accusations against me. Now he was saying he wanted to fuck me?
What the hell was happening tonight? Why was everything happening on a plane where it shouldn't be? When I saw Evren, I might have wanted to rip his clothes off and jump on him, but hadn't this guy heard sermons from others about how inappropriate it was to suddenly tell a woman he didn't know he wanted to fuck her?
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I said, my voice somewhere between laughter and tears.
"I'm talking about my dick. My dick, your c—"
I raised my hand and silenced him. "Are you serious?"
"Do you just offer sex to people like that?"
"Of course not, that's the problem!" I couldn't believe it. "You don't even know me, but you want to sleep with me?"
"Do you usually ask people for proof of residence before letting them stick their dick inside you? Haven't you ever slept with strangers?"
"That's not the problem!" The fact that we couldn't agree right now must have been a huge joke. "This is inappropriate!"
He chuckled softly. "You can say no." Suddenly he became serious, and his eyes held mine captive. "Actually, you could have done this five minutes ago, but you didn't. Why?" The corners of his lips curled up annoyingly. "Because you want to fuck me too, don't you?"
"What kind of things are going on in your head?" I laughed mockingly. He was actually telling the truth, but I had no intention of admitting it and stroking his ego. "I wouldn't expect anything less from Mehmet's friend, who talks shit. You're two peas in a pod!"
"Do you know what I love doing most to feisty women who talk big with their little mouths?" I didn't answer. His smile widened as he watched my stubborn gaze. "Sticking my dick down their throats until the only sound coming out of their mouths is moaning."
"You're crazy." I trembled. For a moment, I imagined myself kneeling before him and wanted to slap myself. What was wrong with me?!
"That's why Mehmet called me," he said sweetly. "He knew your insults and your big-for-your-age, feisty attitude would turn me on. Didn't Oya warn you about this?" My eyes widened. How did he know this? "Didn't she tell you I was a womanizer and advise you to stay away from me?" I pressed my lips together. "But despite that, you didn't run away from me in the garden. You can't say you didn't imagine me fucking you in your head."
"What do you want from me?" I asked suddenly. It was obvious what he wanted from me, I didn't even know why I asked. "You're telling a woman you saw three years after that you want to fuck her, while her friends just got into a fight and left the table. Sorry, but it sounds like you have a dick instead of a brain in your skull."
"I had a date tonight," he reminded me again. "And I canceled that date just out of curiosity and came all the way here. I'm going to fuck someone tonight, and that someone is going to be you."
I pressed my legs together. I knew I should throw my wine in his face and walk away instead of talking to a man whose mind was consumed by sex, but no one had desired me in so long, and I was so lonely that his words strangely turned me on. Had I lost my mind too? Had loneliness driven me crazy?
"How can you be so sure?" I said, raising my eyebrows.
He laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "You're the one rubbing your legs together, you tell me."
I thought about the conversation I had with Oya that morning. I had told her I needed a penis, not a lover, and ta-da! Life had rewarded me with a handsome-faced, big-dicked sycophant. He wanted to throw me into bed—me, who was torn between work and home, looked down on by everyone I met, who had gotten a pet out of loneliness, and who had been dumped by my ex for not meeting their beauty standards. For some unknown reason, he found me attractive, and the things he wanted to do to me, like shoving his dick down my throat, made my heart race.
When was the last time someone made me feel desired? I couldn't remember.
It seemed like a big joke, but maybe he was right. I was very tense, unhappy, and nothing was going right. I didn't do anything except go home and lie around.
I needed to relieve my stress.
My vibrator needed a break too. I needed a real person to touch me.
Fuck this, I was really lonely.
A guy I remembered an hour ago had said he wanted to fuck me, and I was literally soaking wet.
"Fine," I said as I got up. "Let's go fuck." When he didn't move, I looked at him. "What are you waiting for? Do you want me to bend over in the middle of the restaurant?"
"I don't like being watched." I suppressed the urge to ask how he knew that. He had probably tried it before. He stood up and came over to me in a few steps, putting his hand on my waist and pushing me to walk. "Are you sure you won't regret it?"
"A minute ago you were saying you wanted to fuck me, and now you're asking if I'm sure?"
"I'm getting your consent," he said as we walked into the restaurant.
"I am coming with you, right?" I sighed. "Do I need to sign a contract too?"
"I'm getting your consent in advance." As I turned to pay the bill, he squeezed my waist and steered me toward the exit. "Because I won't be asking for your consent again for anything I do to you tonight."
I swallowed hard.
I had definitely lost my mind.
Loneliness had hit me hard.
Or maybe I was so desperate that I couldn't think straight.
I wasn't sure which it was, but as my heart raced, I tried to reassure myself that this would be a one-night thing.