“You don’t hate me?” His sudden words puzzled me. Looking at him, I saw his narrowed eyebrows and light mustache.
It was likely that he was so busy that there was no time to glam himself up.
“Yes!” I replied and tried to get rid of him by prizing his hands off. But he spared no strength, and I failed.
His behavior made me so confused. Looking at him, I asked, “Dennis, what’s wrong with you?”
“Will you get it back?” His black eyes fell on me. He looked blurred perhaps thanks to the alcohol.
At that time, I was not clear on what he was talking about, so I doubted, “What?”
Looking at me, he stopped talking and began to fondle me. His intent was clear.
Out of instinct, I grabbed his hands, frowning, “Dennis, I am Clara, not Olivia.”