chewing the insides of her cheeks again, her mouth constantly tainted by the taste of blood. But she knew she couldn’t cancel, simply because it had been booked, and George had booked it, and when he made a plan he stuck with it. And in the end, she took the flight, helped along by several gin and tonics. It was bad, but she survived, and once the plane had safely landed and she had been disgorged into the chaos of Athens International, a giddy sense of possibility came over her. That sense carried over into the entirety of the trip. She thought she’d hate the ferries, but she was okay with them, the open sky and long vistas helping her to relax. It was a happy trip for the first few days, and then George’s jealousy and paranoia kicked in.
He’d always been possessive, ever since that first weekend they’d spent together. He’d quiz her regularly on whether she found any of her fellow students attractive. She quickly learned to say no. If they went to a party together—a rare occurrence—Kate learned to talk only to other women, or George would sulk for days. She even learned that if they went to a movie together—something with Brad Pitt, say—that she shouldn’t even mention that she found him attractive. She learned that the hard way. “He’s Brad Pitt. I’d never in a million years meet him, you know.”
“And I suppose if you did meet him, you’d just up and fuck him?” George answered.
“Of course not.”
“But you find him attractive. Obviously, you want to fuck him, so why wouldn’t you if he offered?”
“God, George. I wouldn’t be with him because I only want to be with you.”
“Then why would you be attracted to him?”
It went on like that for several days, and Kate learned to never mention any man’s name—famous or not famous—again.
It got worse in Greece. Maybe it was the beaches, and all that tawny flesh on display. Kate kept her eyes on her book, or off into the blinding distance, but it was impossible to not occasionally glance at the parade of bodies, the men in briefs and the women mostly topless. Kate was self-conscious in her sea-green one-piece, and her pale skin that reddened instead of tanned. One afternoon she found herself watching a teenage girl dart in and out of the Mediterranean. Her bikini bottoms were the color of light brown skin, so that she seemed entirely naked. Even though she was past puberty, she still acted like a young girl, running in and out of the foaming surf. Kate wondered if she’d ever felt that giddy or free, even when she was very young.
That night, at dinner, George, after ten minutes of silence, asked Kate if she was a lesbian. She tried to laugh it off, but George wouldn’t let it go, and Kate, for the rest of the trip, tried not to look at anyone.
But the worst incident happened on their last night, in Heraklion, Crete. On the other side of the road from the beach was a long line of competing cafés and restaurants. By late afternoon the restaurants would each send one of their waiters out toward the sidewalk to try to lure the tourists. “Look at the menu,” they’d say. “Freshest fish in Heraklion.” On the bad night, George and Kate had been coerced into looking at the menu of a pizza place, and then agreed to take a seat outside on the patio. Seating them, the handsome waiter had said: “We’ll put the beautiful English lady facing the street so all the men will want to come here.” Kate laughed, and to her horror, felt a blush suffuse her cheeks. George got quiet. They ordered a carafe of the terrible Greek wine and a seafood pizza. Halfway through the meal Kate said, “You’re not upset about what that waiter said, are you? You know he says that to every woman he seats?”
“So is that why you keep looking at him?” George replied.
“I haven’t looked at him once since we sat down, George.”
They were silent for the rest of the meal, but continued the conversation later in their inexpensive hotel room three blocks away.
“I would never have brought you to Greece if I’d known what it would do to you,” George said. He was so angry that flecks of spit flew from his lips.
“It’s not doing anything to me, George. It’s doing something to you.”
“You’re honestly telling me that you’re not going to lay