“God,” she wheezed, “why is it so terrible?”Vasily leaned in close and eyed the crimson morass upon the plate. He sniffed it. “This is not p...prika,” he said.“I didn’t have paprika,” Carie croaked. She flushed her mouth out with more water. “I used chili powder and sumac.”“Chili powder and... sumac?” he asked, frowning. What the hell was ‘sumac’? Why the hell would she have sumac and not paprika?“They’re both red! Paprika is red! I used red spices!”“Red is colour, not flavour.”Carie was too busy. The elevator journey's a blur. As is the gaudy carpet lining the fourth-floor corridor. And the green light on my door lock.Only perching on the bed, arms stiff gripping the edge of the mattress seems real. Then I wonder if I should be presented on the bed properly. Sitting? Lying? Sprawled across it? Legs open? Closed? Fuck, fuck, what are his expectations? Am I decent, or indecent enough?I scurry to the bathroom and flick the light, the fluorescent tube ignition flashing then stabilising.. More

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