I see a tiny thread that seems to be binding the three of them together. But it’s more than just the ‘red string of fate’ that most folks know a...out. There are three other colors intertwining around that string. I can’t quite make it out...”I should have realized that ‘red string’ stuff actually had some merit.Indeed, partner. Things like that don’t stick around in cultural myth for long without having some element of truth to them.Could the intertwining colors she mentioned be our gold, silver. Alex just looked at me, not smiling. He was good at this. I continued to struggle as much as I could. Get off! I yelled, without really yelling. I didnt want to worry my neighbors by yelling too loudly. He put his hand over my mouth. Shut up, you stupid bitch! That was possibly the meanest thing Id ever heard him say. And it turned me on. I bit his hand, but it didnt do much because he had a leather glove on. So I just continued to struggle. He moved his arm off of me to reach down and unzip. Researching my graduate thesis in Magical Realism, reading the lush descriptions of my Colombia is painful. Longing squeezes my heart like a tourniquet.So, I spend the chilly evening with a cup of decaf tea, a thick blanket, and a pile of student essays. A night of monkish intellectualism. A scholar in a foreign place surrounded by dead men’s work and lofty ideals, imparting clarity and judgment to the next generation.Then, suddenly, Basya’s essay. “Sexuality in Sleeping Beauty.”My throat. She liked this, she could get used to this, her reason giver rewarding her with something other than the absence of pain. It made her feel warm and flushed; this was good, very good! She would do almost anything to continue this. But now he was apologizing! To her! He hadn't even beaten her and yet he was saying he was sorry for doing something that she obviously needed and deserved."No!" she said sharply, realizing she had said it far too loudly and strongly. She lowered her voice and her eyes.