by Jenn Marlow
Roland Peters was both alone and surrounded.
Roland Peters was a man who lived separate lives.
His popular exterior, so bright and cunning, shined bright for all to see; but his inner being lurked off in the distance, just outside of the radiant beams. He hid, like a skittish dog; he hid, in the shadows of the room. He hid in the corner, where no light dared to reach. He hid from all that sought after him, and all that passed. He hid from everyone and everything. He hid from himself. He hid from the world so that he could be—at the end of this day and every day to come—alone.
Her movements were on autopilot, as she pranced down the hall towards his office. She took a deep breath, knowing what she craved, and balled her hand into a fist. Her body was moving mechanically now—almost robotic, but with primitive needs. Running on pure lust and raw, intense physical desire, she knocked, not realizing this moment was the moment of peace just before the storm. She didn’t realize that soon there would be all-out warfare on both of their defenses, and soon one—or both—would be living in the shattered ruins of what they both had taken so long to build.
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