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The Art of Deception.His eyes seemed so real, yet in her heart she knew he'd perfected the art of deception.
She shuddered with every touch, screaming at herself to just stop it, it wasn't right because it wasn't real. She couldn't stop.
His strong hands were all she needed. His kisses on her face and his arms around her already half naked body. Love was her medication, except it wasn't love at all. It was pseudo affection that never amounted to anything more. Each time she told herself it would be the last. Each time she told herself it might be different. But each time it was the same. A bit of fun for him, a bit of affection to fill the void for her. Temporary fixes that were far more damaging than she ever thought. Every time she convinced herself it might be more than what it was, he ripped out another fragment of her heart.
All she wanted was for him to love her, but love was not a concept he understood. When she awoke each morning wrapped safely in his arm she prayed he would want her another
A mere reflection.His skin was like silk as he lay next to her. His soft breathing was like music to her ears. His arms tightly wrapped around her naked body, his lips resting against her forehead. She never wanted to move. As he awoke he murmured a few words and she smiled and kissed his lips softly in response. He yawned then flipped himself over so his body was pressed against hers. With every kiss her heart beat a little faster, he whispered the sweetest words and eventually her heart melted. He stroked her face and kissed her forehead as she fell swiftly back to sleep. Her fear of waking up and finding he was gone was merely just nonsense. As she woke for the second time that day in his arms, she realised she would never feel this way again.
As the train pulled faster she smiled to herself. His musky scent still on her clothes, his sweat still embedded in her skin, his warm kisses still on her lips. The scene she always watched with fascination flashed past her, but he was the only thing in her min
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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