by Oro

That day she will wake up feeling whole, feisty, delighted in her rage at him. She will move her hand over her head as she looks in the mirror, reexamining her face to see if she's any different. Her hand trailing over her forehead and her eyes (still not used to the morning light), her nose, mouth, chin; she will see herself differently so that's what she'll be.

And she'll think absently, as she always does, about nothing in particular; she'll try to conjure the memory of that feeling that's been haunting her, unattractive and needy, painful, like a toothache. She'll congratulate herself as she fails the attempt.

She'll leave her home to go to her office, and she'll meet the first wonderful warm breeze of the season; she will feel invincible. She'll take off her jacket and bask in what she'll think of as her newfound freedom, the taste of power falling on her tongue.

Starting the car, she'll think of vroom, vroom, vroom, this purr of the car she hasn't had time to listen to when all she could think of was his name. She'll think about how she doesn't think about these things anymore because she is invincible.

(She'll secretly miss his name).

That day she will not take her coffee and donut for granted; she'll romanticize that she's savoring them. She'll decide to be nice to the reporters, nice to Leo, nice to all those nice people around her. She is a pleasant person, she'll think; she doesn't share the niceness as much as she should. She'll think about how neurotic she really is.

His eyes will be all the more penetrating as he watches her briefing; she'll confuse her words for a moment.

That day she will watch him chuckle and walk away. She will joke with a reporter about hats and who the hell cares about the President's feelings for them? She'll make mental notes of everyone not laughing.

It'll be a light day, but she'll still feel drained by sunset. She will think briefly about what she may have missed while she wasn't paying attention; it will cross her mind that it doesn't matter. She'll have trouble coming up with ways to occupy her mind; she'll be overly aware of herself when walking.

She'll be sitting in her office when he'll enter without knocking first, as he always does. She'll automatically stand up. He'll say nothing, but she'll know what he wants. (She'll resist in her mind, but she's already been broken). She will say no. She will push him away before he has the chance to kiss her. She'll say that he is her boss, and the many things she used to tell herself when she still had feelings for him.

That night she will taste his lips and it wouldn't occur to her that maybe they're moving too quickly. (She'll give in anyway). She'll moan his name and he'll confess to her things he didn't intend to. She'll wonder if he really does mean everything he said, and then she'll dismiss the thought. She will listen to his breathing in the darkness of his apartment and wonder what the hell happened to her better judgment.


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