•Dichotomy•
|"A division or contrast between two things that are or are represented as being opposed or entirely different."|
°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
How many silhouettes can one trap in oneself? How many faces can a mask hide...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
". . . . . . . "
"I - I am sorry for being such a disappointment; all the more so when you are taking out precious time from your packed schedule and take it more seriously than I do. And then I break into your place without a sense of patience."
She kept her eyes down as she spoke, not wanting to see if he has that abysmal reaction that everyone else gave her.
A failure.
She genuinely wanted to apologize. However, the horrible memory of that man was swirling in her mind, making her feel nauseous.
She anxiously jiggled and her voice trembled slightly. How much she did not want to think about that now. How she wished she needed those voices in her head to wake up and overlap on this memory.
The President eyed her trembling eyes and shaking hands, that were still trying their best to keep at rest and appear strong and calm. A sudden urge to calm her down arose in him.
Do I care?
No. But if it was something related to abuse. . . . . .
"Look at me. Here.", a command. Immediate obedience.
She suddenly felt herself being filled with a smooth scent of a fruity musk. His signature smell that she wanted more of. Everytime.
She never realized in her blabbering when he had suddenly leaped up from his seat and now was leaning by his back on the desk, standing just beside where he sat. He was standing to closely beside her chair, the proximity was almost none.
He put two of his fingers softly under her chin and raised her face to meet his yes. His eyes roamed all over her face and stopped on her lips. And he had to resist the overwhelming urge to shove his thumb into her pretty mouth and have her tongue suck and swallow his fingers.
"You are free to stay silent if you want to. But know that abuse should not be taken lightly. Speak up. Only then can you receive help." He stared into her irises and explained her in a soft yet warning tone, as if explaining a little child.
" . . . . ."She looked as if she was lost. Lost in him. So, he didn't bother but continued,
"I do not want to force it out of you; if you keep holding it in, I will have no choice but to take steps."
His eyebrows raised at her still silent, looking at him as if he was the only being worth seeing in her eyes.
Alexandra came to a very condescending epiphany in that second.
Why do I feel strange when he touches me?
Because my whole life was centered around horrible men who wanted nothing to do with my peace of mind.
But why crave it at the same time?
The most important question. His fingers were still slithering under her jaw, drawing soothingly slow lines that tickled her.
