Jilted

Portions for Foxes

There’s blood in my mouth

‘Cause I’ve been biting my tongue all week

I keep on talking trash

But I never say anything

And the talking leads to touching

And the touching leads to sex

And then there is no mystery left

And it’s bad news, baby, I’m bad news

Rilo Kiley – Portions for Foxes

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Christopher’s eyes began to blur as he stared down at the contract with Nike. He was handling a multi-million dollar contract, and if he missed over something vital, there would be hell to pay. Christopher briefly closed his eyes and leaned back in his mahogany chair, massaging his temples. He glance to his left at the clock; it was nearly eight, now. He was probably one of the few people still in the office.

Christopher slouched in his chair, propping his feed up on his desk. The soft sound of Massive Attack and the Trans-Siberian Orchestra filtered through his stereo system, helping to soothe his nerves. He was dying to finish this contract, but it didn’t look like it was going to happen anytime son. With a fatigued brush of his hands through his hair, Christopher began to gather his things. He had just put away the precious contract when the deafening sound of his door locking shut made his head snap upward.

“Geviana?” his voice came out low from fatigue.

There she stood. Her midnight black waves were in artful disarray around her face. Her porcelain skin as flawless as a doll’s, and her sienna colored eyes were unusually round and bright. She had managed to get rid of the red eyes and blotchy skin that were the aftereffects of tears, but her eyes were still large and soft looking, and her skin had retained a lovely glow. She looked like the soft, vulnerable woman as she was.

“Hi,” Geviana said shyly, her fingers fiddling with the lock on his door.

Christopher gulped, “What’re you doing here?”

Geviana didn’t answer him right away. Instead, she walked toward him, her pencil skirt slowly riding up with each step, exposing more and more of her long, lean legs. Languorously, she seated herself at the corner of his large desk, her legs crossing delicately.

Despite himself, he was drawn to her walk, and those damned long legs of hers. She sat demurely on his desk, but made no attempt to answer his question or to even look his way. Instead, she was nervously looking at her clenched hands in her lap, as if she was debating something with herself.

“Hey. Is something wrong?” Christopher asked, gently touching her arm, and immediately regretted it. Geviana had flinched involuntarily, but it was quickly disguised.

“Hey, say something,” Christopher tried again, carefully touching her arm again. She didn’t flinch this time or make a move to pull away. She just gave him a softly alluring smile.

“Something.”

Christopher gave her a wolfish grin, as he gently turned over her arm. Dark bruises marred her porcelain skin. Against the lightness of her skin, the bruises leapt out at Christopher, as his face pulled back into a grimace.

“Fuck. Did I do this?” Vaguely, he recalled the day he had pulled her into the closet and her stoic statement that he was hurting her. Gently, Geviana disentangled her arm from his grasp, and instead played with the ends of his long, wavy hair. It brushed delicately along his strong cheekbones that swept down into a chiseled jawline.