this time wrong feels { r i g h t } // Geebs, Blitz
May 17, 2014 22:25:41 GMT -5
Post by Stare on May 17, 2014 22:25:41 GMT -5
He hadn't kissed her back.
She'd been afraid, shied away, built her walls back up just as quickly as they fell, and watched as what had been between them for one single moment fell apart. She shouldn't have blamed him for being angry with her, not when she knew he had every right, so instead she felt the sudden need to explain herself. It caused her to draw away from him a step, eyes widening slightly as something ignited within her. She was Alicia Klare and she explained herself to no one because she didn't care about the judgement of others. Especially not a high and mighty posh like him. What did he know about her life? About her?
(He knows plenty. That's the problem.)
Her jaw tightened, eyes narrowing slightly. Benedict Nolan was rich enough to gamble, to afford prostitutes, to do whatever the hell he wanted. If she was as wealthy as he was, she could have done something better with her writing than become the rotten reporter she was. She could have avoided sinking to the levels she had. He was nothing like her, he couldn't be, because the very thought had her head spinning.
He was different than all the others. He was smarter, cleverer, and he'd known how to manipulate her just as well as she could manipulate others. He'd known how to distract her, how to silence her, how to make her feel cornered and out of control. He was the challenge she'd wanted and she'd beaten him, but afterward she'd regretted it.
She hated him for confusing her, for making her leave on his terms, for even kissing her back in the first place. Was she really so terrible that a man who had enjoyed her company well enough when he thought she was a prostitute would turn her away when he discovered what she really was? Her fingers ached to reach out and tangle with his again. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to feel wanted. It had been so, so long since she'd felt wanted. But Benedict Nolan had turned her away and she wasn't about to beg for his company, so instead she folded her arms over her chest. "If my secret gets out, so does yours," she said softly, coldly. It was a simple threat, an easy one, the kind she left most of her victims with. "I imagine you'd be quite lonely if the entire district finds out you don't pay your prostitutes."
Of course, she could always just tell everybody anyway, out of spite. For some reason, though, the idea made her feel sick.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Nolan."
And with that, she turned on her heel and left.
She'd been afraid, shied away, built her walls back up just as quickly as they fell, and watched as what had been between them for one single moment fell apart. She shouldn't have blamed him for being angry with her, not when she knew he had every right, so instead she felt the sudden need to explain herself. It caused her to draw away from him a step, eyes widening slightly as something ignited within her. She was Alicia Klare and she explained herself to no one because she didn't care about the judgement of others. Especially not a high and mighty posh like him. What did he know about her life? About her?
(He knows plenty. That's the problem.)
Her jaw tightened, eyes narrowing slightly. Benedict Nolan was rich enough to gamble, to afford prostitutes, to do whatever the hell he wanted. If she was as wealthy as he was, she could have done something better with her writing than become the rotten reporter she was. She could have avoided sinking to the levels she had. He was nothing like her, he couldn't be, because the very thought had her head spinning.
He was different than all the others. He was smarter, cleverer, and he'd known how to manipulate her just as well as she could manipulate others. He'd known how to distract her, how to silence her, how to make her feel cornered and out of control. He was the challenge she'd wanted and she'd beaten him, but afterward she'd regretted it.
She hated him for confusing her, for making her leave on his terms, for even kissing her back in the first place. Was she really so terrible that a man who had enjoyed her company well enough when he thought she was a prostitute would turn her away when he discovered what she really was? Her fingers ached to reach out and tangle with his again. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to feel wanted. It had been so, so long since she'd felt wanted. But Benedict Nolan had turned her away and she wasn't about to beg for his company, so instead she folded her arms over her chest. "If my secret gets out, so does yours," she said softly, coldly. It was a simple threat, an easy one, the kind she left most of her victims with. "I imagine you'd be quite lonely if the entire district finds out you don't pay your prostitutes."
Of course, she could always just tell everybody anyway, out of spite. For some reason, though, the idea made her feel sick.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Nolan."
And with that, she turned on her heel and left.
