Thanks again to all you FoLCs that commented on the last part. FDK - it does a body good.
TOC is
here . Comments are appreciated.
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From part 4:
I flick off the scrambler and shoulder my pack to leave, but stop when he catches me by the wrist. “Why don't I pull everything I can from the morgue today and we can get started tonight? My place?”
I feel my heart thump heavily at the feel of his hand on my skin. I tell myself that I’m excited because he’s as eager as I am to expose Lex. I know that’s not the only reason for my racing pulse, but I refuse to examine any deeper meaning.
“Sounds good," I nod. “I’ll see you at six o’clock.”
“Wait.” He tears off a strip of paper and writes an address on it. “Here’s my address.”
I look at the paper and try to smother a laugh. I don’t bother to take it.
“I already know where you live, Clark. The soup kitchen you recommended was superb.”
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Master of Disguise - Part 5
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I arrive at Clark’s apartment and knock several times. A glance at my watch confirms that I’m only a few minutes early, so after making sure I’m alone, I reach into my purse to pull out my lock picks. After an aggravated search, I realize I left them in my backpack at the hotel.
Too impatient to wait, I squat down and set my bag on the ground to dig around inside for a substitute. I sigh when I’m unable to come up with anything, but his skewed welcome mat catches my eye. No. He wouldn’t really keep a spare key there, would he? I lift a corner of the mat and shake my head as the key winks back at me in the dim light. I roll my eyes. I guess you can take the boy out of the country, but ... I twist the key in the lock and let myself in.
“Mr. Kent?” I call out. My body follows my head around the door as I step fully into his apartment. “Hello? Clark, are you home?”
After waiting politely for him to appear, I slide the key back into its hiding place and experience a thrill of fright as I shift the mat back into place. Anyone naïve enough to leave a key there wouldn’t have a clue that someone could be bugging his apartment and like a rookie, I’d just announced my presence to whomever could be listening. I kick myself for my lack of caution and take a deep breath, reminding myself that if I have to, I can use Clark’s connection to Superman as an excuse for being here.
Rather than worry about it, though, I reach into my bag and pull out my scanner. Standing at the top of a short flight of stairs, I slowly sweep the room for surveillance devices and am more than a little surprised to find the place clean.
Although it strikes me odd that Lex hasn’t bugged his place after all the trouble Clark has caused, I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I breathe a sigh of relief and slide my scanner back into the lining of my hand-bag. Once done, I turn to look around the apartment and drink it in.
When I’d first tracked down Clark’s apartment two days ago, I thought I had the wrong address. While many of the industrial neighborhoods in San Francisco are being redeveloped as residential, this area reminds me of the more treacherous Hobbs Bay areas. From the look of the cracked and dirty exterior, this five-story building probably should have been condemned years ago. The inside isn’t much better. The dusty unoccupied lofts and musty stairwells smell only slightly better than the dirty alleyway out the back door. How could anyone make this space livable?
Once inside, though, I’d been impressed and immediately charmed without knowing exactly why. The interior brick and concrete was clean and had been richly painted. Clark had obviously added the bathroom, a closet and a half-wall that separated his bedroom from the kitchen and living rooms. By taking a top floor unit, he also had a large skylight, which was currently warming the room with early evening light. Clark had decorated it to make a homey and comfortable space.
I suddenly realize that I like Clark’s loft because it looks like a home – someone lives here – unlike my old apartment with its stylish professionalism designed to intimidate and definitely not like the museum I live in now. An unfamiliar feeling of homesickness settles in my stomach and I shake it off by striding down into the living room. I don’t have the time or the inclination to be maudlin.
As I set my bag down on his coffee table, the thought that I’m intruding flits briefly through my mind, but I disregard it as I walk to the kitchen. I told him I’d be here at six; it’s not my fault that he’s late.
I keep myself occupied by snooping, opening and closing cabinet doors only to discover it well stocked with cookware, appliances and plethora of junk food. I shake my head at his strange tastes and am about to close the doors when I spy a Double-Fudge Crunch bar. I figure he has enough calories to keep a sumo wrestler happy for a year, so I pilfer it. I’m about to leave the kitchen when I pause in front of the coffee maker. Depending on how much information Clark can assemble, we may need it later, so I decide to make a pot.
After the coffee is brewing, I nibble the chocolate bar as I meander to a large window that opens onto the fire escape. I shake my head when all I can see is a solid brick wall. Not much of a view here, unlike the vistas available from his roof. Unless it’s obscured by fog, he has a spectacular view of the Bay and eastern shore from up there.
I resist the urge to snoop through his bedroom and sink down onto his couch instead, sighing as the cushions hug me. Nice and comfortable. That seems to sum up both the couch and his home. Now if the man himself would only make an appearance, we could get started.
Not a minute later I hear a click and a thump from the bedroom and then a strange whirring sound, like the sound of a soft vacuum cleaner, followed closely by the sound of a door closing and the shower starting. I could have sworn that Clark wasn’t home before. How could I have missed him? Well, he’s in the shower now, so I sit back to wait.
I don’t have to wait long. He either takes the fastest shower known to man or decided not to shower after all. Hearing the door open, I make my presence known.
“Clark?”
For a heartbeat, there’s nothing and then the strange whirring sound again before a hesitant voice calls from somewhere within the bedroom.
“Hello?”
I stand up and am about to identify myself when he rounds the bedroom wall clad in nothing but his glasses and a pair of faded jeans. My open mouth slackens as I forget how to form intelligent speech while my gaze drifts slowly down his sculpted body, from wet locks to bare toes. He reminds me of a Greek statue in Lex’s personal collection. Apollo was sometimes called the ‘sun god’ and with the last rays of the day’s sunlight burnishing Clark’s perfectly defined body, I realize that *this* is what they meant. Pure sex appeal wrapped in tight denim.
‘Wow.’ I pinch my lips together and barely refrain from saying it out loud. Or drooling.
His expression of curious alarm softens as he lifts his eyebrows adorably and then looks down at his own chest where my eyeballs had stuck on the return trip from ogling him. He breaks my trance by pulling on the black t-shirt he has in his hand.
Painfully aware that I’m gawking, I clear my throat and fail miserably at my chance to utter a snappy comeback. “Huh? Oh, hi.”
“Sorry, I was … um…I guess I didn’t hear … Can I help you?” His gaze never leaves my face as he stumbles around his words and gestures vaguely behind him, indicating where he’d been while I broke into his home and invaded his privacy.
For some reason, he is blushing to the tips if his ears, like he’s the one gaping at me half naked in the middle of my living room, not the other way around. He continues to look at me expectantly and I finally shake myself loose to answer his question.
“I said sex … um, I mean six.”
Oh, jeez. Did that really come out of my mouth?
“O’clock. Six o’clock. You said to come over so we could get started on the investigation of the Boss ... I mean Lex. I knocked and when you didn’t answer, decided to come in rather than wait in the hallway – I guess you couldn’t hear me from inside the bathroom. I found a key under the mat, so I didn’t pick your lock or anything. I can’t believe you actually keep a spare key there – it’s a bit naïve to assume that other people are as honest as you...”
I hear myself babbling and am only able to snap my jaws closed when I see a smile tugging at his lips and the amusement in his eyes.
“You must be Lois Lane.”
“Um, yeah. That’s me.” I blush and briefly contemplate a dive from the Golden Gate Bridge as a solution to my awkward babbling when he speaks again.
“You came as yourself this time.”
I grin at his reference to my disguises and glance down at the dark, short-skirted business suit I’d worn to LNN earlier in the day. It was one of my favorites; professional enough for the boardroom, yet comfortable enough to wear during an evening of research.
“Yes. Yes I did.”
“I’d tell you to make yourself at home, but I see that you already have.”
He points to the half-eaten chocolate bar in my hand and I feel my face burn at my presumption. I’m torn between badgering him about the contents of his cupboards and apologizing when he smiles that killer smile of his, which I hope means he’s joking.
“Why no disguise?” he asks.
“I didn’t need it,” I answer. “I ditched my tail and plan on telling Lex I met with you to get more information on Superman. That way if someone does see me here, I have a legitimate reason.”
“Who would see you?”
“Well, we still have your shadows to worry about. I came down Eighth Street and saw one of them talking on a phone. I snuck up close enough to hear him say that someone named 'Trask' from a 'Bureau 39' is coming. Does that mean anything to you?”
His face clouds a bit as he shakes his head. “I don’t like the sound of it, though.”
“I also heard him mention Superman. Maybe they think you know where he is?”
He shrugs his shoulders, obviously uncomfortable with my question. My eyes narrow as I wonder what else he might know about the superhero, but I push my suspicions away. It’s obvious, really. Kent’s the only reporter to get more than a passing statement from the reclusive hero and I’m sure he’s been badgered by the media hordes about how he bagged the exclusive. I already know he’s a good reporter and a good reporter never reveals her – or his – sources.
The relaxed and teasing man is gone, which saddens me for some reason. Clark looks distracted and a little nervous, like he wants to follow these leads first. I suppose if our positions were reversed, I might want to do the same. Who am I kidding? I’d love to find out why the military is interested in Superman, but I force myself to focus on Lex. ‘Take down the Boss, Lois. Take him down and then you’ll be free to investigate to your heart’s content.’ I can understand, however, if Clark feels differently.
“Clark, if you want to look into Trask and this bureau, I can go through the information on Lex myself.”
His lips purse as he considers it for a moment, then sighs. “If they want to talk to me about Superman, they’re not likely to go away. I’ll look into it later.”
“You’re sure you still want to help me?”
He nods. “I’ll be right back,” he says before disappearing into his bedroom again.
It isn’t long before he returns with a very large stack of manila folders. He drops them on the coffee table with a flourish. “Everything you want to know about Lex Luthor and LexCorp, at least everything that can be gathered from official sources. I don’t know if we’ll find anything useful, but it’s a place to start.”
“Thanks.” I slip off my jacket and sink down onto the cushions, staring at the long night of research ahead. Instead of dreading it, excitement radiates through me at the prospect of digging into Lex’s records to find evidence. I glance at Clark as he pours two mugs of coffee and try to sense what he’s feeling. His shoulders are still tense, but not as much as before. Perhaps he’s as eager as I am.
“You were able to gather that much information in just a few hours?”
“I’m pretty fast and was very motivated. My editor reassigned my other stories, so I’m all yours. How would you like your coffee?”
I pull my eyes away from the top file containing LexCorp’s financial records to answer his question. “Artificial sweetener and non-dairy creamer, if you have it. Researching isn’t as glamorous as going undercover or as exciting as breaking and entering, but I’m glad to dig into something tangible.”
“Breaking and entering?”
“Sure. Don’t tell me you’ve never bent the rules to get a story. How in the world did you catch Domo?”
“I … uh, saw some suspicious activity and um… one of my sources overheard something incriminating down by the docks. I told my police contact and the San Francisco PD got a warrant and set up a sting operation.”
“That sounds very … procedural. Do you do everything by the book?”
“Of course.”
I roll my eyes, hoping that his tendency to be a boy scout won’t hold me back. My eyes return to the file on my lap and see a name that matches one Jimmy and I found on an employee roster for sensitive Lex Labs projects: Dr. Fabian Leek. I reach into my bag to grab a highlighter and my hand brushes against the tape recordings we made. I pull them out and hand them to Clark.
“I had Jimmy make copies of the important stuff. Maybe you can listen to these while I look through the files.”
He nods and takes them, retreating to his bedroom to listen to the tapes. I dive in to the folders in earnest, knowing that it’ll take Clark several hours to get through the recordings. Soon, I’ve lost all sense of time as I peruse financial statements, contracts, and scientific reports. It barely registers with me when Clark reenters the room.
“Lois?”
“Hmm?”
“You hungry?”
I glance at my wristwatch and am surprised at how much time has passed. “Starved.”
“What would you like?”
My stomach growls loudly at the idea of food and I giggle. “I’d love Chinese. Are we too far from Chinatown to get something delivered?”
“I’ll go pick it up – it’ll be faster. An assortment of authentic Chinese foods, coming right up.”
The name of an ACL Corporation catches my eye on the financial document I am reading and I don’t hear him leave. Before I know it, he’s back and setting the food out on the coffee table. As he dishes food onto a plate, I toss the latest file down in an ever-growing pile and growl in frustration.
“Almost three hours and I’ve only recognized a couple of names. How can there be so little evidence in all this paperwork?”
Clark hands me a plate loaded with dumplings, noodles and vegetables. “It’ll come. Besides, I didn’t expect there to be much in the public domain. Most of this will only corroborate after we’ve got the inside story.”
I lean back and sigh, rubbing my eyes. “You’re right. I just forget how tiring research can be.”
“If you have time, we can divvy up the rest of these files after dinner.”
“You listened through all the tapes already?”
He pauses, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. The alarmed look on his face is quickly erased with a shrug. “I think I got the gist. If I need to, I can listen to them later or you could recap them for me?” He finishes off with a hopeful grin.
I narrow my eyes at his playful tone and find myself unaccountably teasing back. “Slacking off, Kent? I thought you could carry your own weight. Don’t tell me you’re really a hack reporter from Nowheresville.”
“Hey, don’t knock Nowheresville until you’ve tried it.”
Laughing at his quick return, I bite into a dumpling and moan in delight. “Oh, Clark. These are wonderful! Where did you get them?”
He shrugs, his red-tinged face proving that he’s pleased with my approval. “Just this little mom-and-pop place I know.”
I quickly finish off the dumplings, the rice and vegetables while we chitchat about investigative angles we’d thought of so far. Scooping some noodles into my mouth, I groan my approval again. “Oh man, you can feed me anytime.”
“Hey, tomorrow we’ll be in Metropolis. You can cook for me.”
“You’re asking for trouble there, Kent. Ask my sister. She mocks me for my ability to burn water.”
He chuckles good-naturedly, but I can tell he doesn’t believe my boast. I flirt with the idea of proving it to him sometime by trying to cook something that doesn’t use chocolate as the main ingredient, but decide I don’t want to scare him off that quickly. I like Clark. He’s easy to talk to and fun to be around. I fantasize for a moment what it would be like to have him as a friend and maybe even as a long-term partner. Who knows? Once we’re finished exposing Lex, I’ll be in need of a new job. With the Daily Planet gone, I’ll need to look at one of the other major newspapers. Perhaps the San Francisco Chronicle will have an opening.
Clark startles me from my thoughts by asking whether I’d like more food. I glance down and realize I’ve polished off my dinner. I shake my head.
He tosses me one of the fortune cookies before gathering up the plates to take them to the kitchen, waving off my offers to help. I shrug and break open my cookie with childish enthusiasm. I can’t help but growl at the message inside.
“It’s in Chinese.” I turn it over. “Where’s the English translation?”
Clark wipes his hands off on a kitchen towel and bends over my shoulder to look at my fortune. I get a whiff of his cologne and before I can stop myself, I breathe deeper, enjoying his scent. I’m momentarily disturbed by my actions until my rational self explains it as normal. ‘There’s nothing wrong with appreciating a good smelling man, Lois. You’re married, not dead’ she says. I can’t help but agree.
“The participant’s perspective is clouded while the bystander’s views are clear,” Clark intones.
“You read Chinese?”
“Languages are pretty easy for me and I spent some time in Hong Kong.”
I nod and glare at the strip of paper in my hand, the disgust at my failures evident in my words. “Well, that certainly applies to me. Lex fooled me for almost a year and now I can’t find anything to corroborate what I *do* know.”
“Lois, he’s careful, not infallible. You figured him out and we’ll eventually find the proof we need.”
All he gets from me is a dissatisfied grunt. “I guess.”
“Can I ask what clued you in to his criminal activities?”
I can feel my face turning scarlet as I think again about my overconfidence, Lex’s infidelity and Mrs. Cox’s revealing look. There’s no way I can share that with him. He would judge me for my failings and I can’t bring myself to tell him. Clark’s admiration for me – for my reputation as an investigative reporter – is too important to me to destroy it with *that* knowledge. Still, I don’t want to lie to him; so I hedge.
“One of his…subordinates…slipped and set off my instincts. After that, it didn’t take me long to see past his façade.”
It looks like he accepts my stumbled explanation. It’s essentially the truth, but not wanting to spend any more time on my personal failings, I pull another folder toward me to start working again. I shift through the materials and stop when I see some familiar photos.
“Clark, what is this doing here?”
He glances over at the stack of materials I hold in my hand, his head nodding slightly. “I brought everything public I could find about Lex Luthor and your marriage was definitely a spectacle.”
“I suppose,” I mutter. I look at the photos from his perspective and have to agree it *was* a spectacle – the archbishop married us, after all – and I feel a bit self-conscious at Clark’s judgment. It’s not the kind of wedding I’d imagined for myself. I would have preferred a small party surrounded by my family and close friends, but had turned everything over to Lex. And being the third-richest man in the world brought certain expectations.
Regardless of how he views me or my wedding, its relevance to our investigation eludes me. “Why did you gather information about my wedding?”
He shrugs. “Just a hunch. Something about it bothered me and I wanted to ask your opinion.”
“What do you mean?”
“After we spoke at the fountain today, I started to wonder why Lex Luthor would marry you.”
“Excuse me?”
My ire is immediately apparent in both my voice and body – back straight, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. If I’d had claws, they’d have unsheathed while I hissed and spat my indignation. In response, Clark’s hands rise to ward off the fury he can surely hear in my voice, his eyes wide.
“No! No, that didn’t sound the way I meant it. You told me that Luthor is ‘the Boss.’ Why, then, would a crime lord of his caliber want Lois Lane, the youngest three-time Kerth award-winning investigative journalist in the country so close to him?”
I seethe for a moment as I roll his question around in my mind. It’s a good question, one that I hadn’t thought to think on my own. I’d always assumed that in his own perverse way, Lex loved me. My bold approach of him at the White Orchid Ball had allowed me an interview, but it was Lex’s reaction to Miranda’s perfume that had changed our relationship. I admit that there had always been some level of attraction, but not even enough on my side to completely lose my sexual inhibitions while under the pheromone’s influence.
Lex had told me on a plane over the Atlantic that the only thing I’d ever need to know about him was that he loved me. At the time, it’d been the most romantic thing I’d ever heard. Now, knowing that he's a crook and a liar makes me reconsider. He’s deceived me about everything else, then why not about that?
So if he didn’t marry me for love, why did he propose? My eyes refocus on a nervous Clark Kent and my posture relaxes slightly.
“Why indeed; and did you come up with an answer?”
His nervous hesitation is gratifying in so many ways. I can see his mind churning away at how to present the answer carefully, so as to not incur my ire again. It’s almost comical. I know I can be intimidating, a very helpful trait in investigations. My ability to knock the most confident of men off kilter with a glare was one of my most cherished assets.
Now, though, I’m interested in what Clark might have to say. I knew bringing him in on this investigation was important for this very reason – to ask the questions I’m unable or unwilling to pose. I force myself to relax and nod encouragingly to him. I stifle a giggle at the relief on his face.
“Just a theory. While I was pulling the information on Luthor and LexCorp, I had time to peruse some of the information. I skimmed over LexCorp’s acquisitions for the past few years and I noticed a pattern emerging. It seems like Luthor has been able to build LexCorp in large part by gobbling up failing businesses at bargain prices and turning them around. I spoke briefly to a colleague in the business section and he confirmed Luthor’s uncanny ability to find struggling businesses that were intrinsically valuable.”
“So, Lex is a good businessman. What does that have to do with our wedding?”
“Stay with me here. A couple of months before your wedding, the Daily Planet started having financial troubles. Advertisers that had been with them for years switched to other papers, subscriptions were suddenly down and the stock price dropped precipitously. Nothing outwardly obvious had caused the downward spiral; you had the same editor, same reporters, and the same quality journalism. But it fell from grace and just like his other business acquisitions; Luthor swooped in and purchased the Planet at bargain rates.”
“Lex knew how important the Daily Planet was to me. He said he wanted to save it.” My automatic defense for Lex’s actions surprises me. Although I didn’t know it then, I certainly know now that he’s a criminal, so why am I defending him? How could I possibly know his motives? I take a deep breath and remind myself to question everything. I gesture to Clark to continue.
“Lois, when did Luthor propose to you?”
There’s no way I could ever forget. Lex had always done things on a grand scale and flying me to Milan for Italian food was just one way to impress me. The date was unforgettable. “It was a week before he purchased the Planet.”
“Your engagement announcement didn’t hit the stands until almost three weeks later. Why did it take you so long to agree to marry?”
“A number of reasons,” I admit hesitantly. “I loved my job – investigating was my life; it was in my blood – and I knew that marrying Lex would change that. He expected me to act a certain way when we were together and although I’ve always been curious about the high-society life, I didn’t want it full-time. Besides, we’d only been dating on and off for a few months. I didn’t think I knew him well enough for marriage. Frankly, I had already decided to tell him no when the Planet was destroyed.”
I see Clark fingering another folder, this one containing pictures and articles on the destruction of the Daily Planet. “No one ever found out why the Planet started having financial troubles, did they?”
“Not that I know of, why? What are you getting at, Clark?” I feel my frustration rise at his line of questioning. I’ve gotten so used to *not* thinking about that time in my life that his insistent questions provoke my impatience as well as the all-too familiar ache in my chest.
“According to my coworker, Lex never purchased a company that didn’t have intrinsic value, something that would bring him a huge return on his investment. In addition, Lex knew how important it was to you and yet he *still* didn’t rebuild it. It begs the question: if the Planet didn’t bring him the return on his monetary investment, was there anything else of value he got in the deal?”
“Not that I know of – he took a loss financially. With its economic problems, the Planet had lost value in the markets and due to the lack of insurance, not even Lex could afford to rebuild it,” I explain.
“But doesn’t the timing seem odd? The Daily Planet exploded less than a week after his proposal to you, a proposal you planned to turn down in part because of your job there. Lois, even if the Planet wasn’t inherently valuable and had no insurance at all, the man’s personal net-worth is more than twenty billion dollars. In either case, Lex had the money to rebuild. So the question remains – why didn’t he?”
I feel my insides churn at his line of questioning, a cold numbness stealing across my limbs as my instincts, the ones that forsook me that awful day, start chanting that Clark’s angle is the key. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to listen to the end of his story, but the thought flashes like quicksilver through my mind.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “He did it. Lex bought and then destroyed the Planet.” When I realize I’d spoken the thought out loud, I open my eyes. I feel ashamed and appalled. “He killed thirty-five people, including Perry, so that I would marry him?”
“’Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,’” Clark quoted. “You must have been a threat to his business, so Luthor ensured your acceptance by eliminating his rival for your affection.”
I see the familiar photos in Clark’s hands and I feel the hot sting of tears burn at my eyes as the images refresh my memory of that horrible day.
I hadn’t been in the building when the bomb exploded. I was investigating a tip about corruption at City Hall – a tip that turned out to be a bust – and had been on my way back when I heard the roar and rumble as the building exploded. My trembling fingers pick up the Star’s front-page article about the devastation, its headline proclaiming the paper’s demise along with its Editor-In-Chief.
Even in a grainy, black-and-white photo, Perry’s impish smile causes the walls I'd built around my grief to crumble. As my tight control fails, the moisture that had pooled in my eyes make their way down my cheeks. My finger traces his profile before I raise my hand to cover my trembling lips, a repressed sob breaking through.
I didn’t know how raw my grief was until confronted with Perry’s picture. Another sob sneaks through and I realize that with the confusion that accompanied the Daily Planet’s destruction, I’d allowed myself to go numb rather than feel the pain of losing him – it had been easier to push my grief aside and prepare for my wedding instead.
Putting off my grief has only intensified the feelings of sadness and despair. I try to tuck the emotions back into their hiding place, but I can't hold back the harsh sobs that begin to wrack my body. When it hits me that I married Perry’s murderer, I simply fall apart.
Clark moves to my side and his arms steal around me to wrap me in a warm and comforting embrace. I tense at his touch, but can’t stifle the tidal wave of grief now that the floodgates have opened. A little voice cautions me not to do it – I hardly know this man – but I can’t stop myself from burrowing into his chest.
“I’m sorry. So, so sorry,” I hear him say.
His voice is soft and his kindhearted attempts to soothe my pain only cause me to cry harder. I sag against him, clinging desperately to the solid feel of his chest and arms around me. He holds me as I spend myself crying into his t-shirt, rocking me gently until my breath hitches a final time.
“It’s my fault,” I whisper, “He killed him and it’s all my fault.”
“No, Lois. It’s not your fault; you had nothing to do with it. Luthor did everything himself; there’s no way you could have known.”
Part of me appreciates Clark’s words and recognizes the kernel of truth in them, but I can’t accept absolution. No matter what he says, my overconfidence and blindness are inexcusable. I have always prided myself on being the best investigative journalist at the Planet, but instead of asking the tough questions, I had gotten into bed with the devil.
Humiliated, I pull away from Clark and wipe away the moisture on my cheeks. I’m suddenly uncomfortable with the intimate setting and I stand to put some distance between us. Backing up, I mumble some excuse as cover for the shame and anger that burns anew, and then practically run for sanctuary of his bathroom.
~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~
tbc...
