I Feel Like Fighting Someone

Cynthia sneaked through the emergency exits from the back of her apartment building and swiftly arrived at her door. "Maybe am just lucky, these paparazzi need a beating", she opened her door and slid in as if something was chasing her from behind. She removed her shoes and fell onto a sofa,her hands kneading at her forehead as she shut her eyes. A few moments later, she picked out her phone and turned it on.

Immediately, she was bombarded with notifications and a series of missed calls, however, Bernice seemed to have been on standby. "Hello", Cynthia answered her call. "Cynthia, I knew you were cut out for this, look at what you've done to the industry haha."

"What exactly do you want Bernice?" Cynthia asked sounding irritated. Bernice however didn't mind, "I just wanted to check in on you, I heard the paparazzi stormed your place. Actually you should get used to it, but, you should now be ware, there are personal things you should not let slip in public". Bernice spoke like a veteran advising her new blood apprentice, she had always been in the limelight, being an only child to a political family. "I know," Cynthia said obviously uninterested, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

Bernice paused but spoke again, "Cynthia, I know you hate what I did, but you might never be close enough to hear my explanation. You could have done the same if you were me.." Cynthia had been feeling a little sorry for her during her speech but it all disappeared with the last sentence. "Is that all?" "Arrggh, no, I want to be your friend Cynthia, no time to reject it," she hung up immediately. Cynthia looked at her phone without interest and tossed it on the table beside her.

It continued blowing up with messages but she did not mind checking them at all. Cynthia closed her eyes and remembered her parents. If they were here, she'd have no objections to being in the limelight. She would shine to stand side by side with her mother.

Timothy sat in his office, beneath his eyes swollen with black bags but they refused to shut and concentrated on the computer on his desk, there was a knock at the door, "come in," "Timothy," Connor handed him a file immediately he stepped in. Timothy Martin received it and looked at Connor with questioning eyes before opening it.

"It's the new structure for the fashion and modeling section of the Wallace Group, Connor said. "Oh," Timothy replied placing the file on the desk and leaning his elbows on it, as if not intending to read through. Connor saw this and shook his head, "how come you're not interested? You're always active in things related to that section",

"because it's my section of expertise Connor," Timothy replied, eyes still on the computer. "Whatever, if you have any recommendations, reach out to me by Monday". "Okay," he then left shutting the door behind him. Timothy opened the file and his mind went to the girl in the traffic, a mischievous smile spreading in his thin lips. Timothy checked the entertainment news and found out that the reporters who had stormed Cynthia's place reported a futile mission. He then smiled even wider, this means he would get her first.

In a famous high end club, in one of the VIP private rooms, four men slouched on their seats speaking in loud voices and occasionally bursting into fits of laughter. The table in the middle of the private room was fully stocked with bottles of expensive drinks and each man had at least two women dressed in relatively nothing, serving them and personally feeding them as others sat on the sofa's arms massaging.

Jeffery received a call and answered it, "Connor", as he listened to the other side's words, he gently massaged the head of the woman who was kneeling in front of him, her face in his pants. "Get it over with", he said and hung up. Drake looked at him and asked, "work at this time?" "A little something", Jeffery replied signaling another woman to add him a drink.

"Hey Mister", one woman slid her hands on Drake's chest which she had managed to unbutton. Drake looked at the drunk woman before him and a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes, "wanna try out something?" He asked "Of course, never know, you might be bewitched," she said , her voice slurred and her eyes shining with desire. She pressed her perky breasts on his bare chest and her hardened nipples made Drake stand involuntarily.

"What do you say, Mister", she asked, clearly trying hard not to pounce on him that very moment. Drake did not respond but immediately clutched her wrist and in a swift movement, switched positions pinning her on the sofa, facedown as he stood where she had previously been. He then lifted her small tight dress that was already showing her ass and without warning, plunged his big straight member into her from behind.

In her bedroom, Cynthia couldn't muster up any sleep and kept on turning. At that moment, she heard a knock on her door. She immediately grabbed her phone and checked the time, it was 2 am, who would dare knock at a girls door at that time? Cynthia panicked, but she knew without saying that opening the door was not an option.  The knocking continued for a while with no signs of stopping. She then picked up a vase and walked to her bedroom door, then squatted behind it, her hands holding the vase tight and just like that, she woke up in the morning and couldn't move her legs because of her previous night's sleeping posture.

A few hours later, at a semi deserted street with barely a countable population, Cynthia walked over to a flower shop not so big but visible to anyone walking along the street. She had always spent her Sunday afternoon helping the shop owner with her flower business. Cling clang, the bell tied up on the door rang signaling that someone had come in,

however, Cynthia did not see Mrs Bennett as usual. She then walked around the flower stalls and realized they had all been arranged and replaced. Did someone replace her, a little disappointment tinged at her heart.  She continued walking around only to realize everything was done. "Mrs Bennett," she called out but a few minutes later, someone else came out of the small storage room at the back of the stalls. Timothy walked out of the storage room, a wipe in his hands and his face all sweaty.

Cynthia stared at him wide eyed, before he could introduce himself, Cynthia asked a paralysing question, "have you stolen enough?" She asked then started walking closer in slow motion, her eyes full of killing intent and her voice dripping with disdain, so this is my replacement today, she thought, Timothy was shocked, but before he could defend himself, Cynthia spoke again, "good, cause I feel like fighting someone", she said picking up an iron bar often used to support the weak stalls..