6

"Why can't I just shut off my brain?"

At 3:00 AM, Amara Denz lay awake in her dark, shadowed bedroom, her eyes gazing up toward the ceiling as if waiting for it to provide her with a response. "I'm never going to sleep more than three hours," she whispered to herself, voice trembling from exhaustion and worry.

Amidst the silence, her thoughts were at war with the exterior hum of the night. The sound of the clock's slow beat echoed her own building apprehension regarding the next day. "It's Monday, and I need to be in work early," she spoke aloud, the tone inflected with despair. "I've been unemployed for months; I'm used to rising at any time, but tonight. tonight my thoughts just won't shut off."

Outside, a loose windowpane clicked in the wind, but in Amara's world there was only tick-tock and her own disjunct thoughts.

"Amara, why are you lying awake?" asked a soft, internal voice—one that belonged to the rational half of her, the half which tried to deal with the overwhelming tide of memories.

She exhaled, speaking softly, "It's him… Leo.".

In that moment, her thoughts were racing with images of Leo as he had been just last Friday—a man of transformation but disquieting familiarity. His face now bore the confident sheen of a CEO, his clothes expensive and his demeanor commanding. But at the back of her mind, he was still that savage schoolboy from Lyons College, his biting insults more painful than any physical wound.

"He may seem different now," she admitted to herself on a breathy whisper, "but nothing really is different with him. It's just his suit, his last name, and maybe his zip code."

A wry laugh slipped out. "My father lost everything and now he's broke—but Leo, oh Leo, now he's fixed. Money and power have made him something strange, but too well familiar."

From a dual perspective, the night was both a silent witness to her physical commotion and a deafening stage for memories. Amara's thoughts replayed each agonizing memory: each moment when Leo had hurled insults, each cutting remark that had made her wrap up in herself.

"Do you think he will even remember me?" she breathed, her voice trembling between desire and fury.

Her inner voice retorted, "If he had, he'd have definitely grabbed every opportunity to hurt you further. Instead, he acted as if he didn't know you at all."

She recalled the interview earlier that day—how Leo had treated her as if they were strangers. “I must keep my head down,” she resolved silently. “If he ever remembers, I’ll feign ignorance. I’m no longer that quiet wallflower who took his abuse in silence.”

A flicker of defiance ignited within her. “I won’t take any more of his crap,” she told herself, her tone firm and resolute. “I’m not going to let him humiliate me again—if he even dares to recognize me.”

But even as she hardened herself, a gall bitter truth tugged at her heart. "I have to take the job," she admitted in a low, agitated whisper. "The bills don't pay themselves, and I cannot risk losing this chance—even if it means working for his company."

In the quiet dark of her room, Amara’s internal monologue turned bitter. “Oh God, why did it have to be his company? Why couldn’t it have been anyone else?” she whispered, frustration lacing her words. “To think that I’ll be his personal assistant—working for Leo every single day. It terrifies me.”

Her mind went through the implications. "He'll overpower me," she murmured to herself, "and when our eyes meet, I know that glint in his eyes—like he's going to tear me apart, like he's going to. devour me."

A shiver of heat ran through her at the memory of the elevator encounter. "In the elevator," she whispered softly, "he looked at me like he was going to screw the living daylight out of me." Her voice trembled on the edge of shock and of a secret, irrepressible longing.

Can it be, she asked herself out loud, "that despite all his cruelty, I still want him? That no matter how much he hurt me, I still crave that forbidden connection?

Her inner dialogue heightened, mingling over vivid recollections. "I can still remember the day in the locker room my final year at Lyons College," she spoke with a voice that was half fear and half unwilling excitement. "I had lingered after track practice for a shower. I came out without a towel, naked and untied—until I noticed someone spying on me.".

Her voice dropped to a husky whisper as she recaptured the moment. "I turned, and there he was—Leo, standing in the doorway, his eyes burning with something raw and wild. There was no hatred in his eyes, only. lust."

In the recollection, the locker room was a stage for illicit wishes. "I was frightened and a burst of unmistakable thrill," she confessed, her own internal voice trembling. "I did not scream, I did not hide—I merely stood there, frozen, as his eyes swept across me. I saw the solid evidence of his arousal, and still, I did nothing but let it wash over me."

Her cheeks grew hot at the recollection of the guilty indulgence that followed. "I ended up on that bench, helpless. I rubbed myself off until I climaxed, fantasizing about him with me the whole time, his hands, his ravenous eyes. Shame and desire wound together, and I was ill to my stomach but somehow more alive."

There was a silence in her head, burdened by regret and yearning. "And then," she breathed, "the bullying intensified. Each of his insults was colored with a warped energy, as if he was flirting with me through the lust he could never voice."

She swallowed hard as she confronted the reality of the present. “Now I’m about to step back into that lion’s den,” she stated bitterly. “I’m all grown up, yet I’m forced to work for him. The same chemistry—the same, terrible, intoxicating magnetism—is still there, lurking between us.”

Her heart accelerated at the prospect, and she could sense the weight of his gaze on her skin. "I don't want to go there," she fibbed, her voice shrill with protest and self-rebuke. "I can't let him see how much I still yearn for that sparkle in his eyes—even though I hate him for it."

There was a war raging within her, the struggle between what she wanted set out in the stillness of her bedroom. "I want him to desire me," she breathed on a shivering inhalation, as if talking to glass. "Perhaps it is about power—a means to have it and not lose it again.".

Her inner dialogue grew more insistent, a reminder in the silence: "I have to impress him. I have to prove to him that I am not that same scared girl he used to tease."

But even as those words rang in her mind, another part of her winced. "But if I fall too far, if I let him know that I still care… I'll be reminding myself of the pain he used to bring," she thought, her tone choked with sadness.

The red digits on the clock glowed ominously as it ticked towards 5:00 AM. "I must wake up," she spoke to herself softly, a touch of final despair in her tone. "There is no time for these thoughts anymore."

She climbed from the tangled sheets, her limbs weighted with weariness and combatant longing. "I'll make it through the day," she promised, her tone firm though her heart trembled. "I'll do the work, keep my head down, and maybe—just maybe—I won't let him see how much I still care."

In the pale light of dawn, she stood in front of her mirror. Gazing into her own eyes, she spoke to herself out loud, as if attempting to convince herself, "I am strong. I will not be his victim again." But beneath that hard exterior, the memory of Leo's eyes in the elevator lingered, stubborn and unadorned.

Her inner voice, soft but insistent, asked, "Do you really want him to notice you?"

She hesitated, then replied back in a stage whisper for her own ears only, "Yes. I want him to see me. I want him to know I'm not afraid—and that I'm still here.".

As she reached for her phone to silence the last remnants of sleep, a gentle knock on her door caused her to leap. Her roommate, sensing the storm, came in with a gentle smile. "Amara, are you okay?" the roommate asked softly, concern creased on her face.

Amara managed a feeble smile. "I'm fine," she said, although her eyes betrayed the turmoil within her. "Just. thinking about work and him."

"Date Leo?" her roommate asked, an eyebrow cocked in silent disbelief.

"Yes," Amara confessed, her tone a mix of horror and reluctant desire. "I can't get him out of my head. It's like every memory, every look he ever gave me, is seared in my brain."

Her roommate leaned in, speaking softly, "Maybe you should talk to him about how you feel. Even if only to get things out in the open."

Amara's head shook and she shuddered with a chill of fear, "I can't. I've hated him so long and wished this. this longing. I don't think I'm ready to face it."

Her roommate's face softened and she smiled at a farewell comment, "Maybe someday you'll be brave. Until then, do what you must.".

Taking a deep breath, Amara decided, "I have to be strong. I must not let my past control me, even though a part of me still yearns for that forbidden flame."