Trigger WarningThirteen Years Ago "Daddy, please! Please, don't leave us. Please!" The tiny child was sobbing hysterically, clinging to his pants. The man moved with purpose, uncaring, dragging the little girl. No! She didn't let go. How she wished her hands were bigger so she could surround his limb with enough force to make him stop. Unconcerned. Irritation marring his features. It was no use. The small frame that was her body got drag along. He continued to walk towards the door. "Leave him be, brat. He doesn't want us anymore." No! That was not true. She was daddy's little girl. He loved her. He read her stories at night and he would always bring her chocolates. Her swollen eyes pleaded with him. "Please, daddy. Don't leave me." He doesn't even look at her. His face was graven
Sinclair This was the third trimester of the year, three more months, ninety more days, and she's done. No more late nights at the library. No more three jobs to keep her afloat. No more walking three miles a day when she missed the bus. Just three more months and five more majors standing in her way. And this day was the first in the countdown. Sinclair's head ducked, avoiding fellow unis converging on the spacious hallway. Everyone belonged in a group. Except her. She couldn't stand them. And they sure as hell couldn't stand the poor girl at the campus. Someone even pointed out she smelt funny. Funny? At least she smelled clean and not like an overdose potpourri. Yuck! The thought alone could trigger her allergies to strong smells. She favored fresh flowers though. And when she had enough money to buy a nice cott
Sinclair To say the professor was relentless was an understatement. They, the students, became slaves of the subject.And he was taking no prisoner. One only had two options. Passed or failed. He was a freaking slave driver. And to think Sinclair loved literature. All along she thought it was the easiest of amongst her major subjects but it was not. The research, the debate, and the dissection of each piece were mind-boggling. On top of that, she had to make a thesis with one old poem, and from there a short story with a minimum of seventy thousand words.Basically, a novel. Who in their right mind would do that? Him. Her professor. -Wait? What?- Where did that thought come from? Well, she didn't mean it like that. She meant in a purely professional way. This conversation with hers
SinclairNothing and no one could change her good mood today. Not even those wannabe spice girls.The extra money from last night made her fill her cupboards. It had been a while since she had indulged in grocery shopping. And the breakfast delivered anonymously, it was obviously from a top-notched restaurant, filled her tummy to the brim.Having extra shillings, made her buy her favorite lip gloss. Of course, it was cheap but it did wonderful things to her lips. Making her feel pretty, too.She had a few bucks left, the money was budgeted until payday.In high spirits and about to reach her locker, her happy steps faltered. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sandy, from her class walking a bit too close to...Professor Stafford. Cozy. Sinclair thought bitterly. They came out of the teacher's lounge at this early hour. When most likely no one was about. The girl was smilin
Sinclair -Later, sweet?- What did he mean by that? Nope. She was not going to wait and find out. Home was where she should be. Far from the tempting professor. She was almost out of the building when her path was blocked by Sandy and the spice girls. -Really? Isn't this overrated?- This was so old school. "What does he see in you, Chinese girl?" God! No originality. Sinclair was tempted to speak in Mandarin to prove her point. But she didn't know the language. A pity. -Old mother English it is then.- "Chinese girl, really? That's the best you can come up with?" That gave her nemesis a pause. Oh, the bitch was trying to think with her fish brain for a good comeback. "You are nothing. We don't even know your name. You are poor, deaf, and...and...
Warning Explicit Language and Scenes 18+ Sinclair All her instinct were telling her to run from him. From Nicholas. He was her professor and if the school administration found out... Wait. What would they find out? They were not even dating. He had not asked her out. And even if he did, she would say no. She didn't want to embarrass him. Though there were those not-so-innocent touches, holding her hands, embracing her to give her comfort, bussing her cheek and forehead, he always acted like a gentleman. Maybe this was how he acted with his lady friends? He must have lots of them, her mood turned sour. She hated imagining it but he was not hers, to begin with. After his friend fitted the earpiece and made necessary adjustments on her new medical aid, Nicholas had insisted on coming home with her despite her vehement protests.
Nicholas -Sinclair. My sweet.- It was never his intention to leave her at the break of dawn while she was sleeping. She was not a one-time thing and she was not his latest mistress. She was more than that. Much much more. Breakfast in bed would have been much better. Literally and figuratively. But dinner in bed was incredible. He reheated their take-outs and fed her despite her protests. There was nothing more fulfilling than watching his woman eat. Sated and content, they fell asleep in her small bed. And as he had predicted, she was draped on top of him because of the confined space. He wasn't complaining. He even looked forward to doing it again and he had hoped to occupy his mammoth four-poster bed instead the next time. This morning though, he groaned at the discomfort, stretching the kinks in his muscles. Yup, the stiffness in his shoulders and
Sinclair -I told you, didn't I?- She had made the most stupid mistake of her life despite her warnings. She trusted. She loved. She fell. And he was not there to catch her. She should have known better. The problem was she gave precedence to the chemicals emitting from her brain whenever he was around. Fuck attraction! Look where it landed her. She was once again back to that old box questioning her worth. After years of self-therapy, fear had crept over her once more. She was as unbalanced as she was when the people she cared for the most left her at a tender age. She was definitely worthless. -Stop! You are not!- The last text she received from him was three days ago. He said there was a family emergency. Yeah, right. She was sure he used that same exact excuse before.