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Prologue: A Better Man
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As silently as possible, I slipped into the apartment, placing my
bookbag onto the floor while I closed the door behind me. I turned,
securing the place for the night by locking up, sliding the bolt chain
in place with a click that should have been comforting. The curtains
had been left open - again - so I moved to the window that offered an
expansive view of Chicago. It was always beautiful on a clear night
like this one, black sky illuminated by the soft glow of the city
lights, and I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, taking in the
sight for a moment before sighing deeply. I was procrastinating, and I
knew it. But it wasn't as if I didn't have a reason.

I felt like I was thirteen again. Home had never been a safe place
then, and, growing up, I'd always been determined to change that. I'd
swore to give my mother a nice home, and make sure my sister was taken
care of, along with the millions of other lives I would alter and save
in becoming a doctor. Some good I was doing, I thought crossly. My
mother was rotting away with Alzheimer's in some home, my sister was
just as certifiably crazy and God-knew-where, and my patients' lives
were sure changed when I killed them rather than heal them. The least
I could do was find myself a safe place to live, but, apparently, I
wasn't even capable of that.

Another sigh escaped my lips, my breath frosting the glass in front of
me, and I watched it clear for a few moments. The shapes of the city
became sharp again, the lights no longer haloed orbs, but, suddenly, I
became aware of a new silhouette and startled, turning fast. My lover
didn't even seem apologetic as he approached me, his eyes dark and
unreadable in the muted light. But I wasn't sure if I really wanted to
know what I would see there had there been adequate light. It was
probably because it would be the same cold expression as always.

My lover took me in his arms gently, his touch sending an involuntary
shiver down my spine. I remember when that shiver used to be electric
pleasure, when I couldn't wait to get home and to go to bed. Now, it
was a different story, one so stark in contrast to the fairy tale I
used to live. I hated my life now, the words I hadn't admitted until
now ringing in my ears so loudly I was deafened momentarily. I hated
my life, I hated it. The realization made me shake, and I hoped my
lover wouldn't notice.

Lover. I scoffed bitterly at the word.

I was acutely aware of one hand tugging at my shirt collar, pushing
the material away so his lips brushed against my exposed neck. His
other hand was making a trail down my spine and to my jeans, his
fingers hooking around the denim. They pulled me towards him, his
erection pressing into my hip. I forced myself not to recoil as I
mumbled an excuse.

"I waited up for you all night," he murmured into my ear, his breath
hot against my skin.

"I'm sorry," I replied lamely, his hands moving to undo my jeans. My
own brushed his away, taking a step back. "I have an early shift
tomorrow. You know I'm working all week."

Immediately, his expression hardened; I could see that no matter how
dim the light. He didn't like the challenge. "Of course I know that."
Abruptly, he was calm again, his voice soothing as he moved close to
me again, enveloping me in his arms once more. "But I figured I'd stay
up and help you unwind a little..."

"I can't..." I said, feebly. One of his hands moved to the back of my
neck as he began to trail kisses across my jaw and to my mouth. I
pulled away slightly, trying to look into his eyes but it was too damn
dark. "Look...since I go in early tomorrow, I get off early. Why don't
we wait until tomorrow? We can do this tomorrow..."

"Then who's going to take care of *this*?" he asked, bucking his hips
against mine so I could feel his hardness. I sighed silently, but he
seemed to pick up on it. "Why are you always so fucking selfish? When
you want to, we have to. But what about what I want??"

I couldn't remember the last time I did something without considering
how he would react first. I couldn't remember the last time I did
something because I wanted to. I couldn't remember the last time I
spoke for myself. The last time I stuck up for myself. And I was angry
for it, angry at him as much as I was at myself. I'd made a promise
long ago that I would never let this happen, but here I was, doing it
all over again, repeating the cycle and starting from square one.

"Wait, I don't think..." His hand tightened on my neck ever so
slightly, not enough to hurt but enough for me to notice it.

"You don't think what?" he asked, knowing what the answer would be.
The same answer it was every single time.

I closed my eyes and leaned forward, wishing to be anywhere else as I
kissed him and allowed myself to submit to him for what I knew
wouldn't be the last time.

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To be continued..
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