What Is Love?

Oopsie Daisy!

Author's Note: Italics are flashbacks :) Please Review, means a lot! :)

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The sun delicately sprinkled a yellowish luster atop her face, a pinch of golden getting lost in her blonde locks, blending so seamlessly, so beautifully, that it looked as though she slept in fairy dust.

He was next to her, still sleeping, and as he rolled over, his entirely-naked, sculpted, physique collided brutally with her own nakedness, a spray-tanned, womanly toned abdomen.

"Ow! Who - what - where...why?"

Witney screamed, not recognizing the face that was beside her own; the familiarity that usually accompanied such features were stripped from her memory.

"I could ask you the same questions creep."

Mark was at a loss, for surely he'd recall doing something as colossally stupid as this. His gaze averted her body, buried deep within the pristine white sheets, stained now, at least in their eyes, with a blood so red.

When she turned over to see his expression, it didn't come as a shock that she was unable. He was hiding, he was ashamed. As he should be, stealing her innocence like it was nothing more than something to be taken for pity thievery, nothing more than a candy bar.

"Mark, Mark, look at me."

He was afraid to give into what she wanted, what she asked of him in her silky, calm, voice. He knew that what he'd taken from her was something that could never be given back, like a found dog or a worn sweater. This was a woman's virginity he now coveted, the piety she'd associated with the word, its moral, destroyed.

"Witney, you have no idea how horrible I feel in this moment."

She was staring at him although the look in her eyes was unreadable; he focussed not on it but on the inflamed underpart of her eyes themselves, the purple circles reminding him of the identical rings their glasses made on the bar, those filled again and again, to the brim, with their drink of choice.

"I'm glad it was you, anyhow."

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There was a soft knock at the door, yet as knuckles made contact with wood, it conveyed such an urgency as the bangs echoed throughout the studio, all at once breaking the stride of his creative processes.

"Come in," he called, allowing whomever it was entrance while still keeping a hold on Willow's warm frame, that of which was slacking slightly in the heat, propelled to collapse from exhaustive regime.

"Mark, can we pleaseee take a break now?"

"Sure thing kiddo. You've been doing amazing today. Choreography's just about done."

As Willow left his arms with a "thank you," coming from her lips in one panted slur, another blonde head could be seen - but that was Mark's viewpoint.

What Willow saw was a burgeoning stomach, swollen to the size of about twenty-eight peaches, making the crop-top the woman wore look as though it was nothing but material draped upon her, covering only her bra, stopping abruptly at the underwire like it was way too small.

"Witney....oh my god...you've gotten so big! Is she kicking, like, non-stop?"

Mark swiveled around, hoping to catch what his partner was referring to, realizing just now, as her name bubbled over the lips of another, who it was.

"Wit, oh wow, that's...you're huge!"

Witney turned to her fiancé then with a smirk. "That's not exactly what a girl wants to hear, Ballas."