16 months.
Endorsers
players.
16 of the richest, tennis obsessed men give themselves 16 months to find a rookie-and train them to the national level. it's a challenge, it's a process, when done correctly, usually takes a couple of years. it's en...
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"do you feel sorry—for what you did to her?"
"I do."
"why are you crying, child?"
violent body tremors ripped through the blonde, she had done this to herself. this was her fault. never in her life did she think she could cause herself so much pain.
"b-because it's my fault." never did she ever stutter. never did she admit her wrongs. never did she ever cry.
"and why is it your fault?"
she knew the exact reason why now.
in retrospect, she should've already known how damaged she was as a person—but being self aware gets you nowhere when you can't stop your addiction. she let out a shaky sigh as she reached to wipe her own tears, wishing it was someone else's hand.
"b-because—I loved power, and she needed love."
the older woman before her hummed lowly, so beyonce was willing to admit her wrongs now? for a woman? a woman she was set to despise? a woman she was set to destroy?
how could it fall back on her in the least merciful way possible?
"did you love power more than her?"
it was a question that beyonce could answer in a heartbeat.
"i love her more than anything. more than power...
"..power never made me feel like i was on fire in the best way possible."
the dressing room, draped in the most luxurious fabrics known to this earth,—reeked of pent up sexual tension.
sexual tension that had been building for quite a bit of time.
hatred can quickly manifest itself in many ways—and the two women found peace within their blanket of hatred they shared for one another. or that's what they labeled this as.
blonde locs found themselves dangling over the shorter, feistier woman's shoulder as she rubbed her sides up and down slowly. letting her shorter acrylics drag against those reoccurring goose bumps.
she smirked with victory as she glanced into the silver lined mirror infront of them. the shorter woman gripped onto the sides of the reflecting surface, panting lowly—her wild dark curly hair dangling over her face as just a bit of drool dripped from those pink bruised puffy lips.
"you alright there, doll?" she whispered huskily into the younger woman's ear, her voice snaked down deep within the trinidadian's soul—and her hands found their way deep into her panties.
