Aurora's Heart

Part 1- Cold as Ice

DISCLAIMER: This story contains grammatical errors. It has not yet been edited. Please endeavor to enjoy it, regardless.

Yours truly,

Author

Aurora

I'm up.
Why-am-I-up?
No seriously...

What demon, woke me up before my alarm had a chance to go off?
Twenty minutes in advance is a sin, and when you're already sleep-deprived girrrrl, it ain't funny when your body wants to do shit like this.

I sigh defeated.

"Might as well just get up Rory."I growl, swinging my legs off the bed, "Might as well succumb."

I stand sluggishly at the side of my bed and reach to the ceiling, trying to stretch the tire away.
Turning back to my bed I straighten the area where I slept, the other half, as usual, is as kept as the day I made the bed.

As tempted as I am to lay back down and sleep, I walk sluggishly away from the temptation of my soft, and at this point alluring bed and make my way to the bathroom, stripping myself of what little I had on and stepping into the shower.

Now to get clean and ready for another day as per usual. As the water bounces off my skin, I imagine that hands are touching me, caressing my stomach, breasts, thighs...and lips. A pair of soft, thick lips, brushing against my neck.

Stop!

Rory!

What is the pleasure of a man when compared to the safety of your heart?

"What so now I can't pleasure myself?" I roll my eyes. This subconscious of mine sure knows how to ruin a good thing.

It's been four years since I've last had a man and four years since I've thought about 'pleasure'. The mantra 'mind over matter ' is dear to me, for if it wasn't for it, I'd be a man's second in a relationship doomed to fail because men are weak-willed, bags of blood that show no respect to their own dicks, much less your vagina, much less your heart.
I've lived...
And I've learned...
I've been even called bitter.
But I'd rather be bitter than twice burnt.
I let the water run through my natural curls and down my bronze skin. It feels good. If only water could wash away hate, bad memories and Monday's.

The alarm goes off.

Okay, the second alarm means shower time is over, and I have just wasted half of it lost in thought. Great.

Now I have to rush.

I keep watching the clock, work, as usual, is as uneventful as the books that pass through here to be read and published. I roll my eyes at the manuscript before me. Being both editor and owner of your own publishing company is a hassle, especially at only twenty-four years old, but it's even more so when people who believe they have talent in writing, surely misunderstood the meaning of talent. I live in a small town, James Ridge in south beach Florida.

"Knock, knock" I hear at my office door. Looking up I see Camila's smiling face. The ever-eager Camila, Oh how I remember when I was eighteen doing my internship at a the Richmond Publishing Company.I was a bit eager, never more hungry. I had a lot to prove. Plus I'm black,so a negro had to make it known she wasn't playing about her goals.

"Yes, Camila?" I look up at her with a look that conveyed that I am being interrupted, and it had better be for a greater reason than Jesus's return.

She smiles nervously. She's a pretty little black girl, nineteen if I'm not mistaken. Fresh out of college and eager. Her resumé states her inexperience, but I thought it necessary to train her.So I gave her a nod and experience in the field she wishes to join, her goal being to be an editor.