A Wedding Band in Denim

The Changes He's Undergone

Charles was disgruntled by the storm that fell upon his car in angry fat droplets of frigid water. Ever the light sleeper, he hadn't gotten a wink of rest the night before. Tossing and turning within his ridiculously expensive sheets, in an apartment far too lavish for a single man of his position in social prospects.

An angry sigh was all he had to give in response to the chorus of heavy plops upon his windshield, finally adding to their chaotic rhythm. An entire night without repose. He was a grown man, yet he's been one to lose a lot of sleep as of late. Angry with himself, he gripped the steering wheel even tighter, the urge to run a hand through his consummately gelled hair overwhelming. His eyes glared at the road ahead. Sure. Keep telling yourself it was the rain.

"Oh fy nuw." Was added to the cocophany of irratic noise throughout the air. Why was he thinking this way? What has changed? It's as if he left Wales for no reason at all. Like he has learned nothing of trust.

She's so unaware, and I'm all too knowledgeable. I'm in a position of power. I would be coercing her into all of my own fantasies. She is so entirely wrong for me.

Pulling into the parking garage of Young Technologies and disengaging the engine, Charles drew out a long sigh. This is crazy. Overly trusting. Naive.

Heh. I guess she's rubbing off on me a bit.

Charles actually smiled at that. Her virtue to all things social was dreadfully endearing. Her nerves, her inability to lie. Her lack of discretion. He had never met an adult of such purity before.

A fraction of him, one he was rather disgusted by more than anything, wanted to coach that out of her by hand. He felt starved for a world in which he wasn't such a used mess, where he could have known her before everything had gone to Hell. Could've shown her what it was to love her body and the sensations it could bear. A world in which he could convince himself to feel worthy of such a gift, bringing Samara Young to an ecstasy she's never known.

To think it was a bit of a shock, even now. Climbing out of the vehicle and shutting the door, he considered the idea as it came to him again. He'd grown inexplicably aroused at the thought on so many occasions prior, if not, a little sad. Is it possible that his assistant has gone 22 years having never had an orgasm?

A foolish, adolescent fantasy to conjure, especially on his way into work. He couldn't shake the thought as it came, however.

Of course, he had no way of knowing if it was true. Waltzing onto the elevator and pressing the button for the first floor, he fought to keep the flush of his cheeks at bay as he weighed the possibility. It was entirely likely that she had touched herself in the past. The majority of people breached that milestone early into their pubesent years. So, why was it so hard to fathom that she had done so to herself at least once before?

Well, as he'd painfully recalled on a regular basis, she was irrevocably ashamed of herself. Even as he departed the elevator, he frowned at that. Her family doesn't even understand the damaged she's weathered as such a sheltered individual.

"I already hate my body enough as it is!"

He still flinched at the memory. All of the time he had never understood her inability to regard herself with any lovable qualities. The occasions on which he'd judged what he persieved to be weakness within her. The first month of her employment he'd spent resenting her. She had weathered all of that time being her own worst enemy.

He put on a smile as he greeted Lucy, though like the majority of his happier expressions, it was forced. He made a beeline for his office and surprisingly succeed in arriving without interruption. He closed the door, but didn't move to sit down. He stood before the lonely room and rubbed his jaw, as if he could somehow consider the guilt out of his conscious.