So I'm not entirely sure I like this. It's my first attempt at writing something like this, whatever this is. Does that make sense? Anyway, I felt really sick last night and couldn't sleep so I stayed up and spent a few hours writing this here. Of course when I reread it this morning I found that it was considerably better when I was high off medications and sleep deprivation. So when I wasn't busy with band I spent some time tweaking and editing. You'll probably find some grammatical mistakes anyway. Uhm, the man in the story is one of the guys from the flock. I guess it can't be Iggy unless you want to pretend that for some reason in the future he isn't blind anymore, which is fine with me. And the women are entirely, one hundred percent up to you. Make one of them Max, Lisa, hell - you can make one of them yourself. Just read and try to enjoy, although you might have to be drugged on medication and sleep deprived to fully appreciate it :p Wow this is getting longer than I ever wanted it to.

DISCLAIMER : I don't own anything on this. I do own a jug of Kool-Aid and a remove with no TV.

It's exactly like before, no variation from previous encounters.

He looks over at her as she adjusts her skirt, smoothing wrinkles and dusting off imaginary dirt. He watches as she finger-combs her hair, working out kinks his fingers knotted into it in a fit of passion. He lifts the corner of his mouth in a failed attempt to smile as she flashes dazzling white teeth at him and makes her exit, curvy hips swaying sexily. And he fights to breathe as conflicting emotions tear into his chest, hollowing him out and filling him with confusing torment.

Part of him already has him on his feet, more than ready to pull her back into his office for another round of fucking. It fills his thoughts with the way she tastes, how soft she feels, the noises she makes when he –

As quickly as he is on his feet he's on his knees as the larger of his opposing sides fights the images, shattering them into a kaleidoscope of fractured colors and sounds. A new face replaces that of his mistress – his wife's. His heart warms and happiness brings a smile to his lips at the mere memory of the sight of her. Despite this reaction, his lust for the girl who just left his office - who can't be that far down the hall – rears its ugly head and he clutches at his hair in frustrated agony.

He doesn't know how long he stays like that – kneeling and clutching at his skull as an internal war rages – but he does know he needs to get home and so he goes.

He takes the elevator to the roof and does a quick 360 – old habits die hard - before taking off. It's a short flight home but he makes it longer so he can think, angling out and circling over the city twice. He doesn't understand, the part of him that sends him back to the woman from work day after day is just a tiny piece of him; literally two percent. He tries to remember what was going through his head as he invited her into his office but the only thoughts he can recall all center around his body's overcoming need; uncontrollable desire, a thirst for her body.

He pauses in front of the entrance to the apartment he shares with his wife, determined to think things through. He feels no love for the woman at work; his heart belongs to the one behind the wall, waiting for him to come home. He wants to make extra sure so he searches his emotions carefully, sifting slowly through each one before breathing a sigh of confused relief upon finding only lust.

He hears his wife move inside and suddenly he has to be with her. Flinging the door open, he covers the living room of the apartment in a few quick steps and wraps his arms around his love's slender frame. He holds her close and buries his face in her hair and like magic, all his troubles are gone. He can't believe how much he missed her in the nine hours they'd been separated.

She pulls back to smile at him and his heart sings in his chest at their reunion. He wonders how he could ever do something to hurt the angel in his arms and as he pulls her close for a kiss he silently vows that he will never be unfaithful again.

He pauses in his movements; his rapidly beating heart plummets from his chest to the floor. Guilt claws its way up from somewhere in his gut, tearing through the lining of his stomach and higher, lodging itself in his throat so he can't speak. But it doesn't matter, it's too late. In a moment of passion his treacherous body had taken over, pretending the form it was so intimately twined with belonged to its chosen mate. The name that had tumbled from his lips had not been his wife's. She yanks away from him and he almost cries out from the pain of the loss.

Even though he expected it, the look of shocked hurt and betrayal on his love's face sends him reeling. He opens his mouth – to explain, apologize, anything! – but the guilt that has settled in his throat devours the words before they form as he watches her force her limbs into clothes.

Before he can truly comprehend what is happening he hears the slam of the front door. He struggles from the bed and stumbles on shaking legs to the door and he can't believe how weak he feels. Trembling fingers fight with the knob and he collapses at the sight of the empty hallway behind it.

His heart – gone. His soul – gone. Ninety-eight percent of his being – gone. All he can think of is how much he deserves it.

It's exactly like before, no variation from previous encounters.

He looks over at her as she adjusts her skirt, smoothing wrinkles and dusting off imaginary dirt. He watches as she finger-combs her hair, working out kinks his fingers knotted into it in a fit of passion. He lifts the corner of his mouth in a failed attempt to smile as she flashes dazzling white teeth at him and makes her exit, curvy hips swaying sexily. And he fights to breathe as conflicting emotions tear into his chest, hollowing him out and filling him with confusing torment.

But something is different this time. He hears her voice, high pitched and afraid, stammer a half-assed excuse and he rushes to the door. There stands his wife, something clutched in trembling hands. Her eyes widen in her pale face as they take in his winded, rumpled appearance and he realizes it is enough to confirm her fears. With a cry of anguish, she turns and runs, dropping whatever she had been holding in a trash can as she passes.

He can feel the eyes of his co-workers on him as he chases his love but he doesn't care. He pauses only long enough to glance at whatever she had discarded as she had fled. His heart twists in agony; his favorite flavor of ice cream is spilled among the old memos – a peace offering.

Down the stairs he follows his wife, yelling her name desperately as she steps out into the street. She does not see the taxi through her tears but he does, too clearly.

With an extra burst of speed, he jumps and the only thoughts in his head as he shoves her to safety are apologies – for everything. The darkness is a welcome relief from the pain of the impact of the yellow car slamming into his body.

He floats, limp in blackness, aware of nothing. But suddenly, somewhere in the distance, his clouded mind registers a soft, persistent, steady, beep…beep…beep…

So in the end I couldn't even kill him. I added that last bit later. I just couldn't do it, but I guess it's only fair considering the position I put the poor guy in. The whole not being able to choose his own mate thing must suck. So...Review if you liked it, review if you hated it. Hell, review if you just wanna ramble about your day, or the day you had four years and six months ago.