Cynthia put a hand on the glass of the window, looking at her own reflection, She studied with criticism her now dull blond hair, following their end, looking with growing disgust her own naked body, the marks of a passion darkening around her neck, becoming bruises.
Behind her, she could see his sleeping figure, behind her she could see her personal condemnation.
From a champion is expected trust, honesty and maturity.
Nobody expected her to let out her passion under the sheets of a hotel, in the company of the last man on Earth she should ever want at her side.
She ran a hand over her face, trying to erase the dark circles that framed her eyes.
She looked again at her face, looking for the old Cynthia.
"What are you doing there?" the man behind her asked with his gruff voice, making her jump.
She had no time to turn around, because two strong arms clasped firmly her waist, while moistened lips invaded her neck.
She sighed, before looking again at herself and Cyrus in the glass.
What she saw was not a hug, She saw herself in the arms of a man, whose only desire was to keep her away from her business.
Cynthia saw the eyes of a woman, a woman who couldn't (didn't want to) get rid of this carnal trap.
After all she wasn't so strong.