Looking back on that night, it hadn’t been as good an idea as Hoffman had thought, say, five minutes before feeling up her tits. He wasn’t drunk, he knew that much, though he might as well have been; after all, it would have been a better excuse to screw the ex-junkie than ‘boredom, mixed with curiosity’. Tapping a pencil against the desk, staring at the unfinished blueprints in front of him, his mind kept drifting to reprimanding him for being such a fucking idiot.
For fuck’s sake, Mark. Didn’t even consider that she might have AIDS? That she might have gotten something from one of those needles she used to jab in herself? Fucking idiot.
He knew there was a feeble reason for his lack of protection, that he just wanted it over and done with, get that curiosity satisfied before it drove him insane. As it was, she wasn’t bad, she was much tighter than he’d expected, but, truth be told, he was done with her, now that his desire to know what she would be like, naked under him, had been fulfilled.
In all honesty, he was mildly unsatisfied with her, not the sex, but the lack of buildup she gave him. She hadn’t given him any of the teasing he had pictured in his mind, slowly stripping as he, in turn, felt every inch she exposed; nor the fighting, no clawing, slapping, punching, no spark of violence in her, as he would have thought. She was disappointingly easy, letting him fuck her as soon as he came up behind her with a kiss and a feel. In the end, that was probably why he hadn’t gone as rough with her as he would have wanted to, not being worked up enough; he’d come, certainly, and it was quite good sex, all in all, but, for him at least, she didn’t exist.
Of course, it was hard to think that, what with her being in the same building, at that moment standing at the doorway, watching him with shadowed, accusing eyes. He didn’t think that she’d be the clingy type, although, then again, given that she’d grown so attached to John as a father figure just for taking her in... Not surprising she thinks she’s fucking engaged after one fuck.
“Hoffman,” she whispered, her voice barely audible from so far away, only reaching his ears from the fact that nothing else, at the moment at least, made a sound. “We-We need to talk.”
“Jesus Christ, Amanda.” He let the pencil fall out of his fingers, onto the desk, as he stood and turned to look at her. She hadn’t washed for a couple of days, her clothes rumpled, probably slept in the previous night, hair unkempt. That last aspect he rather liked, giving her a sweet, innocent air... reminiscent of- No, don’t think about her now, you’ve screwed her, don’t compare her to her.
“Hoffman- Mark-”
“Amanda, let me get one thing straight. I want things to go on as they normally would, alright? You... you’re a good-looking woman, mostly, but I’m not going to fuck you again. I’m not interested in you, alright? Pretend none of it ever happened. Can you do that?”
“N-No, Mark, please-”
“Just because I fucked your brains out doesn’t mean you have to act like an idiot. I don’t want to say it again; don’t see me like that, alright? Fuck it, I’m going out. Don’t wait up for me.”
“But Mark-!”
“Stick to Hoffman, or Detective Hoffman.” With that, he pushed past her, feeling a slight twinge of pity as she stared at him, open-mouthed, black tears rolling down her cheeks as she stammered. Poor bitch... But you know what they say; ‘Got to be cruel to be kind’.
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