The transition from the humid, echoing bathroom to the sprawling, silk-draped expanse of the hotel bedroom felt less like a change of scenery and more like a descent into a deeper, more permanent state of madness.
The birth control pill, swallowed with a frantic, thirsty gulp of water, had acted as a psychological seal, a silent pact that the barriers were gone. The "Professor" was officially dead; there was only the woman, and there was only the man who had claimed her.
As the moon climbed high above the city skyline, casting long, silvery shadows across the bed, the hours began to bleed into one another, losing all meaning. Time was no longer measured by minutes or hours but by the rhythm of Mike's hips and the varying intensities of Sabrina's screams.
