Miranda clutched at her chest for hundredth time that day. It was becoming an all too familiar habit since her boyfriend had walked out on her. Lewis had left without any real reason. One day he was there and they were in love: the next he was gone. She begged him to stay, begged him to just talk it out, but it fell on deaf ears. Lewis refused to talk. So for weeks now Miranda would feel the pangs of missing him and clutch her chest in an attempt to hold it together, as if the gaping hole left by Lewis would swallow her whole. She had perfected the art of smiling and pretending she was okay; though she was anything but. Miranda’s own personal demons were released by him leaving. They took great pleasure and delight in telling her that it was because she wasn’t good enough, that she was a bad girl, and that she was hard to love. All of these things she had all heard before, things she knew deep inside to be true, even if for a short time Lewis had made her believe otherwise. Night after night dragged on she found herself wrapped in his shirt holding on to his scent, clinging to that last little bit of hope that he would return. Miranda woke from a sound sleep in need of the bathroom. Earlier that night she decided to drink the entire bottle of wine left in her fridge instead of eating dinner. She spent the evening singing loudly and dancing around her living room. It also meant she passed out on top of her bed with the light still on. She rus escort squinted and grumbled something about bright lights and crawled out of bed on wobbly legs. She made it to the bathroom and only stumbled once in the hall, giggling at herself until she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Miranda froze in her tracks, stunned at the state she was in and thought that it had to be a trick of the light. She flicked the light switch in the hall and walked back to the mirror. What greeted her made her gasp. Looking back at her was not the intelligent, fun, sexy woman she had once been. This woman looking back at her looked wild, borderline feral. Standing in a wrinkled, over-sized white button up shirt was a wilding; her curly auburn hair standing up in places looking unkempt, make-up smeared down her gaunt cheeks and dark circles under her swollen eyes. Even her eyes had a bit of wildness to them, like a frightened animal ready for fight or flight. This was the smack of reality Miranda needed to wake her up. She touched her face and turned her head from side to side, then ran her fingers through her hair. “No more.” Even her voice sounded strange. “What have I done to myself?” Miranda crawled back in the bed and wrapped her blanket around her. She suddenly felt too hot, so she kicked the covers off then pulled Lewis’ shirt off, throwing it across the room as if it was the reason for yenimahalle escort her discomfort. Pulling her blanket back up, Miranda did something she hadn’t done in weeks; she slept soundly through the night. Saturday morning she woke with a new feeling, a new sense of power. Miranda threw her hair in a ponytail and went for a run, something she hadn’t done in a while. The harder she pushed herself the madder she became. She struggled whether to be more upset with Lewis or herself. In the end she realized she was angrier at herself for behaving so weak. Rounding the corner of her street she said again, “No more.” Miranda decided what she needed was to stop wallowing. So she ran a bath to shave and buff every inch of her then showered to wash her hair. She was going out. She was sitting at the bar sipping on her third coconut mojito and watching the crowd. Her short, tight, ass hugging red dress and her four inch high, silver, peep-toed heels left little doubt that Miranda was on the lookout for a rebound. There were a dozen men that she could have hit on and taken home, most of them were eagerly trying to catch her eye, but the one man she was drawn to was not. He was aware of her because of the sideways glances he kept making. He was the only man in the club wearing jeans, the rest were all in suits and slacks. His button up was clean and pressed, but there was something dirty about him. Not dirty as he needed to bathe, something dirty as in Miranda knew he would fuck Lewis from her mind. Miranda wanted him and was tired of him not paying her enough attention, so she turned her chair until she was facing him fully. He was sitting right of the crowded dance floor, and except for the occasional person walking by, he had a clear shot of her. She pressed her glass to her thigh and gasped at the cold. Spreading her legs slowly, she ran the glass up her inner thigh. She could see other men watching her, but her eyes were locked on him and to her complete excitement, he was finally focused on her. The glass was pressed to her inner thigh; she dipped a finger in it and brought the drop up to her waiting tongue. Miranda licked her finger and then sucked it into her mouth. Her legs spread further apart, exposing herself to anyone on that side of the bar, and she didn’t care. Miranda moved the glass up higher, spreading her legs further. The glass was the only thing blocking her pussy from the room. Again, she dipped her finger in her glass, licked this drop off and sucked it into her mouth. Her eyes had been so intent on the man in the jeans she completely missed the other man until he was right in front of her. “Hi, I’m…” “Not interested, I’m flirting with my boyfriend,” she snapped, cutting him off without even looking at him. Miranda was only interested in the man that was now walking towards her. She looked him in his eyes, wrapped her lips around the straw, gave him a wink and turned her back to him. Miranda felt his body heat before she heard his deep voice in her ear. “Hello.” Her body leaned into his and turned her head so she was inches from his face.