Ring. Ring.
The oh-so-familiar voice is there again.
Hunting.
Trying to trick you.
Trying to grab your wits.
A bunch of codes then..
She's in.
There you are, hating her. But then again you can't do anything but obey every single command of hers. Every second you get shaky, as if she'll consume you if you haven't provided her with all her needs.
More than consume, actually.
You can't help but be manipulated by the sort of unseen speaker. Even extra careful with the words you're about to say.
You want the conversation to be over, and the least thing that you want to happen is for her to be mad.
No.
You wouldn't want that.
Alas.
"Would there be anything else, Ms. Clinton?"
"Nahh. That's it."
Click.
Several minutes past four in the morning. Last Saturday of May.
Then she's gone.
And damn.
Would you miss her so.
