I’m sorry. I try to mean it. I really do. But this nightmare is pulling me apart. “No. No you aren’t, you trashy harpy!” they singsong. As if...any of you would be sorry. Silence. Are there winners and losers when all you’re doing is fighting a thousand twisted versions yourself? The only thing I’m sorry about is seeing them and… not so much remembering them, but feeling them. They push and push, forcing sensations and emotions on me. Sins. Pains. Guilty pleasures. Raging hate. A. As she pushed the empty plate back to take a final sip of iced tea, the plate disappeared before her eyes.Before she could respond to that, Kei spoke up, “Mother, we have much more to tell you, and I am still learning, also.”Aiko, fed up with her husband’s ever-increasing beatings, and finally realizing that he was truly going to kill her if this kept on, agreed to the block after her daughter assured her that she would not even be aware of it. She took in what she was told, seemingly trying to. She said, “She was glad my lady had come over and offered my services and would I really mind pleasuring a fat old piece like her?” There were three, no…perhaps four reasons Knew I could not refuse, 1, my wife would never let me hear the end of it if I chickened out, 2, I was sorry for the poor cow, 3, I had never met a masochist before and lastly that bloody rocket fuel had rubberised my legs so running was not an option! I could hardly say that though, so I just said, “it would be my. Her shot is terrible, hit rather than pushed, running everywhere on the table but on target, coming to rest against one of the striped balls, qualifying the shot by the barest of margins. She laughs as if failing at this is tickling her, and looks at her besotted consort with a coyly innocent look, knowing he’ll happily bear the burden of her incompetence to spend time with her. Neither one of them is here for this game – they’re playing games of their own. The fourth player stands up and steps.