The headache that started as a dull throb earlier has begun pounding like a drum, and the scenery goes out of focus as the memories come. It’s been hard not to compare this place with my old penthouse and see how different they are. Here, everything is blindingly bright, as opposed to the darker, muted tones I prefer. My penthouse had been designed for function as opposed to fashion. Soon, a new woman’s items will be scattered around. I won’t find a brush with strands of long, blonde hair. They’ll be red. Like the color of the blood-stained sheets I found her lying on. I shake off the thought
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