The Inside Story, Part 1

         "Are you sorry?"

          "Am I sorry for what? That I was pushed to the brink or for what I did?"

         He sat back and studied the young woman. Walking in, her posture had told him that she was remorseful and ashamed of her orange suit; but her voice held such a belligerence that he was momentarily shocked.

         "Are you sorry for anything?" Taking the broad route would give him more insight he decided. The woman sat pensively for several moments. Her eyes floated to her left and she pursed her lips.

         "I am." Her tone was even, unreadable. But she didn't know how to control her body language.

         "Now what's the truth?" He raised one eyebrow, and his slight smirk told her that he knew she was lying and that he almost found it humorous that she would think that she could get away with it. She glared at him for a moment, then she looked down to her right, bit her lip, and in moments she was in another place a long time ago. He could almost tell where and when she was when the tears came to her eyes. After another fifteen minutes she looked up at him, took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and began.

         "It was always a game to him. And I was always the prey."