He examined himself in the floor-length mirror. This was a daily ritual after his workout and shower. His towel was visible in a puddle two feet behind him. The sight of it lifted a corner of his mouth. She would never have allowed that. And for once, thinking of her didn’t spin him into a cyclone of rage. Now he was on a different path, walking among gods.
Satisfied with his tight abdomen and rigid glutes, he strolled to his cavernous walk-in closet. He ignored the Italian silk suits arrayed like silent soldiers and headed to the casual aisle. He grabbed a pair of chinos and slid them over his waxed calves, loving the slinky feel of the microfiber against his skin. He paired that with a BCBG tight black shirt which showed his pecs in fine form. He enjoyed his appearance and the effect it had on people. He made no effort to hide his wealth nor his physical assets. He was a man who exuded power, and he wore his awareness of that power as a finely tailored garment. However, he would be surprised to know that it was his entrenched cruelty that made a more lasting impression on people. Although fit, he was of average height and not physically intimidating, however strangers cringed when he approached. Even his regular Starbucks barrista loathed the ringing of the bell that heralded his arrival. He was sufficiently self-absorbed that he had no real awareness of the anathema he invoked.
The finely-tailored sentries in his closet had hung, unused for weeks. He had taken a leave of absence from the firm. He hadn’t filled in the proper paperwork, there were lesser beings who could fill out the forms. He had walked away with an ambiguous goodbye tossed over his shoulder to the receptionist, “I’m going to be gone for awhile, and I’m not checking messages.” He had ignored the few calls to his house, and no one really cared enough to pursue the matter, enjoying his absence too much to complain. Even his clients had been sanguine about their transfer to a more junior attorney.
His estranged parents were tucked away in a sleepy northeastern town; his younger sister stayed close to the folks. In an honest moment, he would characterize them as gauche-- more of an embarrassment than family. He had said his goodbyes at his Harvard graduation twelve years ago and never looked back. He had married well, to old money, to a woman much like himself: self-absorbed, type-A, career-focused and driven. She looked like a trophy wife, but she was much more of an acquisition than her blue-blooded beauty might suggest. If he had believed in soul-mates, she would have been his. A complete reflection of him; he had loved her as desperately as he loved himself.
She was gone now. She hadn’t signed up for this, those were her unemotional words when she walked out. Well, neither had he, but walking out wasn’t an option. In the beginning, he had raged, but that was before the transformation. Now he was a god, master of life and death. He was completely free from earthly restraints. He was a little surprised at how easy it had been to shuck the moral code of his past, and he realized his sham integrity had been a complete act. He was born to be the Hunter—it was inside of him the whole time.