"Sweetie?" Angela asked me, walking into my office without knocking. I whipped my hand to my face, but the tears kept coming, "You okay?" Angela asked, concerned, because I rarely cried. Crying meant loosing my grasp on my compartmentalizing, and I was good at that. In fact, I wouldn't even call this crying, I was tearing up. That's not crying. I was mourning the end of something I had in my life for 6 six years. Mourning.
No one's literally dead.
"I'm fine, Angela." I say flatly, and my voice is firm, it doesn't crack, or waver, it's strong.
"I'm going to pretend I believe you, Bren." Angela rolled her eyes at me, and I was about to smile but then she said; "Sweetie, what happened to Booth?" Angela asked, even more concerned.
"What are you talking about, Angela?" I asked, intrigued when she said his name, but dreading what she had figured out about Booth and I.
"I'm talking about how he looks like he could use a hug. Like he would buy a hug, just so that he could feel good for a minute." Angela told me, with a sad, knowing smile.
She noticed how what she said stopped me, if only for a moment. "I would know if he wasn't okay, Angela." I told her, trying to reassure her.
I wasn't lying to her, I would know if he was anything short from happy, I would know, and I did know. I knew he was sad, heartbroken, trying to move on- and all because of me. But heartbreak passes, and he deserves more then me, and my lies.
He deserves more then ignorance.