A/N Hi so literally I was on the bus home and it was a really rainy day (also I was stuck in some pretty heavy traffic) so I wrote this to pass time. I was probably sad and lonely hahaha. Anyways. Enjoy! Don't forget to fave or comment.
You pull away, a mixed drink of emotions flushing through your veins consisting of one part astonishment and two parts of something you cannot fully understand.
"I have to go." You stammer, trying to shake off her kiss from your lips. "It's okay"
You hastily collect yourself along with the coat you left on her chair as you fear the eyes that looked so devastated when you did not reciprocate. You instantly leave the room and make certain as to gently shut the door as you exit. The knob is cold to the touch beneath your trembling hands, not completely sure if it's less temperate than usual or because of the chills you feel up your neck that start to creep down to your spine and onto your arms. You inhale, facing Cosima's door. Facing your subject's door. Yes. Your subject's door.
The skin on her lips were cold but you try so desperately to sooth the burn that aches on your own. The burn that has sunken deep into the tissues of your lips. It lingers. You could still feel her lips against yours despite the distance you have created between each other. You shake your head.
C'est quoi ce bordel, Delphine. Focus.
She is your subject. You are a scientist. She is nothing to you but someone to observe. You are to report to Leekie any trouble she might cause. You are to not be the cause of that trouble. You do not care about her. Not her emotions nor her sudden declarations of attraction. You do not care about her dreams nor her aspirations. Her fears are the least to your concern, understand? You don't care if she might have nightmares about murderous men or monsters. You do not care about whether or not she might need someone to wake up to her 3am calls to calm her down. You do not care about how that silly smile of hers that radiate beams of sunshine that once can feel only in their hearts. You do not care about her taste in music, favourite food, favourite colour, nor anything else in between because she does not care about anything concerning you. She does not love you and you do no love her. You don't love her. You don't love her.
Ah but you do. You just might despite the fact that you're working against her. Exchanging her information for mere paper to somewhat shady men for a stable job.
But you remember her lips gently pressed against yours, which are still heavy as if you longed for more. As if you half-regret pulling away so soon.
She does not deserve this. She doesn't deserve your lies. She doesn't deserve the half-shattered veneer you fabricated in lieu of your face. In another life, maybe you would be allowed to be together but this is reality and not some hypothetical universe. You stagger as you feel the tears well up in your eyes.
Je suis désolé, ma chérie. I'm so so sorry.