Title: Picking at Scabs
Author: Countthecrows
Summary: What went on through Adam's head the first time he slept with Bonnie.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, only the memory of this show.
Rating: R for sexual situations and language.
You don't remember all of the details from that night. At best, it was as if something taken over your body. A parasite. Yes, a parasite making its way through your body. Desire is its name. You're walking her home, that's all you're doing, you tell yourself. Perhaps if it you say it enough, you'll start to believe it.
She unlocks the door to her apartment. She smiles at you. She does not even have to say anything. The smile is enough. You know she wants you. Do you want her? She touches your arm and it feels, indescribable. The door shuts. There's no escaping now. You're now on the couch. She's kissing you and although you have never done this before, you suddenly know what to do. She lifts off her shirt. You've dreamed of doing this, but not with her. Your hand goes to the back of her bra. You unhook it. Her hands are at your jeans, on the zipper. And then, like a person who suddenly recovers from amnesia you stop her. You hear a voice, but it's not coming from the apartment.
What are you doing? You have a girlfriend.
She looks at you, confused. "I thought….I thought you wanted to."
You don't know what to say; you're facing the firing squad. Sure, you can tell her that this is a mistake. That you have a girlfriend who you love. But it's all moot at this point. You've gone too far and you know it. Nothing you do now will erase what has already happened. What's worse is that you still want to.
Sometimes it's like having a scab, you don't want to pick at it, but you do. You pick the scab some more. You kiss her and allow her to unzip your pants. Your shirt is off. You're on top of her. And just as quickly as it began, it's ended. She offers you a drink. You decline because you can't fathom spending another minute with her. You get up and put on your shirt and zip up your jeans and begin the long walk home.
You're an asshole.
I couldn't help it.
Yes you could.
She wanted me.
Joan loves you.
But she doesn't want me.
She does.
Not that night she didn't.
You were in a camper.
And then the voice stops. You come upon your house. The shed calls your name. It finally dawns on you what you've done. "I've lost her, haven't I?" But the voice doesn't answer, and you don't need it to. So for now, you'll go to sleep. It doesn't matter anyway. The scab's been picked, blood emerging from it. And even though you may cover it up, it still remains there, a scar, a memory.