A/N: I thought I'd try something different. This is it.
Disclaimer: They belong to who they belong too. I think we all know who that is. Right?
Moments
He misses Stephanie.
It's a normal emotion, he supposes. A friend goes away, you're supposed to miss him or her. It doesn't have to be a big, horrible thing. It doesn't have to feel like there's a hole inside you that can't be filled.
In fact, it shouldn't.
But that's exactly how Chris feels.
He's not sure why; she's a friend, not a lover. He's not sure how Stephanie was suddenly elevated from a boss's daughter and Paul's wife to someone he couldn't live without.
'I still have Jessica,' he tells himself, and he wonders why that doesn't comfort him. Jessica is his wife; the woman he loves; the person he's supposed to care about most.
But he'd trade Jessica in a minute to have Stephanie waltz back into the company.
He misses her, and he misses those little moments that he stole for himself.
Those moments when they'd be talking (mostly about nothing) and Stephanie's hand would casually brush against his arm.
Those moments when Stephanie looked happy and Chris could pretend the joy was for him.
Those moments when he'd watch her body in motion, see her legs move, notice when her skirt would ride up on her thigh.
Those moments when he could perfectly picture what it would be like to have his fingers glide against her skin.
Those moments when he could imagine Stephanie screaming his name in passion, whispering his name in love.
And, in between all those moments, the tinier slivers of time when he could convince himself that those thoughts weren't wrong.
But, now, all those moments are gone. He can't pretend about anything. He can't pretend that the thoughts meant nothing; he can't pretend that they'll go away.
He can't pretend that Stephanie will ever be his.
And, most of all, he can't pretend that Jessica is a good substitute.
But there are no options. He can't leave his life and latch onto Stephanie's; she doesn't have a reason to want him. He can't live this life and continue to feel hollow; he's spent enough years feeling nothing.
He wonders when he'll see Stephanie again. Maybe it'll be on the cover of a magazine or a website; maybe it'll be on TV. Maybe it'll only be in his dreams, when he can let all his defenses wash away.
But, he wonders, when he sees her again - sees her as a person instead of an image - if it will be as powerful as all the times he let his eyes linger on her while only a few inches separated them. He wonders if he'll be able to sustain himself on a few glimpse of her, a few strains of her voice wafting to his ears.
He wonders, and he doesn't want to wonder anymore.
He misses her, and he doesn't want to miss her anymore.
He wants her to come back, come back to where he can still have a little piece of her. Even if she'll never know, even if he can never tell her. Even if it's nothing but a few seconds of the week, he needs her.
He needs those stolen moments. He needs to be alive, if only in his reveries.
He wonders if he'll ever have those moments again. He wonders how long he could exist without them.
He thinks it won't be very long at all.
THE END