I don't own anything, just my own thoughts that like to take the characters out to play sometimes. Inspiration for this piece came from the Selena Gomez single "Same Old Love" and came to me while driving home, when it came on the radio. Please read and review honestly!
Update: I didn't intend it this way, but it kind of came out almost like a prologue for "Can the Lonely Take the Place of You?". Whoops!
Lizzie was well and truly over Tom Keen.
She had the proof now of his infidelity spread across the twin bed in her motel room. The confirmation of his lies had stung, but it was his wasteful use of her feelings that really made her see red. Had anything about their life been real? She doubted that she would ever know now. When she had approached him with her suspicions, Tom had walked out the door without a glance, leaving Hudson stranded on the porch.
Why had it taken her so long to see the truth? And why had it taken her so long to trust Red when he tried to tip her off? You didn't want to see it. She hadn't wanted to believe that her marriage was a lie. Confronted with the harsh reality of his depthless duplicity, she had no choice but to accept that Red had been right all along. And, of course, why shouldn't he be? Liz thought bitterly to herself. He was right about everything else.
If Tom Keen wasn't real, then her marriage couldn't be real either. It was like she had been married to a fiction or, better yet, never married at all. When faced with the choice of sifting through the rosy memories of her false life searching for red flags that she should have seen sooner, or casting the entire debacle aside in favor of moving on, she would choose to forget. And why not? No use would come of analyzing the minutia of a life that never really existed. It was better to move on.
She paced the narrow aisle between her bed and the desk, wearing a path into the dingy motel carpet. She was restless and agitated, a jittery excitability skipping through her veins, reminding her distinctly of a very different kind of anticipation. Her mind surged to Reddington. A familiar thrill of pleasure trilled through her veins. She had spent so much of their time together avoiding his advances, ignoring his thinly veiled overtures, convinced that giving in to her own desires with him would be treacherous, wanton, wrong. She had wasted so much time. Liz halted her stride, her earlier realizations about her former husband giving life to a plan.
She glanced at the clock on the bedside table; it was just after midnight. Too late for a social call, but she knew Red hardly slept. Besides, for what she had in mind, she was certain he wouldn't mind being kept awake.