This fic is old. It was originally written and published in the year 2001 or so and was lost to the ether of the internet for many years. But now it's back, like mildew and mold and Beetlejuice, and it remains one of my favorite pieces from that point in my life.

Firmly 'toon verse, with Lydia being the age of majority.

Something has to change.

Undeniable dilemma.

Boredom's not a burden

Anyone should bear.

Undeniable. That is exactly how I feel, especially when I think about her. Her. She who can calm me, hold me, tame me, like no other. She who alone knows what makes me tick, she who can tolerate all my eccentricities, she who can simply tolerate me. And yet, she doesn't know. She doesn't realize just what she means to me, and there's a good chance she never will.

Besides the whole creepy notion that I am no longer living, there's the simple fact that I am most likely "not her type". I know her as well as she knows me; I should. After all, I was by her side during most of her life, growing and changing as she grew and changed. The woman she's become is so much more than the girl she was, and yet...

Constant overstimulation numbs me

and I wouldn't have It

any other way.

I cannot have her. That much I know to be the truth. I cannot have her, and I never will. To be with her, to know her in the only way I have yet to; it would break so many laws. Laws vital to our respective existences. Laws that, if broken, would mean the end for both of us. Yet still, desire is stronger than common sense.

It's not enough.

I need more.

Nothing seems to satisfy.

I don't want it.

I just need it.

To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive.

To exist without her would be a greater torment than I could bear to imagine. To not have the option to see her shining face daily, to not hear her laugh, to not feel her in my arms during our parting embrace...

That would truly be death.

Finger deep within the borderline.

Show me that you love me and that

we belong together.

Relax, turn around and take my hand.

If only things could be different! If only I could have her. The things my fervent mind produces; to act upon them would be the ultimate delight, the reigning pleasure. The desire, the need to tell her is almost too much to handle; yet I remain silent, for both her sake and my own. I can no more swallow my feelings than I can feel my pulse once again. And still, I hope.

I can help you change

Tired moments into pleasure.

Say the word and we'll be

Well upon our way.

I realize my recent feelings have changed me. The things I imagine, dream—they've altered a fundamental part of me, something I cannot reverse. My mind produces images, both during the day, but mostly at night, when darkness falls and the silence is deafening.

Even now, I wonder how she would feel. I can taste her, smell her, sense every bit of her, but cannot have her. And the things I would do if the chance ever arose; I cannot even put it into words. Literature fails me; I can only keep these thoughts and visions within my head. At least locked away as they are allows a certain level of safety. Should they ever break free, the consequences would be grave.

Blend and balance

Pain and comfort

Deep within you

Till you will not have me any other way.

But still, desire persists. Her eyes haunt me. She is no longer a child but a woman, a beautiful, lush, living woman. And it's the female of her that I want.

She's so innocent; just that fact alone astounds me. The things I could show her, the emotions I could make her feel, the pleasure she could experience at my hands. I will never be able to pour myself into her physically, and that simple knowledge alone is enough to make me want to throw myself into Sandworm Land without any means of escape. Yet, it's not just her body I want; it's her mind and soul as well.

It's not enough.

I need more.

Nothing seems to satisfy.

I don't want it.

I just need it.

To breath, to feel, to know I'm alive.

Friendship is no longer enough. I have to have her. She's like some terrible itch, lurking beneath the skin and stubbornly refusing to leave. She's taken me over in every sense, and she doesn't know. She'll never know.

She should know.

Knuckle deep inside the borderline.

This may hurt a little but it's something you'll get used to.

Relax.

Slip away.

I've lost myself to her, stilled heart and soul. Knowledge such as that should be brought out, but still...

Still.

Something kinda sad about

the way that things have come to be.

Desensitized to everything.

What became of subtlety?

She not only needs to know but deserves to know. Some long-dead part of myself—just as every bit of me is—knows she feels the same way. Her coy looks haven't gone unnoticed, but I can't help but feel she is unaware of the danger lurking beneath that gaze. God help her should I ever lose control of my tentative grasp on emotion; God help us both should she ever decide to reciprocate the desires.

How can it mean anything to me

If I really don't feel anything at all?

Strange, really, that I should be the one wrestling these feelings. Stranger still that I cannot act upon them. The Universe truly has a sense of humor, but not one that I can readily appreciate.

I have been known all my afterlife for my aloof tendencies and lack-of-emotion. It's surprising that someone—a mortal, at that—has taught me how to feel. She's shown me how much life truly is worth. She's shown me how to care, how to feel, and how to return those feelings without thought of shame or remorse.

She's shown me how to love.

It's just so cruel that that love must remain, forever, denied!

I'll keep digging

till I feel something.

And deep down, I know that need not be the case. I know, should I ever choose to, she would accept me with the open arms I so long for. And still, still, I remain silent.

To gamble with the fates is one thing; to gamble with her life in the balance is something else entirely. She wouldn't comprehend how deep the risk runs, and I'm not going to be the one to inform her. Should she come to me, the situation would be much different. Should she come to me and express her emotions, she'll not know refusal. She'll know everything I've longed to say and act upon all these years.

It's strange, really. My feelings for her almost seem to complete a puzzle, one giant jigsaw that is death. Should those feelings be returned, I think my memory of life would improve drastically. My heart just may beat again, but not in the traditional sense. Should my pulse return, it would not be physical but mental; my heart would beat only for her.

Elbow deep inside the borderline.

Show me that you love me and that

we belong together.

Shoulder deep within the borderline.

Relax.

Turn around and take my hand.

And so, as promised, I'll go to her. I'll go and see her, just as has been the case all these years. She said she wanted to talk, but refused to say what about. Those words caused a veritable whirl of emotions; my strained subconsciously whispered thoughts and ideas better left unsaid.

Perhaps tonight will be the night I have so longed for. Maybe now the stars have aligned, and the fates have removed their fingers from my metaphorical pie. Perhaps she'll confess her undying love; either that, or she'll ask how Prince Vince is doing. Either way, it'll just be nice to see her smiling at me again with those wondrous light-filled eyes. Should she take my hand and speak the words I've longed for, then I will—finally!—find the redemption and gentle caress I have so longed for.

As I step through the mirror, I can only hope.

Come find me on Tumblr katiehavok, if that's your thing.