"You lied," I rasp out at his beguiling figure. Tears spring to my eyes, and I take a step back, scuffing my boot against the concrete, wanting to put as much distance between myself and the man who'd spent months since I'd known him, allowing me to wander aimlessly in the dark. He was meant to be the light gripping my hand tightly, helping me navigate this darkness, this blind spot I couldn't get out of, and instead, he was leading me down dead ends weaving through a trail of subterfuge.
"Jane, I..." he desperately whispers, reaching out to grab me, pull me close, give me another excuse.
"No," I swiftly cut him off, my arm coming out to block his advances, but tears blur my vision, and I throw myself off-kilter with the motion. Both of his hands reach out to me now, attempting to steady my swaying body. But I'd much rather fall on my own than trust that he's going to actually catch me when I stumble. His words are nothing but water through my fingers at this point.
I recall the conversation we'd had just months ago, how I'd told him that no one had ever let me down before. One of the few conveniences of having no memory was that I was unaccustomed to the word betrayal. It tasted foreign on my lips and yet it was something that I should've expected, should've seen coming. My defenses now on high alert, the sudden realization that maybe it wasn't just him that had betrayed me occurs to me.
"Does everyone know?" I stare up at his eyes, reflecting the taint of deceit back at me through the chilly winter night, my mouth in a hard line, daring him to lie to me again, to keep something else from me.
He bows his head in defeat, in admittance.
I turn away, ducking my own head and wrapping my arms around my torso, hoping that if I hold on tight enough the few pieces of myself that I do have won't dissipate from my grasp. Another chunk of me having been chiseled away already with information Kurt had presented to me tonight.
I'd thought these people were my friends. We'd gone out drinking, they'd brought me shopping, albeit I'd dragged my heels the entire way, but I felt that we'd established a bond. At the very least, I trusted them in the field to have my back, and in some ways to give it to me straight, unlike the unwavering cloak of admiration Kurt often gave me - that I now know was to overcompensate for the truth staring him back in the face in the form of one isotope test.
"Jane, please," I hear his words travel to me over the wind. "I was only trying to protect you. I know who you are; I don't need a test to tell me that."
"Do you, though?" I whip around to him, anger ripping through my veins. "Do you know who I am? Because I sure as hell don't!"
His eyes grow wide, taken aback by my fiery response. I manage to invade his space, and it's his turn to stumble backwards, not wanting to get too close to my bite. I've stunned him silent.
I look down at my scuffed shoes, black curls catching on my tear stained cheeks, sticking uncomfortably.
"You were my starting point, Kurt," I softly say down to the ground, not daring to make eye contact with him. "What kind of start am I off to when everything I've been given is a lie?"
"Hey, look at me," he reaches out, this time actually making contact with my hands. I peek up at him through tear brimmed eyes, my lip catching in my mouth. His fingers dance over my frozen hands, skimming my pulse point, before intertwining us together.
"I know exactly who you are," he says with such conviction, he almost convinces me to believe his willowy words he's been weaving together for months.
"You know who Taylor is. And apparently, I'm not her," I fire back with an edge of defeat. And it's only now that the implications of what this test means, outside of the truth being withheld, come slamming into me like a brick wall.
Simultaneously the rush of relief and fear engulf me, stealing away my breath. I grip his hands like a vice, my chest heaving at an erratic rate that has me gasping for air, my face crumpling into panic.
"Jane! Janie! Hey, hey," he panics himself, slipping out a pet name that only briefly registers in my mind as something new. He guides me to the brick wall of his building, lowering me down on the bench. Hunching over, he unclasps my hands from his, and I immediately move them to his shirt, searching for something to anchor me, finding purchase above his heart, the steady beat calming my aberrant thoughts. His soft shushing whispers in my ear, washing over me, casting out everything but the wave of thoughts crashing into me, over and over again, threatening to drown me.
The idea of not being Taylor had certainly crossed my mind since the moment I found out I was her. The pull of wanting so badly to be the girl that Kurt had lost all those years, not wanting to lose the way that he so reverently looked at me, both when he thought I didn't notice, and when we found ourselves in each other's beds every night. But filling the gaping holes she'd left was something I was unable to adhere to, both out of necessity and capability.
Very rarely did I wonder what I was to Kurt. But he was clearly in denial about this piece of information. The thought of me not being Taylor seemingly having never crossed his mind, as the news of the isotope test was pushed to the dark recesses of his mind that refused to dredge itself up and rear its ugly head to him. His conviction was almost endearing, if it didn't leave me with a fear so great it consumed me. The deep-rooted prick of terror that if it was revealed that I was indeed not her, what would that mean for us?
We'd crossed the line of consultant, handler long ago, probably before our first meeting even concluded. And the excuse of just friends had been breached a while ago, shattered completely the night I kissed him several months ago, and completely obliterated that same night, after dinner. Several times, in fact.
But had our entire relationship been contingent on this belief that I was Taylor? Would yanking on the thread of this test suggesting I was something else, unravel everything we'd been slowly building since the day we met?
The insecurities had always been there, but now having been forced to face them head on, the possibility of losing my whole world was triggering an anger and a panic that I'd long since buried myself.
My head rests easily on his chest, the in and out of my breath slowly stabilizing, like a paralytic slowly taking over my body. I relax into him, and his arms engulf me into their warmth. The prickle of his stubble rubs against my face, as he gives me a kiss on the crown of my head.
"I know exactly who you are," he repeats.
"You keep saying that," I manage to mumble into his shirt.
"Your favorite color is blue. You take your coffee black, your alcohol even stronger. No frills. You sleep on the right side of the bed, and murmur in your sleep, mostly incoherent things, but I'm pretty sure you said, 'pie' the other night. Your eyebrows knit together when you're worried, but light up every time you see a dog walk by. And you always do the right thing. Always. Your mouth ticks up in a crooked smile when you tease me, your feet are absolutely freezing at night, and you have a tiny freckle in your right eye. The scar on the back of your neck is from an unfortunate accident in a tree. You frown in the mirror when you think no one's looking, and I'm likely to spend the rest of my life convincing you there's no need," he finishes in an octave higher than usual.
I can't help but laugh at the sheer amount of talking I just witnessed. Usually he's a monosyllabic grunter, a man of few words, which is cute. But this. This is something new. Something for me.
"You think you've got me all figured out, huh?" I joke.
He nods against me.
"Look, Jane, I know you're scared. And I'm sorry I withheld that information from you. I thought I was helping."
"I know," I huff out. "I just...I...if I'm not Taylor...," I hesitantly broach the subject, burrowing further into him.
"It won't change anything. I love you because you're...you. You're Jane."
A soft smile spreads across my face, sweeping across the fabric of his shirt.
He loves me.
Me.
Whoever that may be.
I tuck my head underneath his chin, my hair tickling him. And leaning up, I bestow a small kiss on his neck, over his pulse point, before leaning up further to whisper into his ear, "I love you, too."
I know it's not a solution to our problems, I know more of those are bound to surface with this new information. But it's a starting point. And we're pretty good at those.
AN: I have no idea where this came from. I just had an urge to write out of pure frustration and this is what came out. Hopefully, someone enjoys. Please leave a review!