Title: One Day, I'll Tell You
Rating: K+
Summary: A kind of stalker-ish view into Kate's mind, and her thoughts of Juliet. Kate/Juliet femslash, some Jacket
Adding this so it has 815 words. Yay.
I'm sitting under a tree, and I have a mango in one hand and a pocket knife in the other. You don't notice me because you're too focused on talking to Jack, probably about your escapades that week you alienated him, turned him against us. You don't notice my eyes scanning every inch of you, lustfully drinking up every curve of your body. You don't notice that there's even a person under this tree, one, because you're too preoccupied with your flirting, but two. Because it's me, and I don't mean a damn thing to you.
Your hair, flowing like the purest gold in the world, sways as you laugh, and I see Jack grinning his boyish smile, the smile that I used to only see. God, your hair. The way the sun catches every single curve of every single curl, and scatters the light around you, forming an entrancing aura of radiance. Yet some loose strands of that hair that proves heaven exists hang mysteriously in your eyes. Needily, my fingers stroke the side of my knife, hungry to brush the curls out of your eyes.
Those piercing eyes. Sometimes filled with intensity, and sorrow, and defiance, they're now soft. They're warm and inviting, but still guarded. There's a past behind those eyes, and I want to unlock both your eyes and your heart.
You touch his arm softly, and though you might not see it, Jack tenses a little. Not because he doesn't enjoy your fingers pressed against his skin. Because you have this nature about you that electrifies anyone you could in contact with. You stop touching him, and a look of disappointment crosses Jack's face. I don't feel sorry for him. You've touched him much more than you've ever touched me. I envy that.
Seeing you with Jack bothers me. No, bothers doesn't even begin to describe it. It nauseates me. Your inside jokes and sweet little glances triggers my gag reflex. I hate you being in the presence of Jack, and I know you know. But it isn't because I want Jack for myself. Screw Jack, men are useless. I know Jack is attracted to you, and that's why I cannot let you be anywhere near him. I don't want his hands brushing against your face, your hair, your body, because that's where my hands belong.
I want to stand up. I want to drop the mango and knife and walk over there. I want to grab your biceps firmly and tackle you, pinning your body to the ground. I want to press my lips violently against yours, rubbing myself against you. I want you to moan my name. You don't even have to moan it, just say it. I just want to hear my name roll off of your tongue, which I would then smother with my own tongue, and I want to know that you think of me.
Two girls making out in the sand in the middle of camp. We'd probably get weird looks, but I don't fucking care. It's torture. You're probably straight, though I thought I was too before I first saw you. Even if you weren't, even if you were like me, you wouldn't return my feelings for you. You'd be with Jack, or Sayid, or Sawyer, or some other bastard. You'd never love me, and that thought pains me more than a thousand bullets ever could.
One day, I'll tell you. One day, I'll tell you that I watch you all the time. One day, I'll tell you that I enter your tent at night sometimes and look at you. Once in awhile, I'll gather up the courage to touch your face, but never more because of the risk of you waking up. If I were to confess my love to you, you'd probably just stare at me with a confused look, and you'd avoid me more than you already do. Maybe I won't confess anything to you, maybe sometime I'll just come up to you and trap you under my body. I'll kiss you harder than I've ever kissed anyone before. In reality, you'll shove me away from you and you'd return to Jack, brushing the sand off of your clothing.
It feels as if a knife entered my gut as I hear you giggle at one of Jack's jokes.
This, I'll swear to you, Juliet. One day, I'll tell you.