Lizzie can't help but sulk in her own misery. Her blood pressure skyrocketing through the roof and her nerves a jumbled mess. She sits in her seat constantly fidgeting and twitting her thumbs while she watches the stupid blonde bimbo run her hands up and down the length of his forearms and whispering what she can only assume as lewd and crude sweet nothings into Raymond Reddington's ears.
He was supposed to run to the bar of the restaurant and replenish their drinks since the waiter was taking his sweet ass time serving them. She watched him take a seat at one of the stools and her anxiety increased when she noticed a mane of blonde hair hot on his tail. She can't help the fact that her eyes follow him involuntarily and she has abandoned the need to consciously sensor herself in his presence. She has become more open and inviting, it's the least she could give him after all he had tried to give her- especially after the selfless noble acts she once thought of as manipulative diversions and ulterior motives.
They'd been on the run for months on end, different cities and countries with different aliases and covers. Each day they broke new ground and stumbled a little closer to exposing the cabal while evading capture but not without some close calls and of course, a little bloodshed. She has become stronger, wiser and a little more candid- more brazen then she ever was.
Not bold enough apparently because each time they change location, Red asks her what their covers should be. He goes down a list of them- from associates to assistants to daughter or lover- or as Red put it, "companion", he couldn't even muster the courage to say the actual word.
Did that mean the thought of it was ludicrous? Was it something so far-fetched and hard to believe? Something that he could never see her as? A role she could never play in real life and surely impossible to act out, even if in pretend? She doesn't know what his motives are because he doesn't give her indication in what lies beneath the façade he portrays except for petty little compliments or glances that don't say much since he could charm or flirt with a flowerpot if he so chose to.
Why oh why did she choose daughter? Why, oh why? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She mentally kicks herself for picking that as her relation to him. Its his fault really, the way he was looking at her- he put her on the spot and she was bare and raw and couldn't get ahold of her emotions. She was sure that he had been on to her- her constant neediness to be around him or dependence on his presence to feel safe and secure- because truth be told, he felt like home.
She almost didn't notice the way his left eye twitched when she had said the word because other than that he seemed indifferent and unaffected, though he had made a point of flirting with the receptionist at their hotel. She didn't know if he was genuinely interested or if he was trying to prove a point- that he could still attract a beautiful and young woman and he was capable of seducing and luring her into his bed.
The ugly green monster had risen that night and she had given him the silent treatment until the next morning. She couldn't help herself; because she was afraid of her own growing feelings- it was just too much all too fast. It didn't help that he was always a perfect gentleman either; she was caught between the need to suppress her feelings to wondering what the hell she had to do to get a rise or reaction out of him. Did she have to walk past him naked while he sat reading his newspaper or sneak into his room late at night and climb on top of him?
She was scared that he had begun to see through her, to notice her longing gazes or the way her eyes fixated on his mouth when he spoke or even the way she liked to sniff him when he pulled her into an embrace. They were little things that began to add up quickly just as her feelings and emotions began to multiply within his vicinity. They had been practically joined at the hip; she had grown to know him- to love him and now watching another woman practically throw herself at him made her insides boil.
It was a commutation of rage and uneasiness, of a fist clenching at her heart and squeezing the life right out of her. Her intestines knotted in the pit of her stomach and tightened until she felt nauseas and sick. She was possessive of him and it was an unhealthy obsession that teetered on the edge of insanity. There was room for only one woman in Raymond Reddington's life and she would be damned if she had to share his attentions.
He was hers and her alone, I mean, didn't he realize that? She said jump and he was suppose to answer with "how high?' he wasn't suppose to be drooling over some fake tits and bleached hair. She growled inwardly when she watched the woman's hand traveling south, massaging up and down his thighs with her fingertips.
She's seen enough- had enough.
Lizzie snickers before reaching for the cloth napkin on her lap and throwing it on the table before sitting up and walking towards the bar.