1A/N: Don't own 'em, never will. Thanks Mr. Wolf.
After last night's heart-wrenching episode, I woke up intermittently throughout the night with these little blurbs running through my head, so I thought I'd share.
SO MANY CHANCES
There were so many chances to tell me. So many Friday night drinks, so many Saturday nights at your place, with pizza and beer –and our long talks that lasted far into the night– but you never thought it worth mentioning. Five years – that's 1,825 days– 1,825 chances – and you never took the opportunity.
So now I sit here, hearing it myself for the first time, not at your apartment or mine, or some other private place so we could talk it over – but with you on center stage, in front of Carver and our peers and the press and the jury and a hundred curious strangers.
I hear the quiver in your voice as you choke back the tears. I see them welling up in your eyes – eyes that can't look up at me– but not a single tear makes its way down your cheek. I'm glad for that. I never wanted you to feel sorry for me – certainly never want you to cry for me.
But the words still sting.
My stomach and my heart and my brain have that same feeling – that sick, mixed up feeling, just like when Nicole and her evil deeds blind-sided me with that whole Croyden fiasco. I feel doubly blind-sided now, 'cause I never expected it from you.
I'll talk to you later and pretend that we're okay – I'll even agree with you that I'm an 'acquired taste'."
But things are different now. Things will never be the same between us because I'll always be wondering what else you haven't told me. I don't know– maybe I'm just overly sensitive right now because of what happened with my mother the other day — Or do you feel it too?
It's the beginning of our end.
THE END