Summery: Sara pines, and adjusts.
Rating: Eh, it mentions Sex. What does that make it?
Pairing: Sara/Cath unrequited.
authors Note: It's jsut a drabble. I needed to take my mind off of biology.
It was so much easier in college. If someone was gay then, they had patches, buttons, clubs, shirts, and so many other symbols that would identify them. Now, in the real world, it was impossible to tell if the sales lady was flirting, or just really wanted to make a sale. Or if a co-worker, say, off the top of my head, Catherine Willows, cough is really staring, or just appreciating my new clothes like any woman would.
I suppose it would be easier if I just admitted that I like women to my co-workers. It's not like it's something I'm hidding, but not everyday does a topic such as this come up in casual conversation. Everyone just assumes I like only men because since I've known them I've only dated men. There was Hank, the EMT with a doll faced smile and a snake like soul. I can't believe I let myself be the other woman. How could I not have noticed? Oh yeah, because I was in major denial and trying to distract myself to avoid hitting on people around me. Like, oh say, Catherine.
So here I am, sitting here like a pathetic loser, in a gay bar, checking out men and women alike. I keep tugging at the hem of my tanktop, wishing I'd thought to bring in my jacket. I keep making eye contact with an adorable blonde across the bar, but she's about three years younger than I am and is showing enough skin to be comfortable on a nude beach.
I hesitantly throw her a small smile and for the first time, notice the piercing blue color of her eyes. Instantly my mind goes through a list of other people with blonde hair and blue eyes. Barbie, David Anders, Catherine. Yes, I'm well aware that I'm thinking about Catherine for the third time tonight, just as I always seem to be doing.
Again later I'm thinking of her, as a stare straight into the illuminated eyes of Marci. Marci the adorable blonde from the bar, who is now shuddering beneath me, skin flushed and mouth hanging half open. She really is gorgeous, but I don't find myself attracted to her at all. The entire time we've been here, having sex in my bed, in my doorway, on my couch, I've been thinking of Catherine. Pretending she's Catherine. I try to pretend I'm not using this girl, that I really will call her again just like I say I will as I kiss her on the cheek and lead her out the front door in the morning.
I've gotten pretty good at lying to myself.
