A/N: How I hope he's actually feeling. Rigsby's POV.
I met her at the gym. Where else would I meet her? I don't go anywhere else. I work, I work out, I sleep. That's the new routine. Nice and concise. Exactly how I need it right now.
I felt her watching me a few times. I half-smiled to myself and didn't acknowledge her. I added more weight and I lifted. The pain of too much felt good. I much prefer the pain of too much over too much pain. I can control it better. It distracts me. I do five reps, then add more weight.
The pain of too much increases. Excellent.
The too much pain flattens a little under the pressure. One of these days, I'll lift enough weight to crush it completely. It's a strong little bastard. Three hundred pounds and I've barely made a dent in it.
She finally walked over. I didn't have to do much. She asked me out. I looked down at her blonde, giggling insecurity and said yes. Why not?
She's nothing like her, and that's how I want it. I don't want any reminders. Nothing. No red hair. No large, watchful eyes. No inquisitive, yet respectful little fingers. Nothing.
Tiffany is a nice, normal girl.
She's about 5'5". Pretty average, I guess. When I kiss her goodnight, I lean down. I sigh into our kiss. She thinks it's because I'm happy. I let her think it. Mostly because it would be rude as hell to ask her to grow four more inches and make me feel less like an oversized brute.
But no.
Because 5'9" is her height. So, no. I don't want that. Five five is just fine.
She got bold one night and cuddled in my lap while we watched Lost. She knows how small she is, how easily she can curl into a large man's body. I could tell by the tilt in her chin that she thinks it's cute.
I feel slightly like a pervert. She feels too small. Too childlike. I want a woman. An equal. Someone who sits in my lap, not because she wants to be cute, but because she wants me. The sweet, coltish length of her could be called many things, but unwomanly isn't one of them. I sigh again. I do that a lot now.
I take her out a few times a week. She smiles a lot. They're easily earned. I can't tell if I really deserve them. I used to know exactly what the prize of a smile meant. They were far more rare and more worth the earning. And what made me feel like the luckiest SOB alive was that there were more of them for me than anyone else. Just me.
But no.
Mustn't think that way. Smiles are good. Lots of smiles are…sweet. I shouldn't have to earn them. She can smile all she wants.
She drinks the same beer I drink. Trying to look cute again, I suppose, impress me with her bad girls ways. I taste it on her lips. I feel angry at myself because I'm irritated with her. She doesn't sit in a bar with me and adorably order tea. She doesn't ignore the raised bartender brow and patiently wait for a cup and a little bag with a string.
When I kiss her, the inside of her mouth isn't hot from the scalding liquid. She doesn't taste like the earthy, herbal epitome of home. Instead she tastes of alcohol. She tastes like your typical date.
Which is fine. Just fine.
She works in marketing. I don't know what that means. She says what she really wants to do is event planning. I smile politely. There's nothing else to be done.
I haven't slept with her.
It's too soon. I just met her. I just lost her. Tiffany thinks I'm a gentleman. The truth is that I'm a bastard. I'm putting about as much of myself into this relationship as I would a trip to the mailbox. The way she touches me, I know she wants to, but all I can think about is how the pressure of her touch is too strong. And too fast. She doesn't watch her own fingers as they trace over my face. Almost like being…read.
She loved my body, but her experience of it was so damn erotic. I was very closely studied. Every last inch of me. Large, watchful eyes saw everything. A sultry, alluring voice would whisper a respectful question. Unlike any relationship before, I answered honestly. The whole, nasty history of certain marks on my skin. Exactly like before, I never plan to answer honestly again.
What I shared, for so long just mine, is now ours.
She kissed those marks. I ache knowing that for the rest of my life I can never let another woman contaminate those kisses with her own. I'll have to stop her. I don't know what I'll say, but I simply can't allow it.
I can't hold out forever. My first time with Tiffany, or whomever, must come eventually. I need to move on. I need to forget. This pain will be the death of me if I let it. I can't let it win. It'll destroy me if I do.
I'll just keep adding more weight.