"But you don't leave me," she says after I confront her.

My scowl deepens. I don't know what the hell she's talking about. She sees the confusion in my face because she clarifies. "You always come back," she says.

I open my mouth to throw words at her, but like always they die before reaching my lips. She's right. I always come back. I never really leave her. In reality, she's the one that leaves me. She never comes to me. I'm always the one to seek her out. I feel my throat tighten at the realization. I feel like she has gripped my trachea and is squeezing it. And she has. She has a leash on me. And it's so short.

I swallow my bitter saliva and almost choke on it. I let out a quiet breath so she doesn't notice. I feel my anger rising. I hate the look she has on her face. It's so passive, so calm. I'm angry. I'm angry because that face doesn't tell me anything. I shouldn't care. But I can't deny it anymore. I'm angry because I can't read her face, her feelings. Because all I see is kindness and nothing more. I let out another breath. I feel like I'm drowning. Like I'm breaking. The room could be spinning now. She looks at me with more seriousness. I must look like I want to barf. I sure feel like it. I lunge myself at her and do the only thing I can do, the only thing I know how to do. I kiss her. I kiss her hard and push her against the wall. She doesn't fight it. In fact, she kisses me back, just as hard. She knows what to do so well. She should, she's done it dozens of times. She's slipping her hands inside my shirt. Touching me. I can feel my skin heating up. My center starting to throb. And for the first time, I so badly don't want it to. But I don't stop her. I let her take off my shirt. I let her turn us around and press me against the wall. She's so good at this. At pleasuring me. She undoes my jeans. My breath hitches. Not from need, not from anticipation. She's undoing me. Again. But she's doing more now. I feel a shift. A shift inside me. Inside my heart. She pulls down my jeans and lands on her knees. She pulls down my underwear. Down to business. I'm already wet. She leans in and her first lick is soft, teasing. And I feel it all the way to my core. It feels so good yet so bad. My body is reacting. My back is arching. My body is asking, screaming for more. But only my body is. She leans in again and presses her tongue flat against me. I can't help but grip her hair with my hand. "Fuck," utters out of my mouth.

I let her. I let her until I'm coming against her face yet again. And that's when I break. When all her touching has reached so deep it plucked something vital. Something I needed that I may no longer have. And I cry. Silently. I fight it. I fight it so hard. I lose. Tears start pouring out and soon pathetic sounds are escaping my mouth. She's quickly on her feet asking me if I'm okay, if she hurt me. I want to scream in her face. But I'm scared I'll only break more. So I crumble. I barely manage to pull up my panties and jeans before I'm a heap on the floor. She's soon kneeling in front of me. I don't need to look at her face to know that she's worried. Concerned. She doesn't know what to do. I feel her hands hovering over me, unsure if they should touch me. I suppose if I saw Cat using a pair of scissors to threaten or cut someone I wouldn't know what to do either. I try to get up and stumble. "Jade," she says, voice dripping with worry.

A broken toy. How ironic. I was the toy after all. And I was playing myself this whole time. I open my mouth, to do what, I don't know. But I close it. Because there's only one thing that wants to come out of my mouth. And I can't say that. "Jade," she repeats.

I take pleasure in the fact that she must feel stupid and useless, unable to figure out what's wrong with me or how to fix it. She stutters. Finally she asks, "Did I do something wrong?"

I want to say yes. But my mouth is still sealed. That's not what will come out if I open it. "Was it what I said?" she asks.

Yes! Finally part of me functions. I nod. "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean anything by it. I'll stop if you want."

What? I shake my head. That's my first response. My first instinct. I couldn't imagine her not touching me. But that was before. Now, I'm not sure I want it. "No?" she repeats my denial.

"I-" she starts.

I finally open my eyes. She's looking down at the floor. She looks troubled. She looks up and I almost jump, startled. Her eyes are fierce. I've never seen them like this. Where has she been hiding that? She kisses me. I wasn't expecting that. I also wasn't expecting myself to respond. But I am. I'm kissing her back. I guess it's hard to break the habit. "I've been waiting," she says between kisses. "For so long," more kisses. "I almost thought I wouldn't make it."

There's a small smile on her face as she kisses me again. I don't know what she's talking about. Reluctantly, damn it, I pull back. "What?" I ask her.

"For you. For this," she says.

She must see my confusion again because her own face contorts with it. "You love me," she says, no, she asks.

She's not sure. I feel taken aback again. How does she know? I've only figured it out a few minutes ago. Was the revelation so obvious? I shake my head. Somehow having gained some of my senses. But she sees something in my eyes, my face. Because she seems more sure now. And she's right. I won't open my mouth because I'll agree. I'll tell her she's right. Her eyebrows scrunch and she takes off her shirt. My eyes travel down her body on their own accord. It takes me more than I'd like for my eyes to travel back to her face. She's looking at me fiercely again. She's not asking anymore. She's daring me. My hands are burning. They want to touch her so badly. To undo that button. But I have to know. I have to. "Why?" is all I manage.

She's unsure of what I mean. I think I am too. She searches my face. Reads all the questions there. She seems so good at that. Yet another thing she does so well with me. "I can see it in your eyes. The fear. The love. You think you're good at hiding it. And you are, but only to yourself."

I swallow. Does everyone else know? Then she adds, "I was waiting for you to see it. You had to on your own. If I'd tried. If I'd tried you would have ran away. I didn't want to scare you."

"You always came back," she smiles this time. "I always knew you would. I always waited."

My heart is beating fast. She has undone me. This time not with touches or unbuttoned jeans. But she has undone me all the same. I smile. She turned all the pieces of the puzzle over, she took her time, putting them together, fitting them. And she finished it. Whole. She smiles. She has undone me onto a whole piece. I lean forward and kiss her. I unbutton her shorts and stick my hand inside. It's my turn to return the favor.