Disclaimer: I didn't do it!

Author's Note: A VERY short fic from Karen's POV.

Confession

            I watch you from across the room, engrossed in your morning coffee and a monologue on paper, those beautiful blue eyes traveling steadily across the lines, mouth moving to the words. I know what it is: the Shakespeare monologue, the one that begins, "This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother…" And I know you'll come home exhilarated because your teacher "Zandra with a Z!" (how I love pretension) will have told you that you don't suck as much as you think.

            I love the mint color of your sweater, how it makes your eyes even more intense. How your body, long and lean beneath Prada and Armani layers, will always be the solid strong presence that envelops me when you touch me. Sometimes I think I could die from wanting you.

Look at me, damn it! Look at me! I'm sending you signals as clear as vodka! And then I think with a pang that God didn't make me for you. He made me for some fat oaf with money out the kazoo, who doesn't bother to acknowledge his wife, never mind the fact that there's a piece of paper called a marriage certificate that says he has to.

            I've done things I'm ashamed of, of course. I've desired you, I've lusted… hell, who hasn't? I've wished I could throw this wedding ring out the window and jump into your arms, I've wished Stan would up and die.

            I've never asked anything from you other than being my best friend. I spoil you because I have no one else to spoil. My stepkids are afraid of me, my husband is an ass, and… you're all I have.

            Those days you spent with me, immersed in the joys of shopping, espressos, holding hands all down Fifth Avenue, all those things… I just wanted to hear your voice and see you smile. Do you know how cute you look going through the racks at Barney's? Sometimes when you hold up something for me to see, I don't even look. All I see is you, my beautiful man, and my beautiful impossible dream.

            And those times when you kiss me! My mind goes blank, and I know nothing but your arms around me, your lips and your tongue and your breath, tangy with mint. I think of nothing but the sensation of knowing I am yours, and no one else's.

            Call me fag hag, call me crazy, whatever. I know you'll never look at me that way, and it hurts: don't you doubt that. But that's the way it is, and I can't change it. I'll just walk over with my martini glass, place a soft kiss on your cheek, and go back to my little daydream, lost in your big blue eyes, knowing that no matter how hard I wish, you will never, ever look at me that way.