Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: I'm not sure where this came from. I was going to try to work on the next chapter for the story I have going, but I just wasn't in the mood, and somehow this happened. Since I've never done a oneshot, I thought I'd post it and see how it went. I hope you all like it! I know it's mostly internalized, but I think I might like it that way. Anyway, go ahead and read.
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How much is enough? That is a question I have been struggling with almost my entire life. I thought I knew the answer a few times. I thought I had it figured out. And yet, even in the midst of my complete certainty, I find the question returning. I feel it cropping up again and again. How much is enough?
For a long time, I've thought I had enough. Sure, I had my problems, and, yes, there were things about my life that were less than ideal, but in the grand scheme of things I was generally content. I have a good job. I live in a nice apartment. I'm financially secure. I have friends who love me and who want to see me happy. I get cards on my birthday. What more do I really need from life? Everyday I am allowed to do something that I'm good at that also serves a greater good. How could that not be enough?
I used to be satisfied. But is being satisfied the same as being happy? I thought it was. I smiled at work. I went out with friends and laughed. I woke up in a good mood in the morning. When did that stop happening? When did it all fall apart?
The first time I met him, I wanted nothing to do with him. He was arrogant, over confident, and I found his entire demeanor off-putting. And why shouldn't I have? I had no reason to like him. And yet, as time went on, he grew on me. He became something else to me. Slowly over time, I started to think of him as an equal and a friend. I started seeing him in a new light. I'm not going to lie—the change was nice. We could speak as colleagues. We could work together. We had a unique synergy that somehow worked, although logically it probably shouldn't have. Life was good again. I was certain that that was enough.
I was happy, don't you understand? Life made sense. Life doesn't make sense anymore.
When did it change? I don't know. All I do know is that I somehow became aware of the fact that I was completely aware of him. I knew his scent. I could detect his footsteps. I thought about him when he wasn't around. I smiled when I talked about him. I smiled when he was near me. All of the sudden I became aware of his effect on me. He was like a drug, filling me with euphoric happiness. And I was addicted.
I became possessive of him. I was happy when he called me or came to see me because that meant he wasn't out with another girl. When did that become important to me? If he has the chance to met someone and be happy, I should be happy for him. I know I should be happy. But I'm not.
He has derailed my life. I'm not content anymore if he's not there. I only wake up happy when I know I will have contact from him. Every time my phone rings my heart jumps, excited that he might be on the other end of the line. I never did that before. I don't know what to do with that feeling.
B-O-O-T-H. Five letters. How did five letters change my world?
I think about him when I'm awake. I dream about him when I'm asleep. I wonder what he's doing when I leave work. I think of things he's said to me when I'm driving.
Why did I have to meet him? Why did he have to be the person I was assigned to work with?
And then, after working late tonight at my office, I walked out to find him leaning against my car. He was on his cell phone, and I couldn't take my eyes off of him. He had a folder in his hand, and after ending his call he told me that it was just some paperwork for me to sign. I asked him why he hadn't just waited to give it me the next day, and he looked me straight in the eyes. He was disheveled, rumpled, as if he hadn't slept well.
"Because I haven't seen you in two days," he answered.
I stared back at him for a moment, pondering the meaning of this statement. And then he turned his eyes away and cursed under his breath. When he looked up again, I was still staring at him.
We were standing too close. I knew that. But I couldn't walk away. I couldn't break eye contact. And when he touched my cheek, I couldn't breathe.
He leaned in and my eyes fell closed, instinctually leaning closer to him as well. When our lips met, I felt my heart flew to a dangerous speed my chest. And then, suddenly, it all made sense. As the passion grew, my understanding intensified. I had found the answer. It was Booth. He was it. He was enough.
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