– 4 –
Jack had never felt as pathetic, and she'd been this little girl, hunched under the table, alone and in pain; this was a low she'd never thought she'd face, but there she was, at the bottom. She was starting to give in.
"What do you want? Pussy? Done that, not interested. If that's what you're after, fuck off."
Shepard had pushed in anyway. Not by force – by being so fucking nice and patient it made Jack unnerved. Nobody was polite unless they were after something. Nobody was interested in her as she was, but for what she could do, and that was a rule no person had broken before. Or even if there had been someone, they were long gone; that's what feelings did for you. They got in your way, made everything messy, and in the end, you ended up dead. It was better to just not think and go on.
Survival was the key. No "loving" or "caring" or any of that shit they tried to sell in the media; none of it fit into the life she had, and she didn't need it to. Weak people needed others. She was the total opposite.
Shepard should've understood that.
Jack was changing, and it was only because Shepard made her feel like she actually cared about her.
"Fine, let's fuck! Let's just get this over with!"
"I'm in no hurry."
Who did that? People who wanted a relationship. A partner. Jack wasn't up to either. She had her urges; sex could be great, but it was always exploitative, so the less strings attached the better. Waiting, teasing, talking and flirting were all things she simply didn't do. Rough, hard fucking on a table or against a wall was stuff she was familiar with.
The worst thing was, she liked how Shepard treated her. It would only make everything worse when they, if there was such a thing, were done.
But she did. She actually wanted to take a peek deep inside her own... shriveled heart, to open a door. To feel.
She was fucking pathetic, and not only because she was trying to be all poetic for fucking nothing.