Disclaimer: Victorious doesn't belong to me, anyone resembling me, or that man who stands on Main St, shouting that I do.
/
"She's got you, hasn't she?"
You look up from your notebook, where you're tracing around a heart, running over the lines again and again until they bleed through the page, and the paper starts to tear under the nib.
Jade smirks at you, arms crossed, eyes running over you like you're some specimen she's dissecting with the scalpel of her gaze. "Hook, line, and sinker."
You let the pen drop to your page, a hand squeezing your knee absentmindedly. The bruise that's still there twinges, a sweet ache, and you remember the last time you were with Cat, that love closing your throat and stinging your eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about." You're not even sure you say the words out loud. You've practised them so often in your head, spoke them so often to your heart when it begged to be free, when it pleaded with you to pluck these hooks out from where they bled rust.
Jade sits down next to you, glancing at the ruined heart that stains your page, speckled black. "You're not supposed to fall in love."
You take a deep breath, and it's getting harder and harder to do. Those hooks have dragged your heart so close against your lungs. It's getting more and more difficult to breathe these days. "I don't know wha-"
"You're fucking Cat."
You swallow hard, words dying in your throat. To hear it put so brutally, so plainly. So accurately. That's what you're doing, isn't it? That's all you're doing. "What makes you think that?"
Jade shakes her head, like you're some poor kid who doesn't understand, some idiot with their head underwater, who's drowned out what's been happening on the surface. "You think you're the only one?" She picks up your pen, scrawling a small heart beside your big, jagged mess. She stares at it for a moment before crossing it out, looking back to you.
Your eyes widen, and you're searching Jade for some scar, some jagged wound on her that shows where those hooks have been ripped out. You're looking for some sign that she was like you are now; pathetic, broken. "Y-you and Cat?" You manage to stammer, drawing your knees up onto the bench. You've been doing that more and more often these days as well; hunching up, pulling into yourself. It makes you feel safer. It makes it harder for the hooks to tear you apart.
Jade's head bows forward, dark hair shadowing her eyes. "Me and Cat. She kissed you, right? Out of nowhere?" She smiles bitterly. "That little fucking smile on her face. The one that never reaches her eyes."
"How did you know?" You're asking, but it's not even a question. You know what you're going to hear.
"She did it to me. I turned into the same puppy you are now. The same pathetic, whining puppy." She looks over you, a hint of disgust in her face, and you're not sure if it's directed at you, or the memory of what she was. Jade's quiet for a moment, looking out over the empty parking lot. You're supposed to be in class, with Cat, but you just couldn't. You know you'd sit next to her, and you know she'd touch you, and you know you'd let her. You're sure she notices you're not there now. "You're in love with her." It's a statement, Jade not even looking at you when she says it, hand plucking at a crease in her jeans. She turns back to you, not even waiting for a confirmation or a denial. "Have you told her?"
Part of you says to play dumb. To just shut down and keep quiet. To keep this dirty little secret that's crushing you. But Jade obviously knows, and you're so sick of pretending. To everyone, to Cat, even to yourself. You shake your head slightly. You've never said the words while she's in the room.
"Don't. She doesn't love you." Jade watches as you flinch, the words like a slap. "Why are you surprised? You know she doesn't. You're just a game to her, Tori. Don't fool yourself into thinking you're different than any of the guys she does this with. Don't go thinking you're special." Jade lowers her gaze to her fingernails, and a part of you is scared, that Jade's here, that she's being honest with you. Part of you wants to believe she's lying, that she's just trying to hurt you, but everything she's said you've already whispered to yourself in the dark. You know it's true. "She'll rip your heart out, and she'll apologise, and she'll be so sweet you can't possibly hold it against her. It's your own fault for falling in love. She didn't realise what she was doing to you." Jade's gaze flicks up to you, studded brow digging down. "She knows what she's doing, Tori. She sharpened her claws on me. She's always so sweet until she wants to fuck." You flinch at the word, hearing it in Cat's soft voice. "She'll break you. And she'll leave you thinking you're the one who tore yourself apart. She'll make you hate yourself." Jade lets out a long breath, closing her eyes for a moment, voice low. "Even when you want to hate her."
"Why are you telling me this?" It's not that Jade's telling you anything new. She's just confirming your worst fears. And as surprised as you are that Cat just used her too, you're only surprised superficially. You're aware by now that Cat can hook anyone. She's got a master's touch, and you're not sure if it's instinctive or learned, but you were too naïve to resist. What you're really surprised by is that Jade's not gloating, that she hasn't come to rub your weakness in your face. That she hasn't come to twist the hooks embedded so deep inside you. You're sure she knows she could. It's not hard to make you hurt these days.
"Because I want you to realise, Tori. She will never love you. And as fun as it's been watching her literally fuck you over, I'm sick of it. Stop being so stupid, Tori. Break it off. Stop being so weak."
Part of you wants to protest, to beg that Jade doesn't understand. But you know she does, and maybe these words are directed at herself as well, words she wishes she could've heard back then.
"Stop letting her use you. You want it to end, tell her you love her. That'll end it. She'll cut you off like an infected limb. But you'll keep rotting even after she's gone, Tori." Jade stands, tapping a finger to the side of her head. "Get her out of your head. Snap out of it. I'm sick of her doing this shit. I'm sick of pretending I don't know who she really is. If I thought you could break her heart, I'd tell you to, Tori. But you're nothing to her. You're just another worm she can tie in a knot. You're just another me." Jade looks you over again, disgust wrinkling her lip, "Just don't keep letting her do this to you." And then she's walking away, leaving you aching and helpless, her words sinking into your skin to nibble at your heart, whisper the words close into the throbbing flesh.
You close your notebook, legs unfolding out from under you. You can feel those hooks tugging at you again. Tugging you back to her.
/
"Do you want me?" Cat's voice is light, teasing, and she kisses you lightly, barely making contact, and you try and fail not to press your lips closer.
"Yes." It's almost a groan, a plea it hurts to admit, a confession of a deadly sin ripped from you.
"Do you want to fuck me?" Cat giggles, and those words jar with the image of her you still remember in your head. It's the same voice, but two completely different people, and you wonder if that old Cat you knew ever really existed, or if it was all just an act to draw you in. The memory of that girl has almost faded. You miss her, that sweet, innocent girl. Even if she was all a lie. You really did love that girl. She was your friend.
"Yes." You whisper, hands held at your sides, fingers slightly curled, and you're aching to touch her, aching to get some relief from this tugging in your heart. You want to bury yourself in her flesh, have those soft moans caress you, let them fool you into thinking this is real, and not some fucked up game you keep playing, because you're too stupid to realise you've already lost. It's always best out of three, best out of five. It's a card game, and you're playing with jokers.
You're just some automaton, waiting for her to tell you what to do. To take her top off, to unbutton her pants, but you do it anything but mechanically. You can never stop your hands from shaking, your breath from puffing out over shivering lips. You think she likes that; how nervous she makes you. Part of you is always scared that this is the last time. Another part is relieved at the thought, that this could finally end, that you could be free. But that's a fallacy. You'll never be free, even if you snap every line connecting you to her. You'll still have those barbs of metal rusting in your heart. You realise vaguely that that's why you never saw any scars on Jade, you never saw any sign of her struggle. All those hooks are still in there, slowly being swallowed by flesh. Healed around, but never healed.
Cat's body is warm and slight, and you feel so clumsy as you hover over it, slipped between the sheets at her house, room dim with filtered light. You trace the dip between her breasts, the planes of her stomach, the curve of her hip. They're familiar paths, and it's like following the tree-shadowed road home. Just another corner, and you're there. You're home, and it's a relief.
Cat parts her legs, your fingers tracing over the taut muscles of her inner thigh, and you can feel the heat radiating from her. You know how wet she's going to be, she always is. You're stupid enough to believe you have something to do with that. That only you can do that to her. But you know it's not you, deep down. It's just the anticipation of the act. Nothing between you two is personal, at least not on her side. Who can tell two fish apart? Same bulging eyes, same gaping mouth. The only difference is in the colour of the scales. And yours have been rubbed away by now.
You want to take this slow, to carve every line of her face, of her body, of her breasts, her nipples, her lips, her hair into your mind. To break it down into moments that mean nothing, because it chokes you as a whole. But Cat's panting in your ear, saying she wants you inside her, and you're too well-trained to disobey, to ever keep her waiting.
You slip your fingers inside her with a shudder, as if she's the one doing it to you. But she never does unless it's in public. She never touches you when you're alone. You're left to rock your hips on her thigh, to grind desperately, trying to eke out some pleasure to ease this pain that twists at your heart, because with every moan that escapes her mouth, you know you're getting closer to the end. And then you'll get dressed and leave, and she won't even kiss you goodbye. Your wrist brushes the very bottom of her stomach, her thigh shifts between your legs, her pulse throbs against your lips where they patter her throat, and it's these little details you remember. And if you could only just encompass it all as fucking, like she does. But in your attempt to break everything down into moments, it only makes it clear to you how many steps there are, how many little things you do that aren't fucking. How a word like that doesn't mean anything at all. It's one motion, repeated. It's one moment in your head, littered among the thousands of others. The kissing, the touching, the breathing. You've tried to break it down into pieces too small to see, but it's only made you see how much more it is. It's another failed attempt to make this mean nothing.
Her hands claw at your back as her hips rise off the bed, pushing into your hand, and she's hot and tight around your fingers. She's always begging you to go harder, to go faster, and you're so scared you'll hurt her, so scared your fingers will slip the wrong way, twist the wrong way inside her, scrape or scratch where they're not supposed to. You're never as forceful as she wants. But her nails never dig any less hard into you. You wonder if she's left scars, if her nails have raked paths across your back. You wonder if she's made you bleed. The thought satisfies you. You have no problem with her hurting you. If your outsides come anywhere close to matching your insides, all the better. Maybe then she could see how much damage she's doing. But all she's ever done is trace her fingers over the scratches afterward, giggling with a soft apology. Sometimes you flex your shoulders, just to feel the twinge.
Cat comes with a breathy moan, and you draw it out as long as you can, pressing your torso to hers, fingers pumping even as her muscles clench around you. It's this moment you remember the longest. The moment when everything freezes, when your heart throbs I love you I love you I love you, in every beat, so loud you're scared to open your mouth in case it comes out. You're even more terrified now, after what Jade said. You wonder if she fucked Cat in this bed. You wonder if she was as good as you. If she was better. If Cat let her stay afterwards. If Cat ever fucked her here. You're not jealous; Cat isn't yours. No. You are jealous. Jealous of Jade for maybe experiencing more of Cat than you ever can. Maybe she saw more of Cat, back when she was just figuring out this game of hers, back when she was clumsy, before she refined everything. She plays it flawlessly now, and if you only got paid, it'd be a business, it's so well-executed.
You collapse onto Cat as she pants, that throbbing between your legs unabated by your insistent rubbing. All it did was exacerbate it. It's all it ever does. Sometimes if Cat gets up to shower, you'll let your hand slip down and work furiously, rougher and harder with yourself than you ever are with her. You come so quickly then, drenched in her scent, the memory of her still fresh in your head. It's never satisfying though.
As you lay there, Cat's skin sticking to yours, bonded with sweat, her breath slowly easing, you can feel Jade's words crawling under your skin, itching and irritating.
"Cat..." You say hesitantly, those words clawing at you, more insistent than the deeper ache of Cat's hooks. "What would happen if I fell in love with you?"
Cat studies you for a moment, her face blank, and you try to read something in her usually expressive face, to see something in her coffee-hued eyes. But there's nothing you can decipher. "Tor," She says slowly, voice careful, like she's just realised this is thin ice she's skating onto. "This isn't about love. I thought you knew that."
"No, no, I know. I just... I just wondered, is all."
She chews her lip, looking you over, her hands leaving your stinging back, and you wonder if the lines she's left behind match the hue of her ruby hair. "I'm gonna go have a shower, 'kay?" She eases out from under you, standing. Sometimes she invites you to join her, when she hasn't had enough. You get the feeling this isn't one of those times. You've already fucked things up with your stupid question. You knew the answer before you even asked, but your hope's always getting in the way, and this time you've tripped and landed flat on your face.
"You wanna go get ice cream after? My treat." You give her an easy smile. You know it's easy, you've practised it in the mirror a million times. You use it to hide behind, to assuage any suspicions she has. It works this time, as well.
She grins, sweeping her hair forward, hands skimming down over her naked body. "'Kay 'kay." That grin twists inside you, touches those distant memories that hide at the bottom of your heart. It's the same grin she's always given you, before that teasing little smile came to haunt her face. It's the smile you remember lighting your heart up, even when you were just friends. It still does the same now, it just hurts more.
The sound of the shower muffles your quiet moans, your hand working between your legs, back arched off the bed, Cat's sweat still mingled with yours. You feel it rising quickly, pooling in your stomach along with that familiar nausea. You need the release, but you're so sick of it. You're so sick of it being your hand, and not hers. You're so sick of always being the one to fuck her, to beg her to let you. You're so sick of being in love with her.
You come weakly, moaning through gritted teeth, and your fingers pinch around a hook as your muscles tighten, yanking it free in one swift, painful movement that shudders through you. It winds you, and you turn on your side, stomach shaking with silent sobs, and this hot blood filling you, bleeding from the ragged wound you've torn in your own heart. But that's one less hook in you. You're sick of all of this. You'll tear them out, one by one, even if it kills you. Because sooner or later, you're going to admit to her that you love her. And then she'll destroy you so carefully, so easily. You're sick of being used, of being some writhing fish, caught in her net. For every hook she's sunk in you, you're going to return to her, still stained with your blood.
You didn't think you could be like her. You didn't think you could be that heartless. But you figure if you tear every hook out, you won't have much of a heart left. Jade's idea comes back to you; to break her heart like she'll break yours. You're not that mean-spirited, you don't want to hurt her. You just want to stop hurting. You want to stop loving her. And maybe if you tear your heart to shreds, drop every hook in a clanging pile, she can be to you what you are to her; just a toy to use.
It's better than waiting for her to cut you loose, those hooks still embedded. You want her to fuck you, you want her to whisper your name. You don't expect love, no, you're not naïve enough for that. But Cat understands fucking. If you can play at her game, you can get that at least, and maybe that'll soothe you at night, knowing you have that little piece of Cat. Maybe you'll feel less alone, less used, if you use her back. Maybe you can turn this love into just fucking. Anything's better than this writhing self-loathing, this stupid hope, this blind love that twists inside you, flopping painfully. It's time you started pulling against the line, time you made her struggle for you. You're sick of letting yourself be caught, time and time again.
You sit up, yanking your clothes on automatically, your chest feeling hot and swollen, like it's about to burst. But that's one less hook twisted inside you, and you let yourself pluck at another, twisting it in the abused flesh. It's better this way.
/
A/N: I'd say all this talk about hooks, and angling, and reeling things in makes me want to go fishing, but it really doesn't. It just makes me want to play a fishing game, with poor graphics where you follow the line and you're like "JUST TAKE THE BAIT FIS- oh wait I forgot to bait it. TAKE THE HOOK, FISH."
And then after you catch it you just feel kind of lost, because you can't eat it because it's pixels, and you can't show anyone, 'cause you're a loser.
But I caught a poorly animated bass thiiiiis big once.
So you should review. That's impressive.