Work Text:
Thief
By Sonja Blue
I miss him. Nobody can know, but I miss him. It's a pain I can't share. I can not find solace by crying on her shoulder. I can't let any of my friends know why I have lost my enthusiasm, why smiles are rare. I can't tell anyone why I just want stay here, on my couch.
Alone.
The television is a noise I hardly notice. The old leather couch cradles me in my misery, it's soft curves and dents an inducement of memory. I remember his presence, his breath. The way he draped his arm over my shoulders and pulled me in close to his body. I miss the smell of his jacket, an odour that enveloped me as I pressed my face to his collarbone and breathed in the scent of his flesh and leather.
My ears are still tuned to my door, hoping to hear the muffled click of an experienced set of lock picks. I never did give him a key. I should've given him a key. Should of let him into my home more easily. But I never made it easy for him... for us. I let him touch me, but I held on to my hate - it was a paradox.
I'm a twisted fuck. I knew what he did, I always knew. He never admitted to it, but he never had to. I knew. I have an instinct for these things. It was my skill, my specialty, my gift... my curse. I both ignored and fostered the knowledge. I let the needs of my body rule me, but kept the hate, an excuse not to love, not to give him my heart. But like the thief he is, he took it anyway.
I miss the rough timbre of his voice, as he removed my gun from nerveless fingers.
I miss him.
and end