But today is different. Today I will tell him that this was the last
time, that he needs to leave me alone. I can't be with him. It's too much,
too dangerous. Scully's already suspicious, and I couldn't deal with her
disappointment if she found out. I couldn't deal with him being taken away
by her in handcuffs. Better to end it now. If I don't do it now I never
will.
But as I watch his face, still shadowed in the gray light sifting
through the blinds, I know that I don't know how to let him go. And all my
power I thought I had is gone, leaving me with no conviction. The idea of
not having those eyes reflecting back this shared need, lust, tears at me.
It makes me want to hold him, and keep him. But I can't. He wouldn't let
me. Fuck, nobody would let me keep him.
And little memories of last night filter through my mind. His rage, his
intense anger, at who knows what, making him seek me out, for comfort,
solace, the kind only I can give him. The steel in his eyes when I turned
to see him standing in my living room, having quietly broken in through a
window. The words he rumbled out to me, cursing the world, confessing sins,
incoherent words only he could understand. Stalking around my apartment,
working off steam, before kneeling before me on the floor next to my couch,
looking at me and challenging me. I looked back at him and said, "You do
what you have to do."
And here I am, holding him like I have so many other mornings. Except
today I know it will be the last. And as I lie here, I plan what I will say
to him—that I've had enough, that he's served his purpose. That I'm tired
of him. Just anything to push him away and keep him away. But even as I
think these things I know that even if he were to believe them, they
wouldn't be enough to make him stay away. He'd still come back. Our fate
has led us to this, just as fate has led us through every other bit of our
lives, giving me Scully, giving him this fugitive life.
I feel guilty, so fucking guilty, for taking this away from him, this
peace. Then I weigh it against the guilt I'd feel if this hurt him, or got
him killed. But every time I see him, that guilt is washed away by my need
to be with him. Then, when these mornings pass, I dive into work, trying to
run away from this craving, this consuming desire. This fire that drives us
to find each other in the night and hold on tight until the first light of
dawn breaks through the window.
He's still asleep, and I wish that I could just leave him here, go to
work and forget that it has to stop, that these nights need to end. But is
that need greater than our need for each other? I tell myself no, but I
know deep within me that my life without him will be desperate, grasping.
Like it was before he walked into my life that day so many years ago, when
that young boy, adoring and inexperienced, or so I thought, held out his
hand to me. Even then I lost myself in his eyes. I never gave in to my
feelings until they broke through the rage, when I kissed him with the force
of a punch. Felt him kiss back.
I don't know how to let him go. I'm sure the words will come, but will
the emotion behind them, when the emotion is not there? If I told him the
truth, he'd dismiss it, as he has before when I've said how stupid this all
is. He'd tell me that he can take care of himself, as long as keep my mouth
shut to Scully. Then he'd offer himself to me, and I would not be able to
refuse. I have never refused him, but I must this morning. I have to lie
to him.
I will just tell him that I must do what I have to do. That it is not
in my control, that this yearning will fade, that it has already started to
dissipate. He must leave me alone. And the greatest lie of them all, that
I have no need for him anymore. That I don't want him anymore.
He's stirring slightly, lashes fluttering against those smooth cheeks,
marred only by a small scratch under his right eye. He used to have a light
dusting of freckles across his nose, but they're gone, faded with the lack
of sunlight, his life now lived in the darkness. And I miss them—of all
the times to fucking miss them—but I can't help but to mourn them. Mourn
what I'm losing today. To never lie in bed with this man again, to never
feel his hands touch me, to never hear him call my name when I make him
come. Never again.
And each little waking up movement pushes me closer and closer to what I
must do. As he blinks open sleepy eyes and turns to me, I tell myself that
I'm just doing what I have to do. Before I can slip up and kiss him, I take
a deep breath and put on my mask, steeling my eyes and heart.
Do what you have to do
by Susan
I can feel him tensing beneath me. His entire body constricts, muscles
pulling tighter, as the morning creeps closer and closer. It's so subtle,
though. I can only feel it because I know his body. And I know these
mornings. When I decide how to treat him, whether to kiss him or hit him.
Whether I leave him first or I stay, watching him dress and leave. It's
always my call. I have the power. It's the only way I can deal with it,
this madness.
