The Green Eyed Monster

Ch. 12

I kiss Cat's neck softly, my lips barely touching her before I have to gasp another breath in, ruby red strands of hair sticking to my wet lips. I can taste her, I can smell her... every molecule, every part of her is in me. It takes my breath away, and every breath I take is never enough, and they're getting increasingly shallow as these feelings, these tight, constricting urges suffocate me. Everything is overexposed and warped, hyper-real. It's too real, and it's making my head swim. A part of me is panicking, because I'm not in control. I can't stop myself, I can't even try, and it scares the shit out of me.

It's my nightmare... to lose control. It's all you really have, after all. If you can't control yourself, then you're powerless, a slave to your emotions, your whims. And that's something I never wanted to be. I never wanted to lose myself in the moment, never had the urge. I thought I was too logical, thought I had a rein on my feelings. And when I was with Beck, they'd rear sometimes... I'd get a burst of feeling... of love, of gratitude, and I'd relish that I could suppress it, because it showed I was still human. I could still feel things, I just chose not to. It showed I could control myself. It made me feel powerful.

I can't stop my body from shaking, these chemicals, these hormones, burning through it. I can't stop my lips from trembling in between the short pants I take, can't keep them from touching her. I'm powerless. Cat isn't helping either, making these soft little gasps and moans that I feel vibrate against my lips, her body jerking when my fingers trace over her panties. If I was me, which I'm definitely not at the moment, I'd be taking this slower. I'd... I'd want to make it as good for her as possible. I'd want to make it about her. And about me. I'd take my time, is what I'm saying. But my fingers are moving against her furiously, disregarding the material, and Cat's breath is hiccuping out, her little body shivering against the tide of sensation. It's not how I wanted it to be with her. I didn't want it to be with her. This is not something I should be doing, but I acknowledge it's something I want. I'm not that blind to my emotions. I just blinker them.

Everything's in snapshots. I can't focus, can't see the whole picture. I can't just take a deep breath and see what's happening. It's what I need to do, and it's exactly what I'm incapable of. What I'm doing... I'll regret it, I know that. My fingers are clumsy as they push the material of Cat's panties aside, tired of working with the damp fabric in the way. It shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't be taking Cat's virginity this way, this roughly. Not when I'm so out of control, with this mixture of lust and fear in me. It's not right. Not for her and not for me.

As soon as my fingers come in direct contact with her, already moving of their own accord, she freezes, her breath catching in her throat, almost choking her. Even through this haze I'm in, even through the lust that's pounding through my veins, I can sense something's wrong. I don't know how, or why, but something's changed. Something's wrong. It's a different kind of wrong than before. It's a wrong that makes me stop. Makes me pull back and study her, things starting to click into focus again, return to normal shutter speed.

Cat's shaking. I can feel it, her body pressed against mine, and she takes a ragged breath. I can hear the tears in it, and even though her eyes are shut tight I can see the wetness of her eyelashes glinting. And I don't know what's wrong. These aren't tears of joy, or nervousness or excitement. These... they're painful, and she's sobbing. It's not Cat. When Cat cries you know it, because she just lets it out, doesn't care if you see it. But she's hiding it from me. It's not Cat. She's trying to keep it inside. She's... she's never kept anything inside... ever. It's what she's known for. The girl who wore her heart on her sleeve.

Whatever I was feeling, whatever the emotions were that swept over me, they're gone now. And I'm relieved. I'm enough of a monster as it is. I don't want to... well... not when she's crying. I'm human enough for that at least. But there's a new emotion in me, one that I've strived to quell every time it blossomed in me - compassion. It's a weakness, but I don't mind this time. She's not strong enough on her own. She needs someone to be compassionate, to sympathise. She... she deserves it.