The Green Eyed Monster

Ch. 41

It's not easy being with Cat. I wasn't stupid enough to think it would be. I know it's not easy to be with me either. She's like an abused animal, cowering and scared, and I've got my hand stretched out to her, voice soothing, promising her safety, promising her love. And she slowly, slowly approaches, sniffs at the back of my hand, lets me pet her before skittering back. But she stays a little longer each time, and I can see the day where she won't run away at all. And she'll always be a little wary, she'll still flinch when I raise my hand, but it'll be a reflex, quickly forgotten. Something she can't help, that doesn't mean a thing. A scar that twinges, and nothing more.

Those first few days were grey, were awkward. We'd gone so far in such a short time, too far. A long rush followed by a sudden stop, and we were still trying to clear our heads from the crash. She'd take my hand tentatively, and let it go at the slightest movement. When I kissed her, it was slow, cautious, and her hands stayed against my shoulders, always ready to push me back. She was keeping herself apart, and maybe it was for the best. She needed time to heal, and so did I. I'd taken the slightest flickers of my heart before, and ramped them out of control, because it was the first time I'd felt anything, since I'd felt a stirring in there at all. I'd been waking up slowly, and I'd jolted myself out of it, instead of letting it happen naturally.

It's hard to start again. There's a lot of the past in the way. You think just because you did things before, you can do them now. You forget that things are different. I can't say I love her anymore. It makes her freeze, makes her shy away and stammer awkward things. I don't know if it's just because she doesn't believe me, or if she doesn't love me anymore, but can't bring herself to say so. I'm hoping time'll fix that. It's supposed to heal all wounds, and this is a gaping one. Part of me likes this... doing things properly, honestly. I'm not pretending like I was never bad, like I never hurt her, I see that in her eyes every day. But it makes me feel good when I see it fade a little more each day. I'm getting to do all the things you're supposed to do when you start dating someone. It's... normal, and it's something Cat's never had; a normal relationship. I've even taken her out to dinner. Sure it was just pizza, but hey, we both like pizza.

Tori still watches me like I'm some snake, writhing in Cat's hand, getting ready to twist my flat head round and bite her, and I can still feel Beck's eyes on me, on us. He's trying hard, but there's always a slight hesitance in his step before he comes over, still a gap between his actions and his emotions. I have to hope that time'll fix those too. But really, I couldn't give a fuck. I want Beck to be happy, sure, but he's not my priority anymore. And I've pretty much told Tori she can get fucked if she tries to poison Cat's mind. She's the snake to me, not that I'd really think she'd do something like that. She wouldn't be that stupid, or that mean. But I'd be lying if I said I was all high and mighty and benevolent and ever so sweet. No. I'm still me, and I still get jealous as hell. I've accepted the monster in me, but I'll never show it to her, I'll never let it control me again. Venom's in my blood, but it's not always a poison. They make antivenom out of snake venom, after all. It's good in small doses. When I was with Beck, he was a balance, but with Cat, we're both out of control, we both tip over the edge so easily, and we're barely strong enough to pull ourselves back. It's a lot of effort to be with her, to keep us together, but it's a good thing, to try for something you love. To have to fight for it, and I have to believe it'll pay off. That if we can't fix the cracks in each other, we can at least cover as many with our hands, our lips, our skin, as we can.

Sometimes, it's not so hard. Like this afternoon. Sometimes, I can forget about trying, and just relax with her. I can be the best part of myself, I can make myself vulnerable. Talking. It's how we spend most of our time when we're alone, filling the silence with words about anything, about ourselves, or... in Cat's case, fluffy, cute, sweet things. And if it was anyone else but her, I'd hate it. Hell, I used to, and I'm not gonna lie, I don't listen to everything she says. But I watch her, I listen to her tone, and I hear a lot more than I used to. But this afternoon, the talking stutters to a stop. We're both lying back on my bed, hard music playing softly, and I'm watching a spider dance it's way across my ceiling in quick bursts. It takes me a minute to notice that Cat's soft voice has stopped, and I look over. Silence with Cat is usually not a good thing. When she gets lost in her thoughts, it's hard to find her again.