How Much I Feel
How Much I Feel
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Disclaimer: FAKE and
its characters are property of Sanami
only and I make no profit from it.
Time setting: Volume
4 when Diana is introduced and is locked in the room with Rod, the crazy axe
murderer.
How Much I Feel
By:
I stared at her as she lay in the
sterile white bed and took in her appearance.
Her hair was unbound, neatly tucked under her by one of the nurses, the
drab grey hospital gown that was bulging out at her shoulder from the bandages
that wrapped the wounded flesh beneath it, her skin pale beneath the tan she
had acquired from hours spent in the warm California sun.
and marveled at how childlike she appeared when she was like this, her usual
makeup washed away, the sparkling jewelry she adorned herself with stored in
the plastic bags the nurses aides had shoved her clothes and other personal
items in, her naturally blonde lashes were still dusky crescents against her
high cheekbones from the waterproof mascara that hadn’t all been removed.
first time we met, when I had gone down to visit my brother, Zach, for a day
while he was training at
He had just come off from a few
hours of the grueling physical training all FBI hopefuls have to go through,
and he and the group he’d been with were heading for the showers.
Jerry, Bart, Michael then he’d clapped a hand on the shoulder of a small figure
that had been at the back of the group, “And this is Diana!
she’s as tough as any of us here!”
I had nearly fallen to the ground
laughing when the woman had reached up with one hand to seize my brothers while
with the other snaked up behind his shoulder and with a twitch of her hips she
threw him to the ground and placed one knee in the small of his back and twisted
his arm behind him while snarling in triumph, “And don’t you forget it!”
She had looked up at me with an
almost feral grin, her eyes flashing green fire, “I hope you’re not as big of a
pussy as your brother here.”
I had smiled back at her and held
out my hand in greeting, “Why don’t we find out?
you.”
I’d expected her to jump up and do
her best to lay me out cold, but instead she had laughed, released Zach and
jumped lightly to her feet putting her hand out and squeezing mine with
enthusiasm, “Diana Spacey.”
“Berkely
Rose, it’s a pleasure.”
We’d gone out for dinner later that
night and I’d wound up talking to Diana more than the blood relation I’d come
down to see. She was the most amazing
creature I’d ever encountered, beautiful, intelligent, completely uninhibited,
and had an ego to match my own. She’d
also been through the same kind of experiences I’d had.
encountered in police work, we’d had the failed relationships that resulted
from the long hours and stress we suffered because of the job, and we were both
cynical and jaded to the point of ruthlessness.
I didn’t care that she only saw me as a friend and a good lay, and she
didn’t care that I was a hedonist that would sleep with damn near anything.
I think that’s where I went
wrong. I found someone who was too much
like myself and somewhere along the lines what I’d felt for her had grown from
simple friendship with fringe benefits to something that was a lot deeper and
more involved I c I cared to admit. I
never expected the consternation I felt when the class graduated.
loss I went through as I stood with her and my brother at the graduation party
sipping punch and congratulating them both on receiving their badges and she
announced that she was returning to
and that she’d already been placed in the
branch.
After the party and the rounds and
rounds of drinks she and Zach and the rest of the guys consumed at the bar we’d
gone to, we had taken my car for a long drive to the shore to watch the sun
come up. We had talked so aimlessly
about nothing for most of the trip, mainly due to the fact that she was still
pretty drunk but when we had finally reached the Chesapeake Bay just as the sky
was making the transition from bluish gray treatreaks of red and pink from the
rising sun she had looked at me with half sober eyes and smiled.
me?” She slurred.
“You have to ask?”
to play it cool like the stupid bastard I’ve been for he
past dozen years when it comes to her.
She giggled took my large hand in
her smaller one, and leaned back as we watched the sun peek over the horizon,
we sat in silence listening to the waves come in and the birds screaming, all
the while I was working up the guts to tell her how I’d come to feel.
“Diana?”
The only answer I’d received was a
small snore. She’d fallen asleep just
when I’d needed her attention the most.
I sighed and started up the car, making the long trip back and carrying
her inside the small apartment she’d rented for the duration of her training
and put her in bed.
I told myself that I could wait.
That it was only a
That it would only be awhile
longer.
That the next time I saw
It never came.
I just kept putting it off, telling
myself that I would have plenty of chances in the future and that it was still
alright for me to run my little side games and diversions, like this latest
game with MacLean.
I realized today that I was
wrong.
That I might
never be able to tell her.
I could lose her.
I almost did today.
I nearly lost the chance to tell
her everything I have in my heart.
I reached out and smoothed the
backs of my knuckles down the side of her face, frowning when I felt the
tell-tale roughness of scabs where one of those
flesh, drawing blood. My eyes narrowed
and I felt that niggling sense of powerlessness rising in the back of my throat
like bile. I wished I could find the one
who had dared to touch her. I wanted to
smash my fist into his face and feel the satisfying crunch of teeth and bone
giving way beneath my knuckles, see the spray of crimson that arced into the
air and the widening of his eyes as I made him sorry he’d ever laid a finger on
Diana in violence.
Even beneath my gentle touch and
seething emotions, she didn’t stir, so lost was she in the deep sleep brought
on by the sedatives the nurses had given her when she had protested being kept
overnight for observation. I still felt
my knees quiver when I remembered barging through that door and saw her there
on the floor, that maniac above her with the axe held high.
shot him and I’d fallen to her side to hold her in my arms.
did when I saw what he had done to her.
My sense of uselessness had only increased when I’d pulled her close and
soon my shirt and jacket were stained scarlet with her blood and all I could do
was wrap my jacket around her to keep her warm and press my hand against her wound
to slow the precious fluid that gushed from the arterial damage.
beneath the garish cherry lipstick they’d carelessly smeared on her.
outside the building waiting for our signal to come in and aid her, even though
I knew the chances of her perishing were considerably less than half, I still
felt the urge to tell her what I had postponed for too long, it would have been
the right thing to do.
Instead, what did I do?
The usual.
<&nbs
I cracked a smartass joke to play
off the horror of the situation of what she had gone through and shushed her
into remaining still. I suppose any
medical worker would have said I did the right thing at least in medical terms;
keeping a confession of true emotions on the back burner until the gravely
injured subject who would have been the object of said confession had been properly
treated and was in a more appropriate state to hear it.
from a person for as long as I have from Diana.
It was times like this that I burned with shame and self loathing,
because deep inside, I know she senses what I feel.
I never do.
I always have been when it comes to
her and I’m terrified that I always will be.
Will I ever find the courage to
tell her how much I think of her?
Dream of her?
Fantasize about her as much now as
I did eight years ago?
How much I want to hold her close
and never let anything hurt her?
Will I ever be able to finally,
tell her just how much I feel…