Change.
Joans left hand rubbed the black cloth, after awkwardly moving it from Veras hand. The hand she softly rubbed with her thumb, the hand that gave her tingles in her gut. So many thoughts ran through her head, looking down as her Deputy glared at her. Was this her fault? No! She did what she had to do. It was a calculated risk, but furthermore actions would have been questioned. The side of her lip twitched in anger as she watched Vera out of the corner of her eye, the petite woman slightly slammed the door behind her.
The Russian twinged at the shut of the door, twitch of her lip, knowing it was done. Knowing what has been done, can't be redone. It was over. They were over.
She looked over table, two plates full of food, wine glasses half empty. Pinot Noir stood in between the full plates. Neither able to eat. She tried to recap what had just happened, but she couldn't wrap her head around it all. She brought Vera here to tell her what the brunette meant to her, yet other secrets were uncovered. Vera was tainted, infected.
She had Hepatitis C.
Was it Joans fault? Possibly, or could have it have been an accidental stab? The doors were open. Not by her choice, though. She couldn't have opened them, and Vera didn't understand that. She would one day, when she is put in a difficult position. It isn't being easy being the one to make decisions that no one else can make, being the bad guy.
Joan still sat in the chair, dumbfounded of what happened. Unable to move, as if frozen in time. She took a sip of the complementary wine the brunette brought with her. Then took a generous gulp, hoping to numb the pain..just a little bit.
This didn't turn out like she wanted. It turned out completely opposite. She lost her only ally, her protege, her friend. That bond was now diminished. She cocked her head to the side, trying to calculate her next move. Where did she go from here? This couldn't be the end. This couldn't be over.
No.
Would this change how Joan looked at Vera? How she admired the younger woman. Would it change the way she watched her sway when she walked, the twitch of emotions readable on the brunettes face. Would it change the tingle in her fingers, flutter in her stomach when Vera was around? Joans fear of germs, her OCD to have everything clean and in order. This would disrupt things, make it contaminated, make it tainted.
But it didn't change her thoughts. She still felt the flutters in her stomach as Veras face faded in her thoughts. The tingles she felt shoot through her fingers as her her hands lay on the cold, fragile hands of the petite woman. How her deputys fingers felt under the caress of her thumb. It made her feel things she never felt before.
Yet now, seeing her face hurt her. She felt emotion, despite what others thought. She just didn't know how to show them, express them, or even how to feel them. She hated feelings. She hated the fact that she hurt Vera with her own compulsive fear. Although it wasn't just fear, it was guilt. Knowing her actions caused Vera to be infected, something that will never change. Something Vera will never forgive her for. Something she would never forgive herself for.
Joan stood, placing the black cloth on the table, looking over the filled dishes. In a swift movement, rage in her eyes, her veins, she took the two plates and threw them in the sink. The sound of the glass shattering echoed through the empty walls.
Standing with her right hand on the sink, left on her hip, she took in a sharp breath. Her chest heaved in and out. Emotions were overwhelming to her, not knowing how to control them. She hated hated emotions.
long, beautiful,black tresses with silver lining, lay on Joans shoulders. She had to fix this, she needed to fix this. Straightening her composure, she began to walk towards the door, grabbing the keys out of their glass container, that always awaited them. No coat, not even thinking, Joan walked out of the front door, closing it behind her. She made her way to her car.
She had to see Vera, no matter what would happen.
********
Vera made it in her door way, shutting it behind her. Leaning her back against the door, she took a deep breath, trying to gather herself, but she couldn't. She started to breath heavy, mouth slightly open. Tears glistened in her eyes as she began to cry to herself.
What an idiot she was, thinking that Joan even cared. What an idiot she was for even going to Joans place and confessing her condition. She was nothing but a contamination to Joan. What made her think Joan would look at her any different? Treat her any different?
She couldn't catch her breath, bringing her thin hands to her chest, tears forcibly making their way down her delicate skin. Her body folded, sliding down the door, knees now against her chest. She brought her hands up to her hand, elbows on her knees and just cried. She mourned what she had with Joan, what she thought She had with Joan.
There was nothing there. It was all in her head. The drinks, the slight niceness and special treatment. The in depth knowledge she had with Joan, dinner. It all flooded through her head like a tornado. How dumb could she be? Thinking that she actually meant something to Joan. She was merely a pawn to Joan. She was molded, fitted to be what the Governor wanted. She was made into what Joan wanted. She was hers.
All she wanted was to be accepted, to be accepted as she was. To be loved. And Now that would never happen. She would never feel that larger hand upon hers again. Oh, how it felt when that warm thumb grazed gently upon hers. She would never feel again. She would never feel her own lips against Joans thin lips that beckoned her. She shook her head, gripping her hair, crying uncontrollably. She was hurt, angry, embarrassed, ashamed. She was contaminated. Shunned. Out casted. Forever alone. She felt powerless, it was out of her hands. She took her hands, bulging into fists as she slammed them against he cold wooden floor. The pain that stung the sides of her hand felt good.
She needed the pain in her to stop. She needed to stop thinking about Joan. How she was humiliated, rejected and pushed aside as if she was trash. Without thought, or hesitation. She should have known, after all the things Joan made her do, how she enabled Joan, stood by her no matter what. She nearly worshiped the ground she walked on. Pleased and proud to be made for Joan. But now she was nothing to her.
Minutes passed, seemed like hours, sulking in the pain she was swimming in. She heard a door shut, foot steps walking. Oh god. Who was it? Joan? Please no. She couldn't take anymore pain. The panther was here to finish its prey.
Slow standing, she straightened her shirt, shifted her jeans to comfortably lay on her petite hips. She needed to look as though nothing was wrong. Last thing she needed was someone prying into her frail mind.
One hand on the doorway, other on the handle, she opened the door slightly. She stood in shock, catching her breath. Mouth slightly open. She couldn't do this, she couldn't hand this. The sting was coming, and it felt as though she couldn't catch her breath again.
“Well, Are you going to at least let me in? It is quite cold out here.” Joan spoke sternly. Emotionless.