If Only You Knew
Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it's not mine.
Slight spoilers for WKD, however only very slight because I myself have not seen it! So the things I know are based from people from Lost-forum, so you only have yourselves to blame if it's not right :p.
A/N: I'm feeling all…guh, today, for some reason. This is probably going to be a two shot, one from each point of view. The first is from Kate's. I don't think I get her voice particularly well, it's more thoughts/feelings I was trying to capture. I'm not sure I'm incredibly happy with this but I'm just in that kind of mood…so I dunno. I'll leave you to judge it.
If only you knew.
I come so close to telling you sometimes. Edging closer and closer, like the reluctant yet prerequisite tide creeping up the beach, before pushing away, violently, suddenly thrusting you away from the eye of my storm. I watch you from the safety of my other self, the cold, collected one, the one who has no use for emotions. I fight a battle within myself; the conflict almost maddens me at times. You are a welcome relief, an ally against my past, a barrier.
I'm waiting for the inevitable tidal wave that will sweep you off your feet, drown you in my memories. There is no half way; it is all or nothing that you must know.
I can picture that look of confusion and pity and disgust on your face. Because as much as I think you're like me Sawyer, I can't imagine anyone being able to love me. Not after what I've done. I did what I had to do, but I can't purge myself. I can't rid myself of what has been engraved in my DNA, I can't rid myself of the path I took in trying to.
I can't tell you.
You know that I'm not all peaches and cream, you know that I've done bad things. You know I'm a murderer, you know I'm a thief, a liar. Yet you still chase me. I smell an obsession growing within you, burning slowly inside. Your charm, both crude and slick, seeps through my pores, buries under my skin and nests, waiting.
The anticipation coils inside of me. I wonder who will be the first to burst. I would guess and say you. I've become pretty good at holding things inside of me, waiting. I waited years to get revenge on Wayne, the anger that ignited inside of me burned slowly, intricately. It danced along my nerves and burrowed in my mind. I allowed it to ingrain itself so deeply in my psyche that it can never leave. It is entwined with the other threads that make up my life; fear, pain, ruthlessness, nothingness. The nothingness grew out of the anger, a faded blanket that sat upon my memories, cloaking the raw pain and fear. It allowed me to function. I rely on that, even now. I can stare out at the ocean for hours, and it will seem like minutes. I practised in my youth, when all I had to stare at was the wall and all I had to listen to was the sound of Wayne, the sound of him making her scream, in agony, in ecstasy. Maybe that's why I'm so attracted to you. My mother's relationship with Wayne was a heady mix of pain and pleasure. She couldn't see the damage it was doing, not even to herself. She saw the physical signs, but she denied them mentally. There was always an excuse, there was always her blind love for him, that ruined my childhood, ruined my family, ruined me.
I'm afraid to love you because I don't want anyone else getting hurt.
But most of all I'm afraid to love you because I know that I would, deeply, irreversibly. I would depend on you; I cannot allow myself the luxury. I would make love to you; I cannot get him out of mind.
I don't want love. I want peace.
But you drag my away from my wants, and entice me into my desires. The real Kate, the one buried away under layers of emotions and functionality. If only you knew how easy it would be to break me. My walls are weakening. I built them up so carefully, each brick construed in a certain way, allowing no gaps.
A fatal flaw in my design. For the best walls must have gaps, otherwise how will they withstand the wind? Sometimes, when I allow myself to daydream, I wonder if you could make the gaps in my walls. To knock them down would be catastrophic, to nestle in and make the walls your own, to defend against the harsh wind, that would be something the real Kate would embrace, however apprehensively.
It's hidden away under the fear of letting someone in, the need to be solitary, the scars left behind by my childhood. They etch coarse graffiti on my walls, walls I have scrubbed as hard as I dare, yet not a mark disintegrates. Sometimes I wonder if it ever will.
I could love you.
If only you knew.