Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing FanFiction, and I've also never written in this style before, so be nice. There will be more chapters to come.
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds; unfortunately.
Chapter One – Release
I need to stop doing this. It used to be everything I wanted, and on some level it still is - but not like this; not this way.
I can see you from my desk, through the window of your office, rubbing your temples. It's getting to you again; this chaos we deal with every day.
I sit, patiently waiting; any second now you'll call me to your office. To everyone else you'll need to go over a case with me, or you'll need me to help you with something. They're not completely wrong about the latter, but I'm sure they don't realise exactly how it is that you need me to help you.
You need that release that only I can seem to provide you with; you always told me that he never could. Maybe that's why I keep doing it – it makes me feel needed. I guess in my warped logic, being something that you can pull at to rid yourself of your monsters is better than nothing. At least, in those brief moments, I get to be close to you; I get to feel you against me; I get to pretend you are mine.
I know it's wrong, I do; and yet I keep doing it. Hoping that maybe one day I won't be the other woman; yet knowing deep down that I always will be.
I walk into your office and, for reasons I'm unsure of, I ask the same question that I ask every time - though I already know the answer. "Is there something I can help you with?"
You walk silently over to me, stand directly in front of me and reach your hand back, locking the door. And so it begins; I take my role in this game we play.
I lean down to kiss you, slowly unbuttoning your shirt as I do. I want to make this last, to appreciate every second, but you remind me that we don't have much time, as you always do, and my heart sinks.
One day I'll learn to say no, one day I'll remember that I deserve better. I replay the words like a mantra in my head as I pull open your belt, unzip your pants, and slip my hand inside to feel you write instantly against me.
I lose my concentration for a second, still my movements and focus on something behind you as I let my mind wonder to a place where this is different; where this is under different circumstances.
You notice. "Are you okay, Em?" I hate when you call me that – except I don't, that's the point.
I tell you that I'm fine and you buy it; you need this too much to let anything stop it, and you look almost grateful as the blatant lie fades from your ears and I force two fingers deep inside you.
The beautiful whimper, the small hands that clutch at my shoulders and the heated breath fanning against my lips as pick up an instant pace inside of you serves to shatter the remaining pieces of my heart. I'll pick up the pieces before I leave though, doctor them back together ready for the next time that you need me. God Jennifer, I hate you for this. No, I hate myself for this.
I allow my thumb to graze over your clit, the additional movement straining my wrists against the pants that you're still wearing. It hurts, it really hurts – but it's nothing in comparison, and actually, it's an almost welcome pain.
I feel your body tighten, and I move faster; I just want this over with now. But as you tense and then shudder in my arms, you say what you always do – the one thing that keeps me keep coming back for more, that forces me to return with my barely functioning heart for your careless hands to play with. "I love you, Emily."
Do you really?
Your head falls forward against my shoulder as my fingers slip from you, and I drape my arms around your waist whilst you get your bearings back. But soon enough your breathing steadies, your posture straightens and I feel the sting of tears burning behind my eyes as I watch you turn instantly away and fix your clothes.
You never say anything after that. You walk over to your desk, rest your palms against the wood and stand facing away from me until you hear the door close.
I get to the other side of the door, and with my hand still firmly on the handle, and with yet another tiny piece of me missing, I whisper. "I love you, too, Jennifer."