Thread: It was just one... (Bevatoria and skittish_butterfly)

How was it that Grant had actually just said he was sorry, and it only made Elizabeth feel worse? Maybe it was the way he just kind of stuttered it out, like he didn't mean it, like he was just saying what he had to so she wouldn't report him. Mostly, though, she felt worse because his apology didn't make her feel any better. Even if he'd given it on bended knee it wouldn't have made her feel better -- the thought that had passed her mind a couple times while she was rolling around in her bed trying to sleep, trying to please herself enough to relax. And he couldn't take the words back, the words that kept bouncing around in her head and making her fingers jitter. He'd said them and now she was stuck with them. Why couldn't she just shake this off? She'd been called Stick Figure and worse back in Junior High before she'd filled out at least a little in High School, and she never let it bother her, never let it stop her. What was it about his simple teasing, like she would actually need his stupid permission to... to... Elizabeth shuddered just from the thought of it. Why was this thought of needing his permission to... to cum.... so unshakeable? She watched him get up and close the door with a nervous look on his face, talking like he was the one who was worried here -- what was he worried about, other than being reported? Elizabeth was the one walking around for the last day with her head in a fog, a mist of her own pheromones and the memory of his words getting louder and more insistent in her skull by the minute. Now with the door closed, Elizabeth felt almost trapped in the stuffy room, like she was going to start sweating, even though his door wasn't locked. Her wool cap was just so hot on her head that she just pulled it right off and stuffed it in her back pocket, most of hit hanging out, ignoring how it let her hair spill out and fall loose over her shoulders. Elizabeth's eyes flitted nervously back and forth between Grant and the door as she started to pace back and forth like a caged animal. She was so incredibly uncomfortable suddenly to be in here alone with him and as she paced she stopped briefly to twist his door knob just to reassure her pounding heart she could leave if she wanted. But she couldn't bring herself to leave, not yet, not still feeling like this. How could she just go back to her room with just his mumbled apology to face another sleepless, frustrated night tangled up in her sheets. It wasn't right yet. She paced in front of his desk, staring at the floor as she listened to his every word. And there it was, he was even apologizing like he meant it, like he was fully aware of how utterly miserable he'd made her. Regretting it. And still her breath didn't come any easier. Elizabeth was still feeling so twitchy and agitated and... and needy. She hated needing anything. And the idea of needing something from Grant, not even knowing what it was, it galled her. Then her pacing stopped. He had another batch of his special cookies with him. Her eyes tracked the plate as he set it down, and she realized yet again she'd scarcely eaten all day, only a little food from the vending machine before she'd given up on the lab, and an old packet of instant soup noodles in her room that she'd forgotten was under the sink. He offered her one, holding it out to her like a peace offering telling her he could help her get to sleep. Elizabeth made a soft sound she didn't really mean to, her heart aching at his words, at the thought of another delicious cookie, of sleep, of getting her head out of this mess. Her hand rose tentatively to the cookie, looking in his eyes and then back at the cookie, like a little kid nervously deciding whether to accept candy from a stranger. I... really need to eat some real food but... if it's ok, if I could take it for later? She snatched it and held it safely in her hand. For later. Somehow having the cookie in her hand gave her the teeniest bit of strength and courage, qualities she'd always thought she had in spades but now feeling in such short supply. She was just so tired and so... so jittery, and she couldn't stand still, her free hand rubbing up and down on her pant leg, just the rhythmic stroking of her thigh oddly comforting like a little kid holding a blanket. She had to find a way to express to him that he needed to fix this, if she only knew how. But more than a cookie or dinner or whatever... I... I need to get my head clear, to get some sleep, to put this behind me once and for all. Sad but true but I have to work in the lab with you pretty much every day, and I need to find a way that I can look at you and not just keep thinking about... about... you know... c-c-cumming. She watched his face for signs of mocking laughter, her own face feeling bright pink. Help me get to sleep? Great! But how? Like I haven't already tried everything. Yes, everything. Warm milk? Some sleeping pill? I tried one last night -- doctor gave me some last year when I had trouble sleeping after my dad's heart attack -- and nothing. It just made me feel weirder not better, so don't even bother. So, what? Like your apology was supposed to be enough? It didn't fix the words in my head, the words YOU put there. About m-me only c-c-cumming when you said I could? I mean, do I even have your... your... exalted permission... your royal highness? Mr. High and Mighty who thinks he gets to decide these personal and private things about me? She was breathing so hard and her face so hot she almost took a bite of the cookie right then and there just to give her anxious hands something to do besides toy with the hem of her jeans, her thumb gently and absentmindedly tracing back and forth the little bit of bare belly beneath her tshirt. She tossed her head to get her hair out of her eyes and stared at him, suddenly aware of her hair flowing freely against her back and shoulders. She ignored it. So?