#straight-A student Dana Katherine Scully | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dubitavero · 6 years

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I, Dana Katherine Scully…

She hated how loud this cafe had suddenly gotten. Mothers with small children who screamed at the table in front of her, a group of rowdy teenagers throwing wrappers back and forth at each other in the corner, behind her the studious pair of college students smashing away at their laptop keyboards while their much-too-big headphones blared some form of indie rock or pop into their no doubt damaged eardrums.

Her coffee was burnt, it tasted bitter and metallic across her tongue. She stirred in a third packet of sugar to try and mask the taste, but in truth, she was just trying to alleviate the horrid hangover that draped over her body like an impossibly heavy animal. She couldn’t drink like she did twenty years ago. Now she drank to forget things, to numb herself from her life, and she wondered if that made the hangover worse than when she drank to have a good time.

Take you, Fox William Mulder…

Her sunglasses sit classically perched on her nose and as she glances around, she notices that she’s the only one sitting alone. It burns for a second, the jealous pang slicing through her chest, but then she’s passed it, jaded and brutal against her own luck. She swallows another disgusting mouthful of coffee before shoving it away from her, annoyed.

Scully studies her fingers for a moment, looks at the angry pink of her fingertips and how they shine with callused edges. It’s a bad habit, she knows, but she figures it’s better than the straight razor she’d taken to her ribcage weeks prior. A few minutes holding her fingertips to the burner on her ceramic top stove, always low heat, keeps her alert; it reminds her that she can still feel and cry and scream when she needs to.

To have and to hold…

Her hand lowers to her lap and she stares blankly through her sunglasses at the surface of the table. Her muscles contract with random selectivity, an effect of the latest cocktail of medications and mood stabilizers she’s been put on. Her mind cycles through the textbook knowledge that constantly flickers through her brain. Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors will affect the patient's autonomic nervous system, causing muscle spasms, pain, and weakness.

She’s so busy studying the twitching of the muscles in her forearms that she doesn’t see Mulder walk into the cafe, a dark-haired woman at his side. When she finally does look up, her heart leaps into her chest and she sinks down into her chair as if she could hide behind her very stale coffee. She recognizes the back of his fucking head and feels the bile rise in her throat before she swallows thickly. He doesn’t touch the woman at his side, but they stand awfully close, and Scully tries not to focus on the fact that from this angle she looks an awful lot like Diana Fowley. A cold sweat breaks on her forehead as she watches them place their order and move to stand at the end of the counter.

Since when does he go to coffee shops?

It’s been weeks since she’s seen him, longer since they’ve spoken. They’d agreed on the split mutually, and Scully despised how perfectly informal it all was. They’d been able to fill out all necessary paperwork easily enough, and with her worn-in-good-faith ring tucked neatly into the smallest compartment of her fireproof safe, it was all over in a day or so. Now all that remained was an even larger void than the one that had formed when she gave up William and left the Bureau- when the secrets and lies and heartbreak had begun piling up between them like a shook up can of soda.

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer…

She longs for a drink, something to take the edge off the pain that suddenly radiates from her chest. She watches Mulder and the woman gather their drinks and leave without so much as a glance in her direction, and she doesn’t realize she’s crying until her vision blurs sharply, cheeks burning. She is a stranger to him, another woman in a cafe, and what’s worse- he looked normal. Happy, even. He wasn’t fighting off the mother of all hangovers in a crowded cafe. His fingers weren’t burnt with the scorn of his own self-hatred, there wasn’t half a bottle of Litarex in his pocket, his coffee probably tasted normal.

The soft, indie mood music of the cafe changes again and Scully watches Mulder disappear around the corner. Lack of object permeance might tell her that he’s gone, out of sight and out of mind. Except that wasn’t possible. He existed on every plane, in every reality, with every fiber of her being- and as much as she hated it, she missed him. Her life was broken in with his, they fit each other too perfectly and too comfortably after all this time, and without him, she was just a misshapen piece of herself that didn’t make sense anywhere else. She suddenly wished that there was something wrong with his coffee so that maybe he’d come back and she could stand up and scream at him properly.

In sickness and in health…

She lets the song over the speakers change twice more, the group of teens in the corner dispersing after being scolded by the barista. Slowly, deliberately, she gathers her purse on her arm, pills rattling inside with an enticing call. She disposes of her almost full coffee cup and steps squinting into the sun, deliberately turning the opposite way that Mulder had gone.

‘Till death do us part.

#[WHOOPS]#answered;#agcntspooky

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