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Despite everything, I've never forgotten the first time she made me feel special.
The image of those city lights from her balcony still comes to mind every now and then. The lights, and how they reflected in her eyes. As we sat there, I must admit, I couldn't stop staring at them. It always felt like wrongdoing of some kind to look at her in any way other than a business partner. Perhaps it was—but I did it anyway.
After a while, she caught me. I tried to play it off like I hadn't been admiring her, but she was too clever. She always has been.
My arms were laid on the table between us. She reached out, gently, and held one of them, leaning closer. Our eyes met again.
“Well, if you don't mind looking at me like that, surely you wouldn't mind kissing me… would you, Lilly?”
It was the first time she called me that name. Not the Handler. Not Bain. Not even Lillian. Lilly. She would always call me that in those sweet moments we shared thereafter—before it slowly reverted back.
She kissed me then. I kissed her back. I sometimes wish she still felt like that. Warm. Inviting. Nervous, but in an exciting way. Back then, the chills I got from her only meant anticipation, longing for connection. Nowadays, they just feel like primal instinct. The instinct to fight.
Unlike her, I am no coward. I can say with confidence that I did love her. I know she felt it too, even if only for an instant. When that instant was, I could never tell—and I'm not sure she could, either.
No matter what, there was always a stark difference in how we handled our relationship. Even after dozens of broken promises, disagreements, and hurtful words, I still pictured a real future between us. I wanted us to work, even if, realistically, we could never. It seemed as if she only viewed me as a phase. An asset. Unimportant, until she wanted me again. Something to be ashamed of. To anyone else, I was just her employee, her colleague—her handler. That's what she told them. In secret, I was Lilly. But it was only Lilly, and nothing else.
The best I ever got out of her was “lover.” She referred to me as such only once, in private. Though it had felt like years of silent begging just for her to acknowledge us, my heart skipped a beat then. For a second, I had hope in that mess. I wanted to believe we would stop fighting after that. I hoped, maybe, it meant change for us. That I was her lover, her partner, hers.
But it never happened again. The fights continued. We stopped resolving them.
It was back to just Lillian. Then Bain. Then the Handler.