She saw the sharp motion of Tina’s head, and the shadow or hurt in her eyes before the blonde turned around and leaned back even more... The hurt turning into resign, as if she knew she wasn’t in any position or right to object against the harsh tone in Bette’s voice, as if she deserved it, as if it was not more than natural to be talked to in that way... The realisation of all that, of the fact that that beautifull amazing woman in front of her had gone through so much in life she didn’t find herself worthy of more, made the galleryowners heart wrench...

Bette had seen Tina’s feelings very clearly flicker in her eyes, she HAD been hurt, and she HAD resigned in it, being talked to, being talked off, in that same tone of voice so many times, she had grown accustomed to it... Like an illfitting suit that you always have to wear. So instead of showing the hurt she had –to her own surprise- felt she decided to turn it into a joke, bending backwards slightly more as if trying to topple over the balustrade...

Is it making you nervous? What if I lean backwards a little more like this?

She said, her voice playfull, as Bette, again, tore her eyes away from the sight, that became scarier and scarier... The brunette didn’t know what she was more afraid of, the height, the possibility of the fall, or the blonde... The blonde that had touched her in such a mysterious way that now she was unable to control the feelings that were tumbling over eachother in her soul.

Would you rescue me if I fell?

At the moment Tina asked the question, her heart was yearning for the answer... The organ pounding vividly, the owner of it inhaled sharply... Why did this question suddenly mean so much to her? Why did she try, desperately, to catch those chocolate-brown eyes? But when she did, she saw something she had never expected... It was pain... Those gorgeous eyes stood, begging her, as did the voice...

Tina... Please...

Quickly the blonde obliged, taking two steps away from the banisters, in the brunettes direction... She wanted to take away the hurt, the pain, that was so clearly lingering in those averted eyes... But what was the way?

The problem is, I think you really like Peggy Peabody.

Bette looked up in surprise, amazed by the accuracy of the blondes observation, stunned by the bending of her voice, the casualty in which she said things, never forcing her to talk about anything, but yet always giving her the opportunity to...

The truth is, its totally irrelevant whether I like her or not. I will not let myself become emotionally involved in business. That should be familiair to you?