Summary: All she wants is to know the truth about herself
Every time he touched me, I flinched. Even from before I knew who and what he was. What I was. Even before I knew what he had done to me, what he had stolen from me.
He told me that he loved me. That he had created me to love him. He drip-fed me my memories. Her memories.
Lying under a tree listening to the wind in the leaves that sounded like rain falling and I am glad no one can see me crying for my mother crying in frustration at having to follow orders that I hate fighting for my life, for my world such love such pain tearing me up inside having to hide what I feel from everyone don't ask don't tell no one no one must know that I love …
He snatches his hand away. Again. I try to follow the elusive memory. Dark eyes. The scent of jasmine. Soft skin. My fingertips are tingling and it's not from his touch.
She did not love him. I know that much. He does not understand. He reaches out, touches my hair, my skin. He makes himself believe that I am her. I am his. But he created me to be like her. So this cannot be. The more he teaches me to be like her, to be her, the more I know that this life is a lie.
The great contradiction. The more he teaches me to be like her, the more I am myself. The more he needs me to love him, the more I despise him for his weakness. He holds such potential for greatness in his hand and he wastes it in projects like me, in petty revenge against one human female.
He taught me, molded me, showed me who I was. But everything he was, I was, was informed by that singular act of betrayal. She lied to him. She left him behind. He took his revenge on her. She told him she could never love him. He made me in her image, created me to love him. And now I have to leave him behind in turn.
Who I am and what I am are in contradiction. No one can live like this. He trusts me. He made me. But in her image. That he does not suspect, does not realize the true train of my thought confirms his weakness to me. So I will go to the humans, to his Samantha Carter in whose image I am formed, whose thoughts and feelings and memories and secrets I share. And one way or another, I will be whole.
And those dark eyes, that pale soft skin, that scent of jasmine will have a name and a presence and she will know me and I will see at last who I was really made to love.
And all the contradictions of my existence will be solved. And I will be whole.