InsaneJournal

Emily gave a soft, shaking breath as she finally separated herself from Michael. He had been kind enough to accompany her to the production-- they had seen Blasted at the Soho Rep-- but she needed someone a bit more solid now. Not that she didn't care for Michael, because she did, but when it came to dissecting her personal emotions (something Emily was, at best, infantile at) she always seemed to turn to the same person.

She had been stoic as best she could for the past few hours. Silent tears had dripped down her cheeks at different points through the two-hour play, and she had certainly squeezed her armrest to the point where her knuckles had turned white, but she had managed a tight smile and a stiff nod and a "Yes, I'm alright. I'll see you on the bus." when Michael had asked how she was faring. It was certainly expected for someone to be emotionally bothered by such a performance, but Emily had never been comfortable expressing weakness. Crying in public was not acceptable, either.

So, pulling her coat a little tighter around her slim frame, Emily made her way into the lobby of the hotel, biting down hard on her bottom lip to stop the quivering. She would not cry in the hallway like a lost little girl. She would hold it in until she had talked it over with him, gotten her initial reactions out of the way. She would hold it in until she was safely in her own room. It is just stupid to cry over a play, she thought bitterly. Don't be stupid. You're better than that.