Edith Morgenstern ღ Freyja (allmycharm) wrote in mythopoeics, @ 2012-10-28 20:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | !event #022, !mini-log, freyja |
forty-one.
It had been years, so many years, and he'd walked through those doors like it had just been a only a few days. The smile he gave her made her feel sick and weak, furious and helpless. Her hands had shaken beneath the table as he took his place from across her, had so casually lit a cigarette. He told her of all the places he'd been, the work he'd been up to. He told her that she hadn't aged a day since he'd left, still looked like the gorgeous girl he'd married.
She'd remained uncharacteristically silent, drinking in everything he offered. When he made a gesture, she withdrew her hands from their hiding place and had held them out. And he'd held her hand as he told her that despite her looks she wasn't fit to be his wife. He had to move on from this person she'd become. It just wasn't healthy for either of them. Then he offered her the cigarette.
Numbness swelled into shock and finally rage. It'd taken five nurses and two doctors to pull them apart, her fingers coming away sticky with blood, skin and hair. The words she flung at him had all been in her native German, raw and crude, vowing revenge on his worthless self.
The moment she was alone, the tears came. It was less that she couldn't stop them and more that she didn't want to. There was no twin to comfort her, no daughters to dab at her eyes and rub her hands. She would have to get it out and see where her violent outburst would take her now in this damning place.