Demi Rafferty (enavant) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2015-10-05 09:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | # 2018 [09] september, calvin davidson, demi rafferty |
i wish that i could say what's on my mind
Who: Cal Davidson and Demi Rafferty
Where: In Cal's jeep outside the Capitol building.
What: Lies of omission come to light, resulting in a tense car ride and a lot of heartache.
When: Backdated - September 7, after this
They’re sitting in his car in awkward, thin-lipped, stewing silence, his hands clenched on the steering wheel. Cal is barely even seeing the road, because of the images flickering through his mind’s eye instead, lurching up painful and unwanted. That horde of motorcycles prowling the streets. Peeling off his own bloodstained clothing in order for Kay to get at his leg with a bandage, her small hands pressing firmly against the wound, keeping his lifeblood inside him instead of bleeding out into the dirt. The various agents they’d had to bury, for no bigger sin than trying to get food and drink to the people who needed it. Clover with her mottled bruises, fluttering hands folding over her broken front, where they’d kicked her over and over. Emilie’s drawn and hollow skin, her seeping wounds in that interview. The enforcer wrapping Demi in an enormous hug, lifting her off her feet. Words keep surging up out of Cal’s mental fog and he’s on the verge of breaking loose and saying something, but instead his grip tightens on the wheel and he pushes it back down. They’re staring straight ahead, barely able to look at each other. When were you going to tell me— Do you even know what they do in— How long have you— Have you always— When— But the thoughts get more and more clipped and stilted, short-circuiting, and he isn’t able to yank them out past that knot in his throat. “Okay,” is all Cal says as he pulls up at the Capitol, hitting the button to unlock the doors, and he still isn’t looking at her. Over and over again Demi sees the look on his face, that moment which everything clicked into place and Cal knew. It plays like a movie reel in her mind, so while her eyes might be staring ahead at a spot on the hood of the jeep, all she sees is the instant all her half-truths and lies are revealed for what they were all along. Throughout the car ride she lost track of how many times she opened her mouth to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness, to clammer for reassurance that he still cared about her, that she hadn’t lost him over this. Demi doesn’t say any of it though, doesn’t open her mouth at all, actually. Because she doesn’t have a right to expect anything from Cal. She has been lying to him for nearly two years, always telling him she’s okay, but never telling him where she was or who she was with. She thought she was protecting him. She was wrong. The weight of her mistake is crushing, her hands are balled up in her lap to stop herself from clawing at her chest to relieve the pain she feels there. When will she stop making decisions that result in pain for those that care about her? Cal finding out about the Hellhounds is only the tip of the iceberg and Demi knows it. La Quinta still hangs between them, just far enough in the shadows that she can ignore it, pretend as if it’s not there. But, close enough that she knows sooner or later Cal’s going to ask those questions that he’s stopping himself from asking and eventually she will break and tell him, like she has with everyone else. That thought turns her stomach and she has to reach up and clamp a hand over her mouth as her stomach threatens to rebel against her. Even just the thought of telling him everything sends a cold shiver down her spine and stops her heart. She’s so caught up in her own thoughts that doesn’t notice they’ve reached the Capitol until Cal breaks the silence with one word. “Okay, what?” Demi asks, daring to look at him out of the corner of her eye. “Okay get out of my car? Okay we’re here? Okay I never want to see you again?” she’s listing off all the reasons her mind has come up with to attach to that one word, they’re all tumbling out of her mouth before she can think better of it. Karen once asked him if he’d ever been in love, and he’d said no. He’s never felt heartbreak, not over a breakup—anger, sure, him and Sammy shouting down the rafters at each other. Loss and grief over the death of a loved one, sure. But now, at the grand age of thirty-two, he finally thinks he understands what people mean. It hurts: his chest is tight and aching with something that isn’t a bruise, isn’t a bullet wound, but he feels it jarring around inside him regardless. He can tell that she’s looking at him, so Cal reluctantly detaches his gaze from the road (not like there’s much to see, the Capitol keeps their complex clean of geeks) and looks over at Demi. “Okay, as in we’re here,” he says flatly. Even aware that each word is hurting someone who’s like family to him, but he can’t stop. Can’t even unclench that anger long enough to reassure her that of course he’ll want to see her, of course, that’ll never change. His brain is flooded and insensible and isn’t wired for that, not right now: he’s a bull with that red flag dangling in front of him, a dog with its teeth champed down. Unflinchingly Demi refuses to allow him to see what kind of pain his words inflict on her, just what kind of ache they create in her chest, a sucking kind of wound that threatens to consume her whole. Her slender shoulders are squared and features set in a stony expression, the only indication of the tumultuous emotions roaring inside of her is the fire in her dark eyes. They’ve always been a dead giveaway to how she’s feeling, betraying her at every turn. “Fine,” she snaps, hand reaching for the door handle. “I realize you’re impatient to be as far away from me as possible, so I won’t make you endure my presence any longer.” Demi continues, opening the door and turning away from him as she climbs out of the jeep. It takes everything inside of her to manage not to allow the tears that are welling up in her eyes to fall, she will not let Cal know how much she’s hurting. This isn’t how she wanted him to find out, Demi knows it’s her own evasiveness that has brought this on, yet she can’t help feeling just as hurt by his actions as he is likely hurt by hers. “You may not believe this, but I am sorry,” Demi’s voice is quiet and thin as she turns around to face him, one hand poised on the door, prepared to close it. “I never meant to hurt you, Cal.” “Yeah, well. If wishes were horses.” He drops the aphorism vaguely, just for the sense of having something to say: as if it can brick up the distance between them, bridge that gap and leave him anything but sour-mouthed and empty. There’s very little bitterness in Cal’s voice, though. Mostly he just sounds drained. “Look, we’ll talk later. Okay?” It’s as close as he’ll get to an olive branch right now, and it isn’t much of one. More like a twig. He says they’ll talk later and Demi can’t be positive if it’s a brush off, or if he means what he’s saying. She won’t question it though, because at least it’s something and right now all she can allow herself to hope for is that he’ll give her the opportunity to explain herself, even if he won’t forgive her. But God, she hopes he’ll forgive her some day. Maybe once he has all the pieces, once he knows why she picked the Hellhounds he’ll understand. It’s wishful thinking, but it’s still the hope Demi clings to, if only to keep herself from breaking down right then and there in the parking lot. “Right, we’ll talk later,” Demi sighs, voice quiet as she allows herself one last look at Cal, adding “Goodnight, Cal.” before closing the door of his jeep. Her hands go up to her face as she walks away, pressing against her eyes as if that might keep the tears from falling, wanting more than anything to be in the safety of Isaac’s apartment before she breaks down. After the door closes, he’s left sitting there by himself: hands anchored on that wheel, eyes riveted to the dark empty street ahead, frozen and immobile. He can’t bring himself to move. Not for a long time. |