Re: Capital: Sam & Cris
"You decide for me," was what he lobbed back at her, just as unthinking. 'Cause she did. She decided every day she wasn't enough for him. His expression ruptured, fissured black—too bloody for the antiseptic of a hospital. It wasn't nothing festering, pulsing pus yellow. It was just raw and smelled like meat, and around here, they plastered that beneath a sterile wrapping 'til it healed over. That didn't stop him. There was an openness to the guy's face when she talked 'bout being ashamed and scared, an openness that was understanding and maybe surprise—surprise that she'd touched it at all, insteada running from the mention. "With Pilar," he said sudden. "Y Meredith, I feel ashamed." It was a confession that was obvious, but it landed somewhere between an apology and an 'I understand.' She looked at him, and he realized he prolly shouldn't be talking 'bout anya this, not after everything he'd put her through and right after the baby. "I think you can stay clean, Sam. I never meant that. But I think you need a reason outsidea yourself, 'cause you don't value yourself enough to think you warrant it. And I think this is all real stressful and scary, and if that was how I coped, I'd go back to it too, 'cause as much as you need to wanna, you need support and stability too, huh?" His own gaze was damp too. He joined her against the wall. "I don't think I can give it to you. That's what I mean by too much. Not that you are, but that I ain't—I don't got enough to give you what you need." Quieter. "I don't want you to go, but if I make you detox in a room with me, what happens when the door opens and the world is still loco. I wanna give you what you need, but I don't think I can. That's what I mean. I'm so fuckin' tempted to make you stay with me, but in the end, I—I think I'd be hurtin' you. ¿Sabes?"
She talked about Neil and Cris forgot he'd even asked. He kinda wished he hadn't. He didn't want Neil here, even as a specter. He tried to find Sam's hand, to hold it, but she was rubbing her face.
"I want one with you." It was pointless, huh? Maybe invalidating, but he hoped it wasn't. "I just want you to want it too."
She got up from the wall and Cris did too, hand on her back trying to help with that wince. She started walking, not waiting for him, and he stood still a second, watching her move slow without him. "I don't." He caught up. "That was shallow, mami." He didn't know if he could explain it. "I'd rather know you and love alla you, even the parts you think are rotten, than just know the surface. I know it was maybe easier for you, 'cause I wasn't up your ass as much, pero." He shrugged bare shoulders. He turned her when she stopped, his fingers under her jaw. "Te amo." He bent toward her. "Te necesito." He opened his mouth near hers. "Alla you, huh? Not just the parts you show guys you just met and fucked at a party. And I hope you feel the same way 'bout me." His thumbs were on her cheeks. Sometimes, when he talked about stuff, he knew it got her shifted negative, and he never meant for that. He just talked, like un idiota.
He kissed her. His skin was hot still, in spitea the hospital's cool, and they were barely off to the side of a corridor, so they mighta been blocking stuff, but Cris was just thinking about Sam, and his mouth on hers—and the heada his cock, where it was still very trapped under waistband and chafing at the restraint. It meant he pushed his hips to hers more than he prolly shoulda, but again, he wasn't really thinking 'bout that. His mouth was open over hers, his chin rough against her skin, and he held her face hard. It was in the pressa his fingers that if he could lift her up and let her wrap her legs 'round his middle, he would.
He hardly had any air left in his lungs, when he pulled back, cock even more uncomfortable than before, and said: "Let's go see our girl."