Re: Capital: Sam & Cris
He crushed it out. 'Cause if he didn't, he'd wanna pick it up and he'd wanna revert back to being some heartbroken kid who didn't know how to deal with his feelings, so he branded them into his soles in some poor man's metaphor. The flame squeaked out under the heela his sneaker and Cris kicked the corpsea the clove away, down the stairs, prolly too rough. The scent lingered heavy in the cold air, and he suddenly was very awarea the fact that he was freezing. The smoke that had felt warming seconds ago just annoyed him and he waved at it again, irritated.
Sam's chair was inside the door, just to the side, on the landing and against the wall, facing toward the wall the guy was leaning against. He listened, but by the time Sam was flinging the kretek away and sobbing, he was crying too. He'd just wanted to be happy about the kid and Sam, and now they were in a stairwell, Sam's voice bouncing offa hard walls, curtains around them of sweet, heavy smoke.—He wasn't loud. His eyes just scratched themselves red on tears, making black lashes that much darker, as the tippa his nose ruddied and lips darkened. It was clear he was doing his best to remain anchored where he was standing, but he swayed forward some, unintentional, trying to move to the wheelchair.
He wanted to tell her it wasn't like that, but she'd just said he did that and it made stuff hard, so—he didn't wanna do that, so he was stuck. Cris looked at Sam and he shook his head and laughed, unhappy, even as she was crying. He turned away from her and walked the small lengtha the landing, anger building like pressure beneath his breastbone, 'til he turned and punched the cement wall. He knew right away he hadn't broken anything, but there mighta been fractures. The pain that exploded back at him, reverberating through his knuckles and up his arm, was intense and blinding. His skin split at the impact along index and middle finger, then ring too when he swung a second time. It made a wet, butchering sound and there was blood on the wall, but who the fuck cared. He was half tempted to kick the damn thing, but he didn't wanna limp and that second-short thought was enough to stop him as he whirled back around toward Sam, hands balled at his side and frustration bold on his face.