Re: Capital: Sam & Cris
Cris had been taking his frustrations out on the world around him since he realized it was that or people, which was a shitty choice maybe, huh? But, he was what he was, and he was raised how he was, and he tried to make sure the things he punched were meant to be punched. But, it didn't always work out that way. The lamp, the sink, now the wall, it wasn't about hurting himself—it wasn't like the lighter. His own bones were collateral damage, his skin too—he was collateral damage to his emotions, and that was the best he could do. But, it wasn't intentional, the pain blossoming, numbing down his wrist, in the sense that he wanted to hurt. It was just too much and he lashed out, and he lashed out at something more immovable than he was, huh? So Sam yelling was confused in his head, little gunshotsa sound muffled like a muzzle too close, and there wasn't much comprehension on his face when he turned to her, feeling her fingers at his back.—It would sink in. It reverberated 'round the closed stairwell and it would come back, but for now, he missed whatever it was, and he scrambled forward on his knees.
He didn't wanna get her outta the chair, but she spilled out, slow as cold-veined molasses, and she was there, and he was too stupid to put her back right away. She got close and he just tried to wrap around her when her forehead went to his mouth, him tasting the salta her sweat there.
"I want to make it better for you. Everything. I wanna." He did, the croaked confession was heartfelt and so fulla guilt, 'cause he knew—he knew he wasn't. She was rocking, he could feel it, her cheek slipping to his bare shoulder, cool, too cool even with all the tears, and he wound closer, arms around her. "You can't change how you feel, mami. I don't wanna ask you to do that. You should be able to be, to do what you need to do and feel what you need to feel—" He knew it was hypocritical, just in the sense that he had to change to accommodate her, even if it wasn't conscious. He had to do the things he didn't want her to do for him, but it felt different. "I'm old. I got a kid. Two—two kids. I should be able to help you, you who's been through so much more—I shouldn't need—I shouldn't need to make you hafta take carea me, huh? Th-that's unfair." He rubbed his chin with his bruised hand, wincing as he did it, before he worked to pry his mind from himself, so he could hug Sam. He pushed fingers through her hair as best he could when it was plaited. "Te amo." He kissed the crowna her head, amid coiling gold. "I'm prouda you." He shook his head. "I'm not disappointed. I'm sad I can't help. It's selfish. But I ain't disappointed."