Re: Phone Call: Seven/Marta
[Marta sucks breath through her teeth and can't help but listen to him, each word a tiny shard of glass under her skin. But no, now that he's raised his voice, and she's pushed, and he's snapped back at her, she doesn't want to hear him full of calm and restraint. The sadness, the hollow sound of his voice pulls up the cankerous boil that's formed between them - at least the one that lives in her own mind - and she doesn't want to slip back into being careful. Not yet. Her heart pounds in her chest, and it should be a warning, but it's the most alive she's felt in a long time.
And if he was waiting for the one thing she didn't put on the list, it was because he'd crossed it off that list himself months ago. One of the first times they'd spoken in Repose, and if there were holes in her memory, they at least hadn't claimed that one. She'd confessed it in a session once, with people talking about their children, and partners who had become a wall between the kids and the mess of their parents' addictions. Some people had offered reassurance, other had offered pessimism, and Marta had spilled tears before the time had run out - because even wading through all the pessimism and memories, she still had to shove back and glimmer shard of hope. But that was weeks in the past, and now...
Seven's voice only got steadier, the more he spoke, and every smooth word grated up her spine and clenched her teeth until she had to breathe through her nose. Clenched teeth and squeezed-shut eyes, and she couldn't force a sound until he'd finished his words and given that apology. There was silence for just a moment before air forced its way between teeth and bitten-hard lower lip, almost a hiss on the line before her words started to spill with a skipping stutter - low at first but growing in volume.] F...fuck sorry. Fuck proud and happy and help. J-just more money, yeah? More money, get better, leave you alone? Your daughter, I remember. Not me, not mine, yeah? I remember you said. Fuck shouldn't, fault. Love you since for years. Want to sorry? Come say to my fucking face you fucking coward!
[By the end she's nearly shouting into the phone, patients and staff glancing over, but not especially surprised. She's not the first to have a snapping, angry reaction to something, and won't be the last. Though her doctor and the staff had expected it to happen with her weeks ago.]