Re: Livingroom: Marta / Seven
His anger was obvious, to the point that it almost was like another standing there with them, too close. It was larger than hers, taller and broader in an echo of the way his height and solidity towered over her. It made her stomach roil like it wanted to purge that too-recent sweet, and the dinner from earlier in the evening, like she could somehow pull the acid of it physically out of her body.
But when his words cut into her, sharpened to a keen edge that seemed tailor-made to target all of her softest vulnerable spots at the moment, that slice didn't lance the acid or the pressure. Instead, it caused an internal bleed, leaving her eyes locked on his but her breathing shallow, like pulling each inhale was a new, sharp pain. Her neck was tight with the way she pressed her teeth together, feeling almost tight enough to crack each molar in turn. But when she spoke next, her own voice was at least steady, even though it was rough and almost not loud enough to be heard over guests and music.
"If it were up to you," she echoed after him, and then finished the thought for him. "You'd keep her far away from me, right? That's what you want to say. Like me just asking is somehow forcing you into it." Another shallow breath shivered past her lips, and though she knew, she knew she shouldn't make the situation any worse, it didn't stop her from saying the next words, her weight forward like she needed the leverage to deliver them. "If you're so fucking terrified of me, then just say no. She's still tiny and there's plenty of time for her to decide to meet me or not, because I'm not actually going anywhere this time. So either you think I'm fit to see her now, or you don't." Her eyes were clear and bright, so different than the months before rehab, on those few, rare times he'd seen her. And behind them was hurt and anger and frustration.
And more than that, the ability to see him struggle with whatever the fuck was going on in his head. It didn't make her any more sympathetic in the next moments, especially when he pulled that icy shit on her. It was old, old memories that wanted her to chisel away at it, because she knew that there was a cavern beneath it that boiled with what he wasn't showing. And she knew because she'd seen him do it before - not to her directly, but she knew what it looked like on his face.
"But I spent years thinking that she was better off with me not being around. This is this first time I've thought I'm anywhere near being good enough to see her. Even to ask. If I still thought there was a chance that one single meeting would fuck her up, I'd be miles away." With her weight forward on one foot, she leaned closer, but not in danger of touching him at any point. Compared to his ice, she felt everything like it wanted to burn and eat its way out of her chest.