Re: the reunion; cas & mat
Thus far, he'd managed to refrain from thinking about it too deeply. The surface level, the shallowest of ends, was the most felicitous for these kinds of things, lest he be the one wiping away tears from the outside of his car, beneath the sublunary gloaming and the dudgeon glower of Casseopia. It was far too rebarbative to reflect on the whys, to again face that leaden feeling in the deepest snarl of his guts, the gutter-humbled knowing that overcame him upon realizing her hasty departure back in Las Vegas. An invertate chasm in his chest, he'd gotten used to the act of hating her.
His thumbs pressed, then lulled against the cork as she slithered into the drivers seat and began to… soothe with explanation. His brain balked at the balm, in alliterative fashion. His blood boiled, loose in his form, just floating free with the pills and the effervescence of cigarillo smoke. Absentee heart, meet your tin man.
"Darling, that is all in the past, really. Don't hurt yourself by trying to scrape together an apology now." It wouldn't suit the gorgon-eyed vision of her that he'd concocted in his memories. The chimera woman. "We're beyond all of that." Weren't they? Or should he crime-of-passion here right here?
The cork exploded free from the bottle's swan neck, ping ponging off of the windshield and into the backseat. It tore loose a curated, startled bit of profanity he'd obtained during those two months at a boarding school in Brussels. The bottle foamed rabid over his knuckles, and he slurped its open wound. He waved a careless go on about her smoking. "Don't singe the fucking upholstery."