Re: In-person: Cris/Sam
[He knows she's got desertion issues, huh? He knows, he knows. He does too, in a different way. But, he don't know how to get her to understand what he's saying, and he's pretty sure she's stuck in the same boat, just over there. Her voice cracks. She tells him he got sicka her. Her face is an emotional bruise, her eyes torment in purpling blue, and Cris just cries. Looking at her, touching her, wanting to be closer, but it not being enough.—And even through alla that, salt slick down the backa his throat, over his cheeks, he wants to SHAKE her. He wants her to get it and it's in his fingers where they bite into her upper arms.
He's too loud. She's sad and mewling, shattering. But he can't do it quiet like she can. He can't do nothing quiet.] Samantha Mary Alexander, that ain't the SAME. I LOVE YOU, now, then. I LIKE YOU, now and then. You can't—nena, if you were where you were when you slit your wrists, alone on the sidewalk, you would like me, but it would be hard to fuckin' show, okay? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I wasn't sicka you. [He weeps, pulling his hands back to his face now, trying to cover it up. His voice is broken and he's only in the chair 'cause he can't get up and pace.] Maybe I'm not as good a person as you, Sam, huh? Maybe you could find grace where I can't. I don't know how to prove it to you, that I loved you and I liked you and I wanted you, but that I was DROWNIN'. My likes and loves—they don't—Please, please, please don't tell me I got sicka you or that I didn't want you. I wanted to be with you. I still do. Please don't say I didn't. I'm sorry I didn't show it like you woulda. I'm sorry. I know you try. I'm not goin' anywhere. It's not bad. Please don't say it's bad. Is it bad? Do you really think I'm sicka you? That I don't want you? After—after everything? After wakin' up with me every day, after me comin' to you last night, after everything, you think I don't want you?