Re: Sonrisa: Sam A & Cris M
"It's not ok," she insisted. She wasn't loud. She was too muted for loud, and she was too cotton for force. But she said it, yeah? Stubborn, and fingers reaching back and drawing thoughtless through thick and cool paint on discarded palette, like that tactile sensation helped ground her in the room. She was having trouble with that, with being HERE, staying HERE, and this was important. Talking about this, it was important, and she was always bad the fuck off when he needed her, and she wanted to not be. JUST THIS ONCE, she wanted to not be a mess that he needed to clean up, because that was how it was, yeah? She lost it, he lost it because she did, and then he had to deal with her after. It wasn't fair. He'd tell her fair didn't matter, but she didn't like it, her own behavior, her own fucking HEAD, and he couldn't make her like herself in that moment, no matter how many times he told her it was ok.
So, yeah, her voice was quiet, but there was still steel to it, something rigid along spine, and her trying to fucking keep it there, to not fold and melt and fall apart like paper too heavy with ink. "I fucked shit up. Ok? I freaked out. If I hadn't done that, then you wouldn't have got scared and upset, and I'm a mess, yeah?" She smacked the side of her head hard, her fingers drawn back from the palette and a rainbow on her fingertips.
She opened her mouth to keep on, but he was talking about the baby, and she looked down at the paint-stained white shirt that covered her belly. "That's what that is? IDK it started at the beginning of the week, and I was scared to say something. I thought it meant something was wrong." Which, yk, was mature as fuck, not saying anything because she was scared. But that was very HER, yeah?
Mouth open, lips parted, and she was still looking down when his fingers pushed over her cheek and into her hair. She looked up slow, sluggish, like she needed the time to switch tracks and follow the conversation again. "No, but it's still ME, get it? Meredith wouldn't need to talk you if I was ok. There wouldn't be chairs to fix if I was ok, and I asked Manning to fix her fucking doors, it's ok, yeah? It's ok." And she held her breath a few seconds when he looked away, because she GOT IT. She got that it wasn't about a chair and splinters, yeah?
Paint-stained fingers to his cheek, and she tried to force him to look at her, and this once she could do this, yeah? Ground herself here, make it not about her. She could. She could do it. "Hey. ¡Oye! NO. You're not your fucking father, papi. You didn't mean to hurt her, yeah? That shit is about intention or something, and all you meant to do was open a door, get to me, make sure I was ok. Yeah? You weren't trying to hurt anyone. You didn't raise a hand to hurt her. It's not THE SAME."