Re: Sonrisa: Sam A & Cris M
Sam didn't have a way of coping, yeah? After Micah, the first time she was in a center, when D paid for it, after the suicide attempt, the therapist there was trying to help her find a way to deal with shit. That was where the painting came in, yeah? Then, and that therapist, like three years ago, had been the first person to ever hand her a brush. And it worked, yeah? It did. The canvases littered around them, they were proof of that. Sacrifices with paint piled thick, and they'd helped get her this far. Out of her head, and his hand along her spine had done the rest. And maybe HE shouldn't be part of her coping mechanism, but he was now. "It's not fair." She muttered it, and she looked up at him, yeah? As he painted circle around her bellybutton. "You don't want to admit it, that taking care of me is shit, but I know it's not fair."
She was being stubborn, and part of her got it was deliberate. Like repeating it was giving her some sort of control or something. Part of her knew it was bullshit, yeah? She knew, but fuck if she could do anything about it.
He pulled her close, and he said he was just explaining about flaws, and she shook her head hard, even as he tugged her forward, and even as she draped her legs over his, close as could be and all mashed the fuck up against him as much as she could. "I know you, yeah? You're going to blame yourself about this Iris thing, and you're going to think it means you're like your pops."
But he was onto that stuff about not being able to make everyone's shit ok. She pursed lips together, and he talked about how his take was real too, and she exhaled a huff and looked down at the hands that had fallen back to her belly.
She wanted to scream, yeah? Because that made her feel better sometimes, but she was too fucking worn and wrung dry for screaming. She slid a hand around the nape of his neck instead, dragged him closer if she could make him do it, make him duck and come closer with the pressure of her painted fingers. "Stop fucking arguing with me, yeah? Just stop and accept the fact that I want to be better for you than I am, ok? You can't change that shit, papi." Sadly, and with a shake of her head. "You can't. It's just how it is. And I KNOW YOU." More forcefully. "I could bring home a dealer and a needle and shoot up in the middle of your living room, and you'd still say I was good." That force melted like snowcaps in summer, and she went soft, expression soft, and the touch of her fingers on his nape soft. "You love me, yeah? I get that now."