Re: Sonrisa: Sam A & Cris M
Cris coped bad. Unhealthy. Even now, old as he was, and he knew that. He either went at a punching bag or some guy's face with his fists. He fucked. Like he could sweat it outta his skin and soul. He wanted to be next to Sam, to touch her at least. It prolly wasn't the healthiest, but fuck that. The guy had never been good at that. Even still, all that was better than branding yourself with blisters, huh? It was better than drinking like his viejo, seeking oblivion from himself, and taking his anger out on anybody around, child, woman, whoever.—If she wasn't broken up like she was, the same hazy mirror fractured in her head as his, he prolly woulda tried getting her on her back on her canvases. He woulda sought to color her thighs higher, slicking that now-graying blue along fringea blonde curls. It was good though, huh? That he didn't—couldn't, whatever. 'Cause the talking, however fucking frustrating it was, botha them stubborn as mules, it was good. Least he thought so.
But, when she talked 'bout fair, brief, Cris wished he was more like Neil, huh? Loco, maybe, that thought, but she'd been able to talk to the guy, without worry, without him arguing back. Maybe he wouldn't even tell her she was wrong. He didn't know. He just knew he wished he was better at this, right then. Better for her too.
"No, it ain't. It ain't shit."
He pulled Sam close. She moved her legs over his.
"I might blame myself, yeah, nena, but you're doin' the same damn thing, huh?" There was challenge in that, 'cause she was. "You just think you're justified and I ain't, even while you're tellin' me I can't decide whether you're justified or not when you think the same stuff."—And okay, yeah, he shut up. Her hand 'round his neck, tugging him in, and course he went, dipping close, looking at her closer. "I know you wanna be better for me. I wanna be better for you. What I'm sayin' is I don't need you better. You are good enough, Sam. Worthy. Whatever." He was supposed to shut up, he remembered, and he didn't say anything as she shook her head like that. She went soft in the limbs, losing the pressure that had tugged him down there, and Cris took another deep breath. 'Cause she told him to stop fucking arguing. But, he had to say something. His gaze was searching and stubborn at the same time. His fingers, kinda smashed between them, still sat on her belly. He wet his lips. "Mami. I could kill a guy, unlawful, and you'd still say I was good. You love me."