Re: Marvel: Cris & Sam
She didn't care about her hands, and she just looked at the white fabric as he daubed at her wrists. She wasn't looking at white, yeah? She was looking at the blood on the white, the blood that wasn't hers. Blood that she'd put there, yeah? As sure as if she'd taken a knife to him. And she was pale, and she went paler, realization in unfocused blue as she looked at that red. She wanted to yank her hands away, but she was crying too hard for that shit now, so she just let him do it. If it made him feel better, whatever, and he could have whatever the fuck he wanted right now. She'd agreed to anything, because she'd known about Sofia. She had. "I didn't know you were there," she managed between the sobs, explanations. I wouldn't have done it if I knew you were there, those were the words between the lines. Not in front of him. Never in front of him.
He neared, but she didn't swat at him. She was heavy on the crash now, exhilaration replaced by exhaustion, and she didn't have the fucking strength to even tense. When he pulled her to his chest, she went like a doll made of rags, pliant.
He mentioned his head, and she found the motivation to shove the balled up white-stained-red at him, for his head, because he needed it more than she needed it. Bloodied palms didn't kill anyone, yeah? She tried to inhale deep, just to do what he wanted, just to not be difficult for fucking once. But that just made the tears come harder, and she moved enough to curl up against his chest, against fabric and she shouldn't be doing it. She shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't. "Glad it wasn't you," she muttered, the fabric of his shirt in her mouth, and she didn't bother trying to inch back.
Joey. Joey. Joey, and she didn't say anything at first. Nothing, just the sobs she tried to stifle as she soaked his shirt through with salt ache. "Have his heart. In a locker. Change the ice every day."