Re: Marvel: Cris & Sam
The only difference that clarification made was to deepen the frown between Cris' brows. It shoved at the embers of something like irritation near the bottom of the grate, like a poker among ash, and he smiled in that contradiction of his. One thumb dug into his eye, he shook his head, and he looked at Sam, ignoring her offer or whatever it was, for him to handcuff her there and—as told by the flick of her eyes—go get himself fixed up, go to the doctor, whatever it was she thought he needed.—But his head was done bleeding and he wasn't leaving her.
Her explanation rankled along the smoothness of his understanding, pricking at it and pulling threads loose. His sympathy muted, his face was a touch paler than normal, like dry sand under a too-bright sun.
"I get it, mami. You're only sorry I had to see. You'da had your head straight, you'da gone somewhere better, where I couldn't stop you, so then,—what? I wouldn't hafta see, but I'd never know what happened? You think I couldn't put it together? You think not having closure is better? You think the only thing that—that's wrong with this is the fact that it might remind me of Sofia? Are you kiddin' me?" There was his anger, a little dulled, and Cris felt the back of his head start throbbing. He knew he should keep his mouth shut—that was parta the problem. He never could. He'd talk, Neil would cry to Sam, and she couldn't deal with it.—He scoffed, a snort through the nose, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You think Sofia did me a favor, doin' what she did? That how you think about it? ¡Madre mía de mi alma!"
He took a deep breath, steadying. Cris let his cheek rest on his shoulder, away from Sam, while she smiled wetly about Joey. He watched her with black eyes.
"He have any places he liked to go?" He didn't mention the fact that she was about to leave him stuck alone forever, wherever the heart was now—Joey, and everyone else, for the grill of some car. He just started running his fingers through the brambles of blonde, undoing a pigtail, then the other, offhand, brushing at the mess with a patience born of practice, touch just a little too hard as it passed through tangles.