Re: Marvel: Cris & Sam
Cris knew wanting to fucking die. He didn't need her to come up with words for it. He got it. He wasn't selfish enough to do it. Now, he knew it went deeper than that—that it wasn't selfishness that made other people do it—yeah, he got it, but he couldn't justify it, because no matter how hopeless things felt, he still had his kid, and she needed him. So, even if he felt bad, real bad, even if he felt like he was going in circles, being worn down to nothing until he didn't even want to get up in the morning, and everything was too much effort, he had to do it anyway. He wasn't going to make Teresita walk in on him either, like his own dad had, head half gone, Mami screaming something soundless there, on her knees, like a prayer could save him. He got it. But, he'd been the guy left behind, in the bloody wake of that kinda loss, and he wasn't gonna do that to anybody, ever.
He left off with her hair. Fingers stilled, dropped, when she choked out stuff about Sofia, fingers curled into palm when she sat back to look at him. It's about me. Yeah, he got that too.
"You know, maybe I think Teresita would do better with someone else as her dad. Maybe Elena will remarry, and the guy—he'll be someone better, someone who's got more patience, who wouldn't worry so much, make her teenage years less fun—" Cris' eyebrows rose and fell at the reference to an old conversation of theirs. "Maybe I think I'm so much like him—Papi—¿para qué?" He tossed the undershirt to the floor, irritated by it, and he sat up too, facing Sam, elbows on the insides of his thighs. "¿Para qué? ¿Para qué? ¿Para qué? Right? It's about you. I get it." He pressed his forefinger hard to his temple with all the weight of a loaded pistol. "But you think there's nothing else to do—that we'd all be better off. That's a favor. That's what I'm askin'. You got no idea." Cris touched Sam's chin, fingers on either side, holding her there. "You ever know someone who did it? Someone close? Who was willin' to leave you behind like that? Good intentions, me da igual—Sofia, yeah, it was about her too. Somethin' last ditch. It won't get better. I gotta go now, thanks for everything, I love you, see you in Hell.—You wanna tell me that, to my face, you don't think it will ever get better—you won't? You wanna tell me that, after everything? I can see it—a way out. I coulda for her too. For Teresita, I make myself see it. You can't do it, you use someone else's eyes until you get far enough outta the dark. You let them help you. You don't take yourself away, callin' it a gift, when it's—it's—You saw me. Out there. That's what she did to me. Sofia. I was so outta it, I thought you were gonna put a note in my pocket. That's insane, mami. That's not a way out. You don't trust yourself on it, trust me. Stop tryin' to do what's good for everyone else. You keep sayin', you're no good for me. I decide that. Me. You don't get to do it for me. You, you decide for you. But, I can tell you right now—" Cris picked up Sam's wrists, he showed her her palms. "It's not this."