Re: Marvel: Cris & Sam
She thought the chair would fly, and she wasn't scared of it. She knew he was pissed, but she didn't exactly know why. He was saying things, yeah? And they made sense. Independently, whatever, they made sense, but she couldn't get them to work in the context of what she'd said, and she didn't know if that was her, or if it was her fucked up head, or if it was the crash. She had no fucking clue. "I never said you were trying to change me. I said you wanted to change what I was feeling. You want me to not want to walk into fucking traffic. YOU DO. That's different than wanting to change me," she finally said, and it was whiny as fuck, all damp nose. And she didn't want this. She didn't want to argue. She didn't want this arguing.
"OK SO I'M FUCKING SELFISH. OK? IS THAT BETTER? DOES THAT MAKE IT BETTER?" Arms around herself, and she rocked where she stood, finger snatched back from his grip, but she wasn't poking at herself anymore. And now he was just tossing shit in her face, shoving past wrongs at her, and she stared and stared, her expression falling as she wept.
He paced, but all she was doing was replaying shit in her mind. Over and fucking over, like some record that was stuck. Shit he'd said, and things he'd done for her, and she knew he didn't want her to feel guilty. She knew that.
She also knew she hadn't been fair to him. Pounding head, and uneven on her feet, and she hadn't been fair. She felt bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.
And just like that, she shut it down. Whatever the fuck she was feeling, it felt too selfish, too whatever, and she tried to slip back into the same fucking mode she'd been running in for a month. Pretend, pretend, pretend and everything's fucking ok. She tried. She fucking tried, but she couldn't do it. Right there. Right then.
She couldn't do it.
And she didn't say it, because he would be fucking pissed, but she saw three years down the line, and she saw him as sick and fucking tired of her shit as Neil was. If she said it, he would say he wasn't like Neil. And he wasn't, he wasn't like Neil, but this was about how SHE WAS. And any fucking doubts she had were eclipsed by the things that had just poured from his mouth, deluge and confessions.
She needed to get her shit together. She needed to get her shit together. She needed to get her fucking shit together.
She took a really deep fucking breath, and her words were shards and shattered. "I know you'd do anything to help me. I know that. I know you done more for me already than I can fucking explain. I know. Lo sé. But listen to what you're saying. All the fucking shit I done to hurt you, and all the things that are bad. I talk about ME, yeah? About the shit I'm feeling, and you tell me all the ways I'm fucking you up, or that I'm making you feel bad. I don't want you to BEG for me. I don't want you to beg for anyone. That's not right. If you feel that way, it's not good, Cris. You're going to fucking argue that I'm wrong. I know you are. I know," she said, sad and nearly unintelligible, and she motioned to the door. "Let me go, ok? I won't hurt myself. I won't. I fucking promise. But I'm no good to you until I figure this shit out, until I figure my shit out. I'm only hurting you, and you just don't fucking see it. The only time I don't hurt you, is when I pull off a night where I'm kind of fucking normal, like last night. But that's not where I am right now, ok? It's not. I wish it was, but it's fucking not."