Re: Motel 77: Cris & Sam
He ran. She said he didn't have to, but he did, black jacket gaping to physics. From Sam's place, he got partway down the hall, hotel dark and dormant around him, like there weren't fires burning, destroying lives, buildings, anything in their path in each and every world laid out cruel behind silent-sentinel doors. He moved and he didn't even have time to catch his breath before the iPad pinged from the bag.—He paused, a flutter in his belly going seasick at the thoughta it being Sam. Something's wrong.—It was Meredith. Furious, frazzled, the day taking its toll—hours upon hours of stress, about Sam, about Marvel, about Neil and Lou and Meredith, about Penny, and Teresita, and Sam falling off the wagon, and making sure Meredith wasn't somewhere he'd have to chase her and getting his kid outta the city safe—yeah, he wasn't in the best mood. He typed back, jaw twitching and no thoughts connecting fingertips to brain, before he slammed the tablet back into the pack hard enough to crack the screen, and, finding the door that led to that beach, found himself in his third city that day: MIami.
The jacket was way too hot, but he didn't care about the cloya it against his neck. It was dark, ocean a black blighta oil you could see, like everything ended there, the whole world, and the cityscape sparking wide all the way to the edge. He tried his phone, typing in the motel's address, and sent tendril-thin thanks up to whoever was looking out for him, for once, above. He was one block away, by the gracea God or somebody else.
Aun así, It felt like the entire spanna a galaxy, milky way a sugar-spill on concrete, as he cut over sidewalk still hot from the day's sun. It felt like forever.
He wasn't sure what he was supposed to expect, no? From Sam. What it coulda been that had her seeing that monster mouth moving and moving, words like bile, regurgitating her exact fears back at her like some fun house in a scary movie. He thought she was too fucked for it to be heroin—too amped, but he didn't wanna take guesses. But, it was clear she'd fallen off the wagon. Just like there was no doubt she was hallucinating, and he had history with that, huh? Sofia, her giants, alla that, and he could deal fine with it, honest,—as best as somebody on the outside could. But the needling fears, the insecurities that got under her skin, canted Scottish, those he had to chip away at, patient over his iPad earlier, even as Marvel went to hell around him and his kid slept clueless with her head on his thigh.—But, he was happy to do it. Cause it was Sam. Cause she was more than just important to him. She was up there with Teresita: necessary.—He wasn't thinking bout Penny's wordsa wisdom. He wasn't thinking about Lou and that look on his face, Sam's little place framing his long, fragile face. He wasn't thinking about what coulda even led to Meredith and Sam running into each other. He was just thinking about Sam.