Re: log: gatsby, bruce/selina (adult)
She had seen the relief in his eyes when she said this was it. It was like daggers, but she had seen it. She saw a man that was tired of her and, now, she saw a man that didn't argue any of it. It hurt. It hurt enough that she wanted to just wrap it up in something, anything that felt solid. Something that felt like years of loving this man wasn't all for nothing, for a few nights of his breath against her skin and nothing more. And she loved him. She did. She always had.
And she'd always been a receptacle for his anger. That, at least, she could do right. It was a purpose in her world. It was something. Something.
And she wasn't expecting the shove.
Sober, and she still tumbled back into a sprawl. She was naked limbs and green eyes that took a moment to focus on him. To understand. Her expression went from something warm, something desperate, to utter embarrassment and hurt. She swallowed back a sob; she wouldn't cry in front of him, she wouldn't.
She covered herself with her hands, as best she could, and she scrambled to her feet. And tears were falling, but there was nothing she could do to stop them. She whispered his name, a decade of pain on her lips, and then she spun and ran into the bedroom and slammed the door. There, she looked at the rumpled bed, sheets still a mess from when her patron had been there, and she laughed a sobbed laugh, her shoulders wracked with it.
As quickly as she could manage, she slipped on clothing, anything, she didn't even look to see what, and she climbed out the bedroom window. injured arm be damned. She couldn't see anything through the tears that marred her vision, and the ache was impossible.
She put space between herself and the building, rooftops and blurring pain and tears. She didn't look back.