Re: log; marina & russ
The shop was quiet as a mausoleum. Different from any time she'd been by the shop in Vegas where the radio pulsed in static Spanish and whistles bounced off fenders like pinballs when she walked in. She supposed that it'd been quiet before, when she dropped Nathan off, but the rush of escape kept her from taking it all in and committing it to memory. Now, she absorbed. There were differences made in the last few hours, and she didn't know what they were or why they made her throat tight as she walked through. The night was catching up with her fast, so fast she couldn't tell why the quiet of the shop terrified her, other than it reflect the quiet drive back from death and shadows.
She shook it off by the time she noticed the light pouring from the open doorway of the office, but what she saw when she stepped through made her stand still. She would have looked terrified if anyone had been awake to see her, eyes gashed wide with hurt and apprehension, hand clutched in the front of her shirt with whiteknuckled hope. It was like catching a glimpse of what her son's life could have been like for a long while now, if he'd had a father around. Even though Russ wanted to be around now, Marina had five long years of hurt to pave his entry with, and she wasn't going to make it easy. She recognized that it was vindictive and hateful to be so cruel to him, but she didn't know any other way. She was terrified of any other way. Because if she did her best and was pliant and accepting.. and he still left..
She didn't want to think about it. So Marina reached out and swept a stapler off the desk. It was heavy and metal, a solid sound hitting the floor to disturb the peace.