Re: log; marina & russ
"Fuck you too," he reached out with blunted fingertips and pulled the cigarette away from her, cold and hard anger fluting out beneath his skin until he didn't know what he wanted expect that he wanted Marina denied of anything that might be fucking comfortable. "If you let me see the fucking kid he'd know who I fucking was."
A pause, the cigarette end glowing softly like an exhausted star in so much night-dark. Russ spread his free hand with intent over the roof of the car, nudging his hip against the door until the stubborn bulk of him would need to be moved for the climbing-in-and-leaving process to go ahead.
"He was scared," he repeated because he'd seen the words catch like torn up tissue paper burning with a sharp, brief flare, and maybe after a couple hours of trying to comfort a kid who wanted him even less than Russ had wanted him in the first place, he wanted her hurt, he wanted her scared. Vindictive satisfaction rolled between the words, snapped at their heels like a junkyard dog. "You want to leave the kid, you leave the kid. But you show the fuck up when you say you're coming back to get him and you don't dump him off like he's a fucking lost package unless you want him to think he is one. Jesus, it ain't fucking science."