Re: Marta / Seven
[The touch to her cheek is so light, so gentle... too light, too gentle. It makes her tip her head to that side, forcing (for just a second) his fingers to make more contact, a sturdier press to her skin. It proves to her that the touch is real, that he's there and it's from him. She's been wanting it, just a little bit of it, for long enough that finally getting it catches her breath for a moment.
His laugh ruins it, breaks through enough to be followed by the shake of his head, the edge to his voice. The headshake makes her begin to pull her hands away, uncertainty in every line of her arms, weight back down on her heels and half a step back. The confusion starts to settle over her expression, especially when his next words don't match the tone. The words, the meaning is hard to catch when it's overlaid with sharp sounds meant for hurt and insult, but she hears them eventually. They settle in slowly, like melting snow on grass, even as she frowns to match his own. She tries to convince herself that it's the words that matter, but her throat is tight when she takes another half-step back. Still within reach, but no longer touching, no longer pressed along his front like she's clinging to him to keep from drowning.]
What do I suggest you do? [Her own voice mirrors his, sharp and hot.] I suggest you fucking tell me that, asshole! [She reaches out and shoves hard at him, palm flat against his chest. The anger is sudden, mixed with something that makes her voice shake.] I suggest you fucking realize that I want all that shit too, and I have since- [She stops just long enough to pull a breath, shallow like she's been sprinting and needs air.] I am living in your fucking house! I've called it home more times this past week than I've called anything else home since I was too young to realize I didn't have one! I slept in your bed because you being in fucking Gotham scared me shitless and I couldn't sleep at all otherwise! I want to be in your fucking bed even more when you're here than when you're gone! I don't want to think about fucking 'exit strategies' or what the fuck ever because I don't want to leave! And you've barely looked twice at me since that first night, so I've been confused as fuck about what you want. [She's almost (but not quite) shouting by the end, hands clenched into fists and every bit of her feeling like it's going to shake itself apart any second.] And I'm not hurt, asshole! Or whatever the fuck it is you're thinking!