Re: AHS: Sam A & Cris M
She almost told him his fingers were fine, yeah? But she watched him transfer that touch to the loosened tie instead, and she smiled as she considered fucking it up again. Her grin when he asked if she was trouble was lopsided, teasing, but she didn't say the words. No fucking point, yeah? Because he got it; she could tell. And she was thinking he would give her some shit story about how he wouldn't promise not to ask Russ anything, but he didn't, and she wasn't sure what to make about that. All her family and all her friends, they talked about her like she was something they all needed to fix. Her problems went from one Alexander to another, and they made some other fucking stops along the way, and she was almost surprised to hear him agree so easily. She had to bite back the yeah? that almost sprung to her lips, but she thought that would draw too much attention to it. No need to hurry shit along.
His hand settled on her knee, and she took it as unspoken invitation to move closer again, and her knee pressed against the front of his shirt, black fabric falling further down along milky white. She wasn't actually thinking about it or anything. Yeah, so she could be deliberate when she wanted to be, but this wasn't that. This was like some instinct shit, and she leaned closer to listen to him talk.
"No," she said of the syndrome thing he talked about. Her Arkham years and the knowledge that came with them, it was foggy. She didn't feel as old as she had after, and it was like the rewind had been more than just physical. It didn't make much sense, but then nothing in the fucking hotel did.
He explained. She listened. "Are you saying I'm like fucked up or something?" Which was exactly what he was saying. But she grinned a second later. "Baby, I was fucked up way before the hotel," she said, like it was just fact; because it was just fact.
But the question about fitting the same gave her pause, and she smoked the cigarette down until her fingers burned. She reached out during that time, and she fucked his tie up again, a quirk of red, red lips, and then she tapped the cigarette out in the tray. "I didn't fit when I came back. I didn't fit before I left. I was living in a tent in the fucking hotel basement." Which was lots of candor, but it was already past her lips, and she couldn't draw it back.