Re: quicklog: cris & elena
[Torn to shreds. She wasn't being torn to shreds. She left, every time, before that could happen. It was that unquestioned, unaltering truth that made her words, after she padded for the door, just too fucking much. Cris laughed, looking at her, still up on his knees, and he dropped to his hands.
But, he didn't leave the bed. He shook his head, slow, like he was hearing something so incomprehensible he couldn't even summon the rage to respond. He put a hand under his chin as he reclined against the cold, dark wood of the headboard, stretched out there, cómodo, with hard-edged humor flinting in his smile.
For a long moment, he looked at his wife. His eyes were never cold. Cris didn't have it in him.—He unfolded from the bed and crossed the room, bare feet on the floor, grabbing up Elena's discarded clothes as he went. He reached around her, pushing her hand from the knob, and opened the door. He threw her things into the wall across the hall, blue scarf streaming gaily. The photos rattled in their frames.
Above her head, he put a palm to the door and held it back. He bent some at the waist to meet her gaze and he tipped his head toward the spill of light from the hall. His expression was dangerously lax.] Largate.