Re: quicklog: cris & elena
[Elena was ripe with a hiss at the ready, but words fell away when Cris began to throw her things out of the bedroom. In anger, she stilled and did not shake, but there was nothing warm in her. She was cold and without smiles, without laughing incredulation or loba teeth to bare like the threat of something sharp on a throat. He get angry at her for leaving when staying was clearly not what he wanted of her either. Elena didn't know what to do for him, she didn't know what to do for herself. It felt pathetic and disheartening, and it too was a sliver of a reason that she went to therapy. He wanted her to talk to him, but sometimes he was the problem. But something was clear to her now. Cris didn't want her here, but he didn't want her gone, and she was done living in his mediums. She couldn't do what he wanted if she had no idea what it was he wanted anymore. She was through compromising, she was through with being treated like this.]
No puedo mantener con usted. [Voice low to combat the open bedroom door with the hall that stretched long to the more peaceful place where a child still slept. Elena stared at Cris when he leaned, his eyes caught the light of the hallway.] Te quieres que me quede, y quieres que me vaya.
[His stare said that he didn't care if she vanished into thin air. She was done trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong. It clearly had. The hurt and anger in the room was thick enough to taste. She looked at him with brows knit and a smile that wasn't happy, it was la incredulidad. He always did this, he backed her into corners that she didn't want to go.] You don't even want me to see my own daughter in the morning?
[Backed into a corner, pushed there by his words but never his hands. Bueno, fine. Elena didn't want Cris to have any disillusions about where she stood on the subject of this marriage. She moved past him, slapping the bedroom door with the flat of her hand when she stepped into the hall. The only item that she bent to collect were the jeans. The sweater and the scarf and the shoes were left behind for the moment as she stalked down the hall, the stairs, through the living room as she pulled on the jeans one quick leg at a time, and then she was out the front door with a bang! Out to where her vehicle sat on the curb, out where the city burned her bare arms and bare feet like the snow that promised to fall any minute. Her car beeped, headlights lit up in response, and she pulled open the passenger side door, the glove compartment. Then slam and bam and she marched back up to the structure that was no longer a home.
Half frozen, she was shaking now. Her face and hands were red, she could barely feel her toes from the stalking across iced cement, but fury carried her. Warmed her when she returned and traced back her steps. A little breathless, but she sought him out wherever she could find him, in the living room, or the hall, or back in the bed they'd once shared. She found him, and she hurled the folded up envelope of court issued documents at him, pen tucked inside.]
¡Firme aqui! [Right there, where the place for his signature was highlighted yellow. The slot for hers was still empty.]