Re: Gotham: Sam & Russ
Messy was good. Messy was alive, and she didn't like anesthetized shit. She didn't know how to do shit from afar, and she wore her heart on her sleeve and tried to keep it safe by layering so much language on it that people couldn't see through the words.
She'd asked, yeah? She'd asked, and he'd answered, and she didn't see what the fuck else there was to say. She knew he cared about her. She cared about him. She didn't think any of that shit had changed just because she'd made things uncomfortable. She wasn't expecting him to add anything. But he did, and she had no idea what the fuck he meant.
"Baby, it's simple, yeah? When I wasn't me, you wanted me. Now I am me, and you don't. What the fuck's complicated about that?" Nothing. Ok, sure, there was nuanced shit, but he wasn't exactly jumping for joy or anything, was he? He'd had time to let it sink in. That party was a month earlier, and they'd seen each other since. She didn't know what the fuck wasn't simple. "If you were interested? You had two fucking years, yeah? I'm saying it's not a big fucking thing, and that it'll be fine once you just let it rest. I'm sorry I'm not what you wanted me to be. I knew that shit months ago, but I liked talking. Fucked up of me, whatever. I get that, and it's on me." But, at the end of the day, she'd spent years with someone she had to get worked up each and every single time they fucked, and she just wasn't up for feeling inadequate right then.
She shifted from one foot to the next, and she stayed a few second longer, hands buried deep into the pocket of her overalls and those old mittens slipped back onto her fingers.
Then she turned, and she left without looking back. She just wanted to get back to her own door and nurse her wounds with a needle, yeah?