Re: Quicklog, Marvel: the Martin-Argüelleses
She expected the anger. It felt like his default response to anything she said, anything she asked. Even her silence seemed to set him off in ways that she didn't know how to tame. Her presence infuriated him, yet he acted as if her absence was what had caused everything. And his anger seemed so horribly justified, Elena didn't know where to begin, the ghost of that smile he had like wolf teeth ready to bite her head off if she said anything else.
"I'm not trying to ruin anything for her," and the emotion was carefully kept from her voice. Cris exploded, she imploded, it'd always been that way. Elena was still in the snow when Cris hefted the box without her offered help, making it very obvious in where he stood on the idea of Elena sticking around. Maybe he was right, Christmas spirit was gone for her, and she watched another bow flutter off of her sleeve and into the slush of the gutter. It felt strangely symbolic, and she watched it for a moment even after Cris maneuvered back into the house with the massive box that housed a playhouse he'd have to assemble for Teresa.
The bow wilted in the gutter and Elena took a single step forward, thoughtfully stepping on it. But the bow was plastic and it bounced back to a shape that was at least similar to its original formation. No, Elena didn't want to ruin this for Teresa. Cris seemed confident that that was all Elena was capable of anymore. It should have hurt, but there was a strange separation from the feeling of what should have been grief. Numb, thats what it was when she got behind the wheel of her car and started the engine. She blinked, mindless or just trying to be, her hands cold on the steering wheel before she shifted gears and took off.