Subject: A private moment. Who: Vivian Thorpe. Where: Viv's rooms at the Theatre. Warnings: None. Open to: Nell Abbot.
Vivian Thorpe rarely cried, but when she did, she cried. It bottled up and bottled up until the pressure was too much to take and she had to find somewhere private, so she could sob and sob and no one would hear or see her.
She didn't do crying. She didn't like it, it was a weakness, it showed despair and a desolate feeling. Like the world was ending. And that wasn't Viv's philosophy, she always looked on the bright side. Keep calm and carry on, that was Viv. Things are never as bad as they seen, and the like. But now was one of those rare, rare times when she couldn't bring the smile to her face and muddle on anymore. This was an impossible situation.
She loved Harry but slept with Slater. She was loyal to Harry but promised Slater she'd never tell his secrets. Failed, too. She knew this was going to end in tears, but she couldn't stop. Every time she promised herself she wouldn't go back to Slater, she found herself drawn in, like an addiction. She was addicted to these men, and it would be her downfall.
The real hysteria had passed now, but she was still sobbing into her pillow, curled up on her bed and huddled into her blanket. As far as she knew, all the boys were out and Harry was at the townhouse, so no one would hear her. She was alone in her despair.