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Dumat: The Dragon of Silence (nearestvessel) wrote in valarlogs,

"If I did either of those things, the odds of you answering are rapidly approaching zero," Samandriel said, glancing at Netflix. He slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall, giving her as much space as she could have in the room while still remaining in her eyeline.

He got that she was pissed. Hell, he was pretty sure that Damon had been exactly vague enough to dig them both into the deepest hole possible. He wasn't going to start this off by apologizing for fucking Damon. He wasn't sorry for what he'd done. Lying might've been the easy way out, but it didn't interest him. She was upset. He respected that. He was upset. The feeling had better be mutual.

"I'm sorry you're hurt," he said finally, "and I'm sorry to have been the cause of that. I'm not sorry for what happened. I'm sorry that we... that we live in a society that preaches monogamy as the end all be all, that one person should be everything to someone else for a lifetime when that's never the case, because I'm sure you're blaming yourself just as much as you're blaming both he and I." Samandriel wasn't an idiot. He could handle himself just as surely as she could and neither of them needed their brothers to have this fight for them.

"Now do you want to talk, or should I go get one of Dean's handguns so you can shoot a few rounds into me and see if that makes you feel better first?" It wasn't going to do anything to him, and there was actually some comfort and power in handling a firearm that was strangely therapeutic.