[She sets the bottle back down, bracing one hand on the desk, the other covering her mouth. She really just wants to sit down, or fall down or do anything other than this.
Hundred percent, I don't need to be drunk to be a slut.
[There's that anger again, but it's all so obviously directed at herself, because she hates that word and if it'd been anyone but herself using it, she'd hit them. But it feels like the only one that really fits, when she's here in Saul's bedroom instead of at the apartment with Ellie, when she couldn't help herself from kissing Vanadi again even though she knew she shouldn't.
The way her hand drags through her hair looks a little painful, but at least she looks at Saul, offering a smile full of that same self-mockery.]
[And there they are, back at square one. He frowns, studying her face. Self-loathing doesn't look good on her. It looks about as good as the guilt churning in his gut feels, so — not at all.
What's he supposed to say to that? You're not a slut, it's okay, you didn't even do anything?]
[For a moment she doesn't say anything more, just watches him in silence, until finally she just clenches her jaw and looks away. She wants to hit something do badly, but she doesnt think Saul would approve of her putting a hole in his wall with her fist.]
I should go before I fuck things up even more.
[She hates the part of herself that wants him to ask her to stay.]
[No, but he would feel better if she hit something else. Like him.
He doesn't even realize that he's reaching out for her; he's too focused on her face to see anything else. When he speaks, his voice is soft. A little shaky, too.]
[She should pull away, she should jump out the window or even just walk past him and leave by the front door. It doesn't even matter if anyone saw her; she's entirely past caring.]
Ellie would-- [The rest of the words catch in her throat, and just makes a soft, sad sound instead of trying again.
[She should go. She should really, really leave, and Saul is completely out of ideas as to how to get her out of here without actually telling her to hit the road. He can't find the words for that.
It's then that he decides this would be much, much easier for both of them if she hated him, instead.
[There's a moment where she forgets herself, and for a second she's responding, kissing him, before her thoughts actually catch up with what's happening.
It's not easy, to step back, and it's even less easy to snatch her hand away from his, holding her hands to her chest instead, defensive and protective all at once, her fingers curled around her own wrist. After spending most of this conversation not being able to look at him, she's meeting his gaze now, and there's nothing in her expression but hurt.]
Why?
[It's an accusation, because he knows, he knows that she can't do this and she can't imagine any reason why he'd keep pushing except for that he hates her, maybe.]
[Well that... backfired. Sort of. He stares at her for a moment, expression blank, then runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head.
What he wants to do is tell her the truth, but his heart is lodged so high up in his throat that he isn't sure he can even speak. And how ridiculous would it sound, coming from him? "Because I think I'm in love with you"? Please.
He looks like he's about to panic.]
You should go. Wait. No; I'll —
[He swallows, backing up.]
You go when you feel like it. I'm gonna go... out.
[For a walk. A really long walk. A few more seconds pass before he's able to break his gaze away from her and slip out the bedroom door. But before he's gone completely:]
[She has no frame of reference for this, absolutely no idea what to do or think, so she just stands there, fingers digging into her wrist so hard she leaves red crescents on her skin, while she tries to figure out what's even going on.
This is ridiculous; a few weeks ago she was just teasing him, playing around, and now she feels like someone's cut the legs from under her and tipped the world upside down.
It takes her a while to register what he's saying, and then her expression crumples even more, something like guilt written across her face, but she knows she can't tell him to stay. She has to let him leave because otherwise he won't and then she won't and everything will just keep getting worse.]
It's okay.
[He doesn't have to be sorry, even if she still doesn't understand why he kissed her when he knows she can't, when he said he didn't want anything from her.
Moving is an effort, and it takes her a few minutes to actually manage it, but then she's just climbing out the window, letting the cold air burn her lungs before she drops. It's only five stories, so she doesn't bother with a grapple, just slows her descent by bouncing off windowsills, until her boots hit the ground. Leaning back against the wall and sliding down until she's curled in on herself is kind of pathetic, but there's not really much else she can do, right now.]
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controlledvariable) wrote2014-02-02 07:59 pm
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Instead, she laughs.]
I'm not even close to being drunk.
[Maybe it'd be easier if she was.]
GO BACK TO SLEEP
If she's not drunk, what's with the need for support?]
You sure about that?
I am trying ;A;
[There's that anger again, but it's all so obviously directed at herself, because she hates that word and if it'd been anyone but herself using it, she'd hit them. But it feels like the only one that really fits, when she's here in Saul's bedroom instead of at the apartment with Ellie, when she couldn't help herself from kissing Vanadi again even though she knew she shouldn't.
The way her hand drags through her hair looks a little painful, but at least she looks at Saul, offering a smile full of that same self-mockery.]
no subject
What's he supposed to say to that? You're not a slut, it's okay, you didn't even do anything?]
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I should go before I fuck things up even more.
[She hates the part of herself that wants him to ask her to stay.]
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He doesn't even realize that he's reaching out for her; he's too focused on her face to see anything else. When he speaks, his voice is soft. A little shaky, too.]
You didn't fuck anything up.
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[She should pull away, she should jump out the window or even just walk past him and leave by the front door. It doesn't even matter if anyone saw her; she's entirely past caring.]
Ellie would-- [The rest of the words catch in her throat, and just makes a soft, sad sound instead of trying again.
Ellie would hate her, if she found out.]
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This probably isn't helping, but it's this or nothing. He can't do nothing. He also can't... distract her, again. Even if he still wants to.]
So don't tell her, Steph. Nothing happened.
[How can he even say that with a straight face.]
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[Just - incredulous, accompanied by a bitter huff of laughter.
Nevermind that she's still here and gripping his hand and trying not to hate herself more than she already does, right now.]
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It's then that he decides this would be much, much easier for both of them if she hated him, instead.
So he kisses her.]
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It's not easy, to step back, and it's even less easy to snatch her hand away from his, holding her hands to her chest instead, defensive and protective all at once, her fingers curled around her own wrist. After spending most of this conversation not being able to look at him, she's meeting his gaze now, and there's nothing in her expression but hurt.]
Why?
[It's an accusation, because he knows, he knows that she can't do this and she can't imagine any reason why he'd keep pushing except for that he hates her, maybe.]
What did I do to you?
[Why is he doing this?]
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What he wants to do is tell her the truth, but his heart is lodged so high up in his throat that he isn't sure he can even speak. And how ridiculous would it sound, coming from him? "Because I think I'm in love with you"? Please.
He looks like he's about to panic.]
You should go. Wait. No; I'll —
[He swallows, backing up.]
You go when you feel like it. I'm gonna go... out.
[For a walk. A really long walk. A few more seconds pass before he's able to break his gaze away from her and slip out the bedroom door. But before he's gone completely:]
I'm really sorry, Steph.
no subject
This is ridiculous; a few weeks ago she was just teasing him, playing around, and now she feels like someone's cut the legs from under her and tipped the world upside down.
It takes her a while to register what he's saying, and then her expression crumples even more, something like guilt written across her face, but she knows she can't tell him to stay. She has to let him leave because otherwise he won't and then she won't and everything will just keep getting worse.]
It's okay.
[He doesn't have to be sorry, even if she still doesn't understand why he kissed her when he knows she can't, when he said he didn't want anything from her.
Moving is an effort, and it takes her a few minutes to actually manage it, but then she's just climbing out the window, letting the cold air burn her lungs before she drops. It's only five stories, so she doesn't bother with a grapple, just slows her descent by bouncing off windowsills, until her boots hit the ground. Leaning back against the wall and sliding down until she's curled in on herself is kind of pathetic, but there's not really much else she can do, right now.]