Allison Cameron (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
as_damaged) wrote2008-02-04 04:38 pm
as_damaged) wrote2008-02-04 04:38 pm
Entry tags:
☎ voicemail
| ☎ voicemail ☎ text message ☞ action |
[ooc: you know the drill, if you need her and there's no recent post &c &c. whatever. ♥♥♥]
[ooc: you know the drill, if you need her and there's no recent post &c &c. whatever. ♥♥♥]
who are we to tell ourselves that we're misunderstood
"That's what worries me."
who are we to tell ourselves that we're misunderstood
"What do you expect me to say?"
Other words are on the tip of her tongue, better left unspoken but rising to close her throat nonetheless. You left. You walked away. It's the truth she's been trying to bury for months. It explains everything; which is why she won't, can't say it. He ought to know. He must know already, or else he's a greater fool than she takes him for.
The ring weighs down her pocket, a smooth and silent reminder that she's not being truthful. But what should she say? Beginnings are followed, inevitably, by their endings. She knows that all too well.
who are we to tell ourselves that we're misunderstood
Suddenly his voice is just that bit too loud for the setting and he tries to cover with a growl and a cough against the back of his hand as people look around.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me for treason. It's been six months I've been trying to get back to a place where you're willing to call me a friend and it's so-- I didn't ask for this curse. I don't know why the damn place keeps throwing us together for anything like this, but I think overlooking the fact it does might be naive."
His shoulders lift with deeper breaths than the short, controlled exhalations he allows to escape. There's a lot being controlled here, under the surface, and unlike Cameron he's never been good at hiding that. It's why avoidance is so often his best policy. Facing something headlong brings too much to the surface, looking for an escape valve, and words he has to be careful of aren't it.
"If it had been someone else you married I'd probably have wanted to break his nose. It wasn't, and you look like you want to break mine. Would that help? You can do it, if it helps."
who are we to tell ourselves that we're misunderstood
"Expecting things to be the same as they were before is naive," she counters, with a little twitch of a frown. It's not the curse-induced flings, it's what they're mocking that upsets her. The sense that for once she's seeing what ought to be and isn't; exactly what he's suggesting, except it's not the possibility that upsets her, but its negation. She can't comprehend how he doesn't see that; but certainly that's how it seems.
who are we to tell ourselves that we're misunderstood
There are too many 'befores' to choose from, really. Their friendship - relationship - has taken enough uptilts and downturns to please a hardened rollercoaster enthusiast. Somehow he misses the bickering and betrayal when he looks back over it (or feels oddly fond in recollection - he misses it).
"Or is this it? We're stuck barely speaking until a curse forces us to make-out?"
who are we to tell ourselves that we're misunderstood
"There are limits to how close we can be," she says quietly, after a moment. "To how far I can trust you."
It's surprisingly candid, for her, only because she doubts he'll follow it to the right conclusion.
who are we to tell ourselves that we're misunderstood
It's almost a joke, on his part, the impossibility of that, the certainty of his bridges being burned. So he forces something close enough to a smile to go with it for just long enough to finally pay attention to his coffee. It's cooled to the point of unpleasant already, and he finds himself wishing he'd drunk it still hot enough to burn.
"Come on, you never liked me that much to begin with."
who are we to tell ourselves that we're misunderstood
"It doesn't matter how much I like you, or don't like you."
Maybe that's too cryptic. She sips at her drink to avoid saying anything more.