OOM: Room 6620, #2

[the_gene_genie]

 
He opens the door and steps back, so she can walk in first. The smell of whiskey is pretty strong - there's a bottle lying on its side on the floor, with a wet patch spread around it. Apart from that, it looks pristine. Two double beds on one side, a TV and sofa and armchair on the other. A door leading to the bathroom at the back. Just like a large-ish hotel room. The only indication that he rents it is the huge poster over the bed, the one she got him.

He tosses his keys down on the small table, and puts his bottle down. The taste of it is driving him a bit mental, and his eyes ache to the point of pain. Doesn't matter. 

'Back in a sec.'

He needs to brush his teeth. And take just a second on his own to breathe.

Comments

[lady_bols]

'Oh but I do. We both have to sleep sometime. And it helps. Talking about it.'

She's never been able to tall about it with him before. Doing it now makes it real, and honours the memory and all the emotions attached to it.

[the_gene_genie]

'...OK.'

He's sceptical, but she's the expert with this stuff. He can't just lie here, though. The fundamental wrongness of this whole thing is made worse with her holding him like he's a child. He can't relax. So he moves away again, and takes a breath, and turns to face her. It's a bit tentative, the way he pulls her gently to his chest, but he reckons she'll say if she doesn't like it.

'You talk about it, then.'

[lady_bols]

There's a moment as he's pulling away when her heart clenches, but then he's turning. Face to face in the dark, she can do.

And then he stuns her by pulling her close again. She hopes he can't see her face crumple, the wash of emotion almost overwhelming. She manages to bite her tongue, hiding her face against his chest for a long moment while she gathers her thoughts again.

'Tonight, I'll talk,' she says, the effort it takes to keep her voice steady probably evident. 'But you need to talk about it, if not to me then someone.' He can't just push this down and let it fester for another three decades. He's already paid to high a price.

Gingerly, she turns in his arms, wrapping his arms around her. She feels terribly small in the darkness. Small and powerless in the face of her oh-so-precious truth.

[the_gene_genie]

His motives are not entirely unselfish. It makes him feel better to have her close, and it's easier when she can't see his face. But he hopes she's alright with it too.

He says nothing to her comment, because firstly, he doesn't want to lie and say he will, and secondly - if he can't talk to her, who's he supposed to talk to? Not a chance he's going to spill this to a random twat who doesn't understand any of it.

His hand strokes her hair a couple of times until she turns, then he just stares at nothing, and keeps her close.

'G'on, then.'

[lady_bols]

'Promise me.'

Her hands grip his arms, holding him close, his hands over the memory of her gut wound.

'Promise me you'll try.'

If you're going through hell, keep going.

[the_gene_genie]

He's quiet for a long moment. Then he gives her a tiny squeeze. Whether it means you know better or I'm sorry is difficult to say.


'Can't promise, luv.'

[lady_bols]

There is a long moment after his admission where she can't breathe. All she can do is cling to him in the darkness. After everything they've been through, after all the lies... Yes he forgot. Yes he never meant to keep her from going home, at least not consciously.

Did she expect, after he told her to go, that he'd changed somehow?

Yes, she supposes she did. Another wave of tears rises in her throat, disappointment and anger warring for supremacy.

'I can't do this again. I'm too tired to fight anymore. All I want to do is help. That's all I've ever wanted to do is help. Every time I turned around, in my living room, in Luigi's, in CID, in the archives...'

She can't shake the image of his face torn apart by that shotgun blast. And in his one good eye, such sorrow.

'And the whole time I was lying in a hospital bed. Or was that even real? How do I know that Molly even knows what happened to me? How do I know I'm not still lying in the hull of that barge?'

Her words grow increasingly unintelligible as the pitch of her voice rises. Here in the dark, with his arms wrapped around, a part of her reverts to that scared little girl flailing for answers, when there aren't any. Sometimes the people you love are monsters and no amount of psychology or reason can change that.

[the_gene_genie]

This would be confusing, if he had energy to be confused. Not that the 'let's get on with our sham of life' facade has broken down - he was surprised she'd managed that for as long as she has already. He didn't think she'd even attempt it. But her actual words - he doesn't quite get what she's saying.

'M'not asking you to fight. I don't want to fight.'

Do what again?

He closes his eyes, and tries to count. She's clinging to him, but she's angry. Or tired, or frustrated, or all three.

'An', I don't know.'

He doesn't have all he answers. He doesn't want all the answers.

[lady_bols]

She's sobbing now, all pretense of rationality gone.

"All I wanted to do is help. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant..."

[the_gene_genie]

'I know. I know, I know...'

He doesn't know what to say. All he can do is tighten his hold on her, and dare to press a kiss to the back of her head, keeping her close.

He's pretty sure that at the time, she wasn't all that bothered if she hurt him or not. But that was then, and it has no relevance now.

[lady_bols]

It's one thing to not be afraid to bruise a man's fragile ego. It's another thing entirely to literally blow his psyche open and bring the whole world crashing down around them both.

'I can't do this without you. I can't... I don't want to do this without you, Gene. Please don't make me do this without you.'

[the_gene_genie]

His thumb rubs a small circle on her stomach while he tries to decipher what exactly she's asking of him.

'I'm here, luv.'

But he can't stay forever, and she has to know that already. He won't lie to her, even to stop her crying.

'I'll stay as long as I can.'

It would easier for him to go home, but he can't - won't - leave her like this.

[lady_bols]

She can't speak anymore. The words are all gone, spent, useless.

But she can respond, turning again in his arms, hiding from it all but burying her face in his chest, her whole body wracked with bone deep sobs. Three years of fury and anguish all spill out, the wound too deep to simply ignore any longer.

She'll cry herself to sleep like this, if he can't deal with anything more complex than just holding her.

[the_gene_genie]

He lets her turn, and wraps around her again, holding her head to him gently.

No, he can't do anything more complex. He has no magic wand to wave, and make it all better. He can only do as she asks, and stay, and hope it doesn't make it worse.

He doesn't bother trying to sleep again. No point.

[lady_bols]

She doesn't so much sleep as collapse from exhaustion, a broken doll with all her strings cut. Even when her breathing grows steady, her grip on him doesn't relax.

Time slips.