10-24-2019, 02:37 PM
“I have bad taste. Running joke of my life, actually.” A cutting smirk flashed then died. She wasn’t talking about regret though.
He shrugged away her driving. It hadn’t been an offer, more a selfish desire. Disappointment didn’t brush the mask of her expression, though for a moment she felt the claw of old anxieties. It served her right for allowing herself to fall asleep in the first place, and it wasn’t like those little flashes of vulnerability ever widened into gaping holes. Not ones she couldn't control, at least. Still, she would have appreciated the distraction. After a breath of silence, in which she glanced somewhat pointedly at the barren landscape swallowing the truck in the middle of nowhere, she did get back in.
She hadn’t yet questioned their direction and didn’t start now, however vague the assurance. Maybe it was trust or maybe it was exhaustion, or something even more intrinsic to her nature; a spirit that did not think too grandly before stepping into the dark, whatever pretences she erected for calculation.
Natalie watched the town rise around them, and made no comment on where he chose to stop. She caught the key and stuffed it in her pocket without studying it. “I’m sure my mother appreciates your concern for my virtue. You must be the only two.” She didn’t refrain from rolling her eyes, and she didn’t smile, though the words had a flavour of her usual humour.
Once inside she sat on one of the beds, wondering if she had the energy to shower. The dirt bothered her more than the traces of blood, but she had no spare clothes for after. Jay’s breaths already deepened where he lay, and likely the slap of water would not disturb him, but when she rose it was only to flick the lights off. He seemed properly asleep so probably wouldn’t notice if she slipped out. She hated the itch of four walls, especially when they were full of heavy shadows, squeezing all the thoughts in her skull until oblivion seemed the only absolution. There was likely a minifridge but she didn’t seek it out. Wandering about at night was a poor idea. It hadn’t done her any favours in the past.
She pulled the wallet from her pocket but left it on the bed. The window faced nothing interesting, but she leaned against it, watching the skipping shadows without. Her father had never returned the call, and she’d stopped waiting for it now. The messages from her mother she would not read, nor the ones detailing the itinerary for tomorrow’s scheduled flight. She stared at nothing whilst she worked out how long she had before her absence was truly noted in Moscow. Then wondered how much grace Brandon would allow before deciding she had broken with the compact of returning Jay to Custody lands, and what consequences her actions now might assure for her family.
Too late to worry about any of it.
Instead she thought about sitting on that tube, so long ago; about that stone underpass and the hard edge of knives, and her own stupidity caught in the centre of it. But it didn’t seem to temper the desire for freedom. The underground club in Moscow should have offered a more recent memory of reasons to be sensible, but when her fingers traced the healed scars inside her wrists it was to remember the pulse of power that had freed her from the restraint’s grip not the recklessness that landed her there. Just five minutes. Then she would force herself to rest. She had every intention of being up to take the first pass at hot water.
He shrugged away her driving. It hadn’t been an offer, more a selfish desire. Disappointment didn’t brush the mask of her expression, though for a moment she felt the claw of old anxieties. It served her right for allowing herself to fall asleep in the first place, and it wasn’t like those little flashes of vulnerability ever widened into gaping holes. Not ones she couldn't control, at least. Still, she would have appreciated the distraction. After a breath of silence, in which she glanced somewhat pointedly at the barren landscape swallowing the truck in the middle of nowhere, she did get back in.
She hadn’t yet questioned their direction and didn’t start now, however vague the assurance. Maybe it was trust or maybe it was exhaustion, or something even more intrinsic to her nature; a spirit that did not think too grandly before stepping into the dark, whatever pretences she erected for calculation.
Natalie watched the town rise around them, and made no comment on where he chose to stop. She caught the key and stuffed it in her pocket without studying it. “I’m sure my mother appreciates your concern for my virtue. You must be the only two.” She didn’t refrain from rolling her eyes, and she didn’t smile, though the words had a flavour of her usual humour.
Once inside she sat on one of the beds, wondering if she had the energy to shower. The dirt bothered her more than the traces of blood, but she had no spare clothes for after. Jay’s breaths already deepened where he lay, and likely the slap of water would not disturb him, but when she rose it was only to flick the lights off. He seemed properly asleep so probably wouldn’t notice if she slipped out. She hated the itch of four walls, especially when they were full of heavy shadows, squeezing all the thoughts in her skull until oblivion seemed the only absolution. There was likely a minifridge but she didn’t seek it out. Wandering about at night was a poor idea. It hadn’t done her any favours in the past.
She pulled the wallet from her pocket but left it on the bed. The window faced nothing interesting, but she leaned against it, watching the skipping shadows without. Her father had never returned the call, and she’d stopped waiting for it now. The messages from her mother she would not read, nor the ones detailing the itinerary for tomorrow’s scheduled flight. She stared at nothing whilst she worked out how long she had before her absence was truly noted in Moscow. Then wondered how much grace Brandon would allow before deciding she had broken with the compact of returning Jay to Custody lands, and what consequences her actions now might assure for her family.
Too late to worry about any of it.
Instead she thought about sitting on that tube, so long ago; about that stone underpass and the hard edge of knives, and her own stupidity caught in the centre of it. But it didn’t seem to temper the desire for freedom. The underground club in Moscow should have offered a more recent memory of reasons to be sensible, but when her fingers traced the healed scars inside her wrists it was to remember the pulse of power that had freed her from the restraint’s grip not the recklessness that landed her there. Just five minutes. Then she would force herself to rest. She had every intention of being up to take the first pass at hot water.