Just telling it like it is. [Look, he's not even trying to be dodgy. Getting held hostage by a bunch of dumbasses doesn't even make it onto any list in his brain, mostly because he's gonna forget this even happened in a week. Maybe even less.
He can tell she's not having any of it. Which. You know, he gets. She must be feeling like hell. He knows that like a third foot (if he had one). He knows what a breakup does to your -- everything. Your brain, your body. Your blood. When it really meant something? It burns something up inside you, something that wasn't meant to be turned into nothing but ash.
Thus: ♪ can beauty come out of ashes? ♪]
Harder? Oooh, girl, you're wanting to make mistakes tonight. Well, very lucky for you I happen to be an expert in making mistakes. [Like, the Gordon Ramsay of responding to depression.] I'm bringing over everything I have.
[Yeah, that includes glaze. Look, it's not for him to decide what she does and doesn't do, he's no babysitter. And he's not about to give her some fresh back-of-the-van meth. But a girl can get high and forget her problems for a few hours, and Wade won't let anything happen to her.] No flavoured shit. I'll drink the margarita mix myself if I gotta.
[There's the sound of guttural murder on his end, but this time, he's polite enough to cover his phone with a hand while he does it. He only needs one hand to use a knife, to be fair, and it wasn't hard to get the knife off the guy who stabbed it into his thigh.
He brings it back to his ear when they're dead. Less than ten minutes, even, and -- okay, he'll need a pitstop to wash the blood off, but he's gotta stop by the motel.] What is it, Karebear? I'm here.
[ she is certainly feeling like hell. so much that even when she tries to joke back with him, when she tries to shake the feeling that she's about to drown, she can tell it doesn't work. can tell that wade can hear it in her voice. were she more together, were she less pathetic, she might be able to fake it better.
she can't.
lucky for you i happen to be an expert in making mistakes. it's a bad idea. karen knows it, a voice in the back of her head that reminds her, an echo over and over and over. you're stronger than this. you're better than this. but as the words leave karen's mouth and wade mentions mistakes, the snort that follows is sharp. self-depracating. tired. ] That makes two of us. Experts in mistakes.
[ karen doesn't want to admit it, she doesn't, but there is a part of her that hopes for more than glaze. a part of her that feels young, in her boyfriends trailer out in the woods, scamming rich college kids out of their parents money. subconsciously, wipes at her nose, surprised she doesn't see blood there.
god - how much worse can this get? but at the same time, she does know enough to have him come over. to have someone here. maybe it won't even come to that (it will) - maybe all she needs is for him to come over so she's not alone in this room any longer. maybe they'll get drunk and she'll cry and he'll distract her with god knows what and she'll fall asleep to bad tv and wake up and it'll be better. it'll hurt less.
somewhere on the other end of the line there is more of those noises. something muffled but obviously off. she decides to just let it happen, to let the time pass as she disassociates, as time presses down on her more and more each second. she feels like trash, she feels like worse than that, she feels pulled apart and shoved back together and all she can think about is why didn't she keep her mouth shut.
it's less than ten minutes. she almost forgets what she wants to say. but then he's there, i'm here, and karen's crying again. ]
Thank you. [ for what? for everything? karen doesn't even want to think about where she would be if she didn't have him to call. doesn't even want to consider what she'd be thinking. she exhales, and it is easier. even if it means that the tears are also easier. ] Just- thanks. For answering. For coming over. I'm really glad I have you.
[And were he more -- well, whatever it is that makes people good and helpful and emotionally available, maybe he'd know what to say to brighten her up, make the hurt a little less.
Except he knows the hurt doesn't lessen instantly. It won't ever fully go away, either.
So what do you do? You bury that motherfucker.
His hands clench around the phone -- no longer having to hold it up with his just his face now that all his would-be kidnappers are, uh, "sleeping," at the sound of her crying. Fuck. Is there any guy who's strong against that sound? Karen's his best friend he's made here. It feels like a knife's twisting in his chest.
Thank you. Wade rubs his face.] You don't gotta thank me for anything. [Seriously.] You gonna be good while I go pick everything up? I don't mind staying on with you. Gotta make movie night plans, right? Look, I got some stuff that'll feel crazy on enough glaze. You ever been on Space Mountain with mushrooms? It's like that, but way worse.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He can tell she's not having any of it. Which. You know, he gets. She must be feeling like hell. He knows that like a third foot (if he had one). He knows what a breakup does to your -- everything. Your brain, your body. Your blood. When it really meant something? It burns something up inside you, something that wasn't meant to be turned into nothing but ash.
Thus: ♪ can beauty come out of ashes? ♪]
Harder? Oooh, girl, you're wanting to make mistakes tonight. Well, very lucky for you I happen to be an expert in making mistakes. [Like, the Gordon Ramsay of responding to depression.] I'm bringing over everything I have.
[Yeah, that includes glaze. Look, it's not for him to decide what she does and doesn't do, he's no babysitter. And he's not about to give her some fresh back-of-the-van meth. But a girl can get high and forget her problems for a few hours, and Wade won't let anything happen to her.] No flavoured shit. I'll drink the margarita mix myself if I gotta.
[There's the sound of guttural murder on his end, but this time, he's polite enough to cover his phone with a hand while he does it. He only needs one hand to use a knife, to be fair, and it wasn't hard to get the knife off the guy who stabbed it into his thigh.
He brings it back to his ear when they're dead. Less than ten minutes, even, and -- okay, he'll need a pitstop to wash the blood off, but he's gotta stop by the motel.] What is it, Karebear? I'm here.
no subject
she can't.
lucky for you i happen to be an expert in making mistakes. it's a bad idea. karen knows it, a voice in the back of her head that reminds her, an echo over and over and over. you're stronger than this. you're better than this. but as the words leave karen's mouth and wade mentions mistakes, the snort that follows is sharp. self-depracating. tired. ] That makes two of us. Experts in mistakes.
[ karen doesn't want to admit it, she doesn't, but there is a part of her that hopes for more than glaze. a part of her that feels young, in her boyfriends trailer out in the woods, scamming rich college kids out of their parents money. subconsciously, wipes at her nose, surprised she doesn't see blood there.
god - how much worse can this get? but at the same time, she does know enough to have him come over. to have someone here. maybe it won't even come to that (it will) - maybe all she needs is for him to come over so she's not alone in this room any longer. maybe they'll get drunk and she'll cry and he'll distract her with god knows what and she'll fall asleep to bad tv and wake up and it'll be better. it'll hurt less.
somewhere on the other end of the line there is more of those noises. something muffled but obviously off. she decides to just let it happen, to let the time pass as she disassociates, as time presses down on her more and more each second. she feels like trash, she feels like worse than that, she feels pulled apart and shoved back together and all she can think about is why didn't she keep her mouth shut.
it's less than ten minutes. she almost forgets what she wants to say. but then he's there, i'm here, and karen's crying again. ]
Thank you. [ for what? for everything? karen doesn't even want to think about where she would be if she didn't have him to call. doesn't even want to consider what she'd be thinking. she exhales, and it is easier. even if it means that the tears are also easier. ] Just- thanks. For answering. For coming over. I'm really glad I have you.
no subject
Except he knows the hurt doesn't lessen instantly. It won't ever fully go away, either.
So what do you do? You bury that motherfucker.
His hands clench around the phone -- no longer having to hold it up with his just his face now that all his would-be kidnappers are, uh, "sleeping," at the sound of her crying. Fuck. Is there any guy who's strong against that sound? Karen's his best friend he's made here. It feels like a knife's twisting in his chest.
Thank you. Wade rubs his face.] You don't gotta thank me for anything. [Seriously.] You gonna be good while I go pick everything up? I don't mind staying on with you. Gotta make movie night plans, right? Look, I got some stuff that'll feel crazy on enough glaze. You ever been on Space Mountain with mushrooms? It's like that, but way worse.