[ 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.
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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.
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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.