(no subject)
A/N: Prompt: Vulture. 311 words
An Old Vice
“Why did you stick with him that long?”
The twenty-three year old shrugged at her old friend. It was the tired old question that came up every time she explained herself to anyone who asked how her life was going. “I was young and stupid,” she finally said, stirring her fast cooling cup of coffee, taking care not to splash any liquid on the stack of biochemistry notes nearby. She frowned as the liquid escaped all the same; it had been some time since she’d had this brew, and even now it was still eluding her.
The other woman across the round table placed her hands flat on the marble tabletop. “You’re not stupid. You never were!”
The tired scholar smiled bitterly. How could she ever explain it? It had been bad enough that he’d come at the most (in)opportune time. She couldn’t have spelled ‘flight risk’ any better: nineteen, newcomer to the group, lost in her own head, newly apolitical and disillusioned, and most of all lonely. The memory of the resulting eighteen wasted months threatened to bring the coffee right back up her throat. “I loved him.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Well he knew I could never do anything to hurt him.” She laughed wryly at the thought of it: a young man seeing her, nearly dead or at least barely breathing, coming to pick on the fact that she would never raise her hand (though she might protest) against what he would do.
The inquirer slapped her friend’s arm. “You could be so silly sometimes.”
“True.”
“So what made you stop? How did it end?”
She sipped her coffee, relishing what warmth it could still bring to her. “Remembering. There were other things before him anyway,” She put down the cup smartly, liking the cling of the china that could essentially drown out any other voice in the cafe that night.
An Old Vice
“Why did you stick with him that long?”
The twenty-three year old shrugged at her old friend. It was the tired old question that came up every time she explained herself to anyone who asked how her life was going. “I was young and stupid,” she finally said, stirring her fast cooling cup of coffee, taking care not to splash any liquid on the stack of biochemistry notes nearby. She frowned as the liquid escaped all the same; it had been some time since she’d had this brew, and even now it was still eluding her.
The other woman across the round table placed her hands flat on the marble tabletop. “You’re not stupid. You never were!”
The tired scholar smiled bitterly. How could she ever explain it? It had been bad enough that he’d come at the most (in)opportune time. She couldn’t have spelled ‘flight risk’ any better: nineteen, newcomer to the group, lost in her own head, newly apolitical and disillusioned, and most of all lonely. The memory of the resulting eighteen wasted months threatened to bring the coffee right back up her throat. “I loved him.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Well he knew I could never do anything to hurt him.” She laughed wryly at the thought of it: a young man seeing her, nearly dead or at least barely breathing, coming to pick on the fact that she would never raise her hand (though she might protest) against what he would do.
The inquirer slapped her friend’s arm. “You could be so silly sometimes.”
“True.”
“So what made you stop? How did it end?”
She sipped her coffee, relishing what warmth it could still bring to her. “Remembering. There were other things before him anyway,” She put down the cup smartly, liking the cling of the china that could essentially drown out any other voice in the cafe that night.