Aaron isn't sure if she's going to come back or-- or if he's supposed to find her again or what.
He hasn't split since before (I fucked up) yesterday; he doesn't now. It would seem... fake, somehow. And the last thing he needs is (sorry Roy) to have all the most dangerous parts of him tied up in a nice neat package and walking around independently.
At the moment, he's pacing back and forth in his room, with ridiculous slept-in clothes and ridiculous slept-on hair.
In a minute maybe he'll clean up a bit and go looking for Adiva.
Aaron argues with himself rather more literally than most people.
By the time they reach their destination, he's found a consensus regarding whether to sit across from or beside her, and the consensus is: sit down first.
Since the only thing he can think of to order is not waffles, he gives up and gets a damn waffle.
The fact that he recognizes this thought pattern of obsessive avoidance is a little disturbing; the fact that he recognizes it from all the times he's killed people is considerably more so.
"Yeah. Well. I don't think I said enough of that myself last night, for -- precipitating that. So. I'm sorry. I shouldn't've -- I shouldn't've let things get that far, and I should've thought about how dangerous it could be for both of us."
He takes a minute to reply, because it's important that he not stutter, that he be as straight with her as possible.
"Don't think I ever asked you to," he says softly. "And maybe you shouldn't. I can't just. I can't just keep pulling shit like that and walking away from it after like nothin's wrong. It ain't right. And I mean, I didn't this time, and I'm trying--" he forces most of the agitation out of his voice-- "I'm trying to get better, but it ain't gonna help nothin' if we all pretend like I'm not what I am. Whatever that is."
It's the morning.
Aaron isn't sure if she's going to come back or-- or if he's supposed to find her again or what.
He hasn't split since before (I fucked up) yesterday; he doesn't now. It would seem... fake, somehow. And the last thing he needs is (sorry Roy) to have all the most dangerous parts of him tied up in a nice neat package and walking around independently.
At the moment, he's pacing back and forth in his room, with ridiculous slept-in clothes and ridiculous slept-on hair.
In a minute maybe he'll clean up a bit and go looking for Adiva.
In a minute.
Reply
By the time they reach their destination, he's found a consensus regarding whether to sit across from or beside her, and the consensus is: sit down first.
Reply
She slides onto the bench across from him, tucks her feet up under her, and orders coffee when a waitrat scurries over.
Reply
The fact that he recognizes this thought pattern of obsessive avoidance is a little disturbing; the fact that he recognizes it from all the times he's killed people is considerably more so.
Reply
"So."
She fidgets, picking at the edge of the table.
"I'm. Um. I'm not sure where to start. Y'know?"
Reply
He sighs and rubs his face.
"I think we left off at 'I'm sorry'. More or less."
Reply
"Yeah. Well. I don't think I said enough of that myself last night, for -- precipitating that. So. I'm sorry. I shouldn't've -- I shouldn't've let things get that far, and I should've thought about how dangerous it could be for both of us."
Reply
"I guess we, we both need to think more, huh."
A few seconds after the words leave his mouth, a genuine smile twists it for a moment, then departs.
"Sorry 'bout the stutter. Force of habit, I guess."
And no matter how much he wants to be disarming, now is really not the time.
Reply
She doesn't smile back this time. Cute he may be, but he beat up her friend last night.
"I just. Is thinking going to cut it?"
Reply
(The admission costs him.)
"I ain't got any better ideas, though."
(He's full of worse ones.)
(The words it might help you stop faster next time keep coming back to him.)
Reply
God, she doesn't want to say the next thing.
Reply
She's struggling with something. What is it?
He shuts up and waits.
Reply
"I can't just overlook it."
There.
"Not anymore."
Reply
"Don't think I ever asked you to," he says softly. "And maybe you shouldn't. I can't just. I can't just keep pulling shit like that and walking away from it after like nothin's wrong. It ain't right. And I mean, I didn't this time, and I'm trying--" he forces most of the agitation out of his voice-- "I'm trying to get better, but it ain't gonna help nothin' if we all pretend like I'm not what I am. Whatever that is."
Reply
"Okay," soft. "Agreed on all points."
Reply
"All right."
With a wry, wry smile: "Oughta get me a shrink."
Reply
Leave a comment