𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : Patrick WOULD resort in casually spilling wine on her pristine couch or carpet without a single care in the world. He knows she’s prepared for it, he’s become predictable now. Instead, he slides into the uncomfortably stiff sofa and props his left ankle over his right knee with a smile. “ Pop another Xanax Delia. That should help.”
gaze watches him as he seats himself , as though he had every right to be there , && truthfully , he does – she doesn’t stop him , doesn’t berate . simply allows him into her space && a doesn’t bat an eyelash . pause , ignoring him for the book in hand until he speaks , comment causing nothing but a soft breath of laughter issued between her teeth ; he wasn’t wrong on that score , but she is hardly about give him that satisfaction .
when she turns , flaxen brows loft high , amusement painted so delicately into the lines around her mouth && eyes ; it hadn’t always been this easy , but with age had come temperance , && tolerance – now , she would go so far as to say she enjoyed his company , finding the years of silence that had stretched between them simply a thing of the past , seldom thought on , bar for when she deigned to think on all they were , all they had once been .
‘ every time you open your mouth , i feel a migraine coming on . ’
𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃. By now Patrick could almost read the woman like a book. It had taken some time to get used to her now, how silent she could be the majority of the time. So much different from the Delia he had known twenty plus years ago. Time changes everyone, including himself. If certain events had never played out he could be living an entirely different life now, perhaps it could be better. If only they had survived that night all those years ago he’d be a better man than what he’s become, what he refuses to change.
Leg drops, planting both feet firmly on white carpet to lean forward resting elbows on knees, fingers firmly connecting each hand to form a ball and with the subtle lick of his lips and a devilish grin he gives the woman a silent nod before falling back into firm, uncomfortable padding. He’s trying his best not to spend so much time attempting to find a comfortable position. It’s nearly impossible, a scoff released in discomfort and the idle shake of his head. “ Are your patients living, breathing, human beings? If so, subjecting them to sit or lay on this piece of shit for your aesthetic is fucking torture and you should be paying them for your time, not the other way around.”
He pauses, deciding finally to relieve himself of the terrible seating choice he had made and headed for the kitchen. “ You know a good cure for a migraine?” Question is one of rhetoric knowing she’d quip back with something in regards to his departure from her home, something he wasn’t planning on doing until he got what he had come for.