When did I say I wanted more words? [ she scoffs, incredulous — but there's a note of impatience in it. frustration, from trying to follow the complex web of his thoughts, the assumptions he leaps to. saints, her head is already throbbing. ] You're just putting whatever words you want to hear in my mouth.
You think you know so much, Aleksander, but all you're proving is how little you actually do know. Though I suppose I should congratulate you on proving my point; here you are, assuming to know what I want without ever bothering to ask. Again.
[ goodbye, he'd said — but she isn't so content to be dismissed as though nothing she says is of consequence. isn't so willing to let him hear whatever delusions he wants and run with them. she scoops up her wayward shoes, tossed so carelessly to the dirt at her side, and moves to stand abruptly. any of the tension that had worked its way out of her shoulders during their time away from the train knots back into her shoulders, puppets her spine into a rigid line.
there's a surprising lack of hesitation in how quickly she marches up to him, whether he moves to turn or not, having to hasten with how short her strides are comparatively. but whenever she does make it to him — she shoves her hands (still full of her stupid shoes) into his chest, winded from an effort that does nothing to budge him at all.
it'd be a little comical, like a tiny bird trying to puff its feathers up to look threatening, if she weren't so exasperated. ]
What is this really about? You're miserable about feeling powerless, so you have to make yourself feel better by making sure I'm just as miserable? Because I think you're a little too old to be having tantrums.
no subject
You think you know so much, Aleksander, but all you're proving is how little you actually do know. Though I suppose I should congratulate you on proving my point; here you are, assuming to know what I want without ever bothering to ask. Again.
[ goodbye, he'd said — but she isn't so content to be dismissed as though nothing she says is of consequence. isn't so willing to let him hear whatever delusions he wants and run with them. she scoops up her wayward shoes, tossed so carelessly to the dirt at her side, and moves to stand abruptly. any of the tension that had worked its way out of her shoulders during their time away from the train knots back into her shoulders, puppets her spine into a rigid line.
there's a surprising lack of hesitation in how quickly she marches up to him, whether he moves to turn or not, having to hasten with how short her strides are comparatively. but whenever she does make it to him — she shoves her hands (still full of her stupid shoes) into his chest, winded from an effort that does nothing to budge him at all.
it'd be a little comical, like a tiny bird trying to puff its feathers up to look threatening, if she weren't so exasperated. ]
What is this really about? You're miserable about feeling powerless, so you have to make yourself feel better by making sure I'm just as miserable? Because I think you're a little too old to be having tantrums.