song_tra_bong | (no subject)

He puts the bottle back down when he's finished (going to regret that in a minute) and doesn't look away from her.

'Well?'

"Well what? You've got booze to go with your drugs. Looks like you're set."

She almost adds don't even need me here, but changes her mind.

(shouldn't leave him alone)

'What's your problem?'

He scowls, genuinely not getting it. She's never told him outright that she's adverse to drugs, though he has picked up on it a bit.

She doesn't do them, other people do--you don't grow up in the sixties without getting something of a thick skin as far as drugs are concerned.

What does bug her is how she's not sure if he's trying to kill himself or if he's just a moron.

"Nothing."

It's not terribly convincing.

He's pig-headed. So probably more moron than suicidal but he's easy on the latter as well at this point in time.

'Fuck nothing. Spit it out.'

"Fine," she snarls.

"You get coked to the gills to find how much it takes before you pass out and die on the goddamn floor, or were you just bored?"

'Does it matter? It's none of your fucking business.'

He growls it at her and grabs the bottle again in defiance. Even after another large mouthful, he doesn't put it down.

'I can do whatever the hell I want. You don't get to give me shit about it.'

"I don't get to--So I should just let you get yourself killed?"

'Do you care?'

Even he knows - even in this state - that that's a pretty stupid thing to say. She's proved she cares many, many times.

'I've never asked you to give a damn.'

"You never had to!"

God damn but she does want to hit him right now.

She'll have her chance - he stands up (with only a slight sway) and gets up in her face, furious.

'So I'm responsible because you care? Fuck that!'

She draws up all 5' 6" of herself gets in his face right back.

"Since when have I ever said you were responsible for that--that you had to answer to me for that?! I knew you wouldn't give a shit!"

'Then what's the problem?!'

He is really, really not getting it.

One hand curls into a fist.

"Just because I don't expect shit from you doesn't mean you acting like a moron isn't gonna piss me off!"

'I'm not a...moron.'

The bottle of tequila flies out of his hand and smashes against the door.

'And if I were, what would that make you?'

Mary Anne doesn't flinch.

"Really fucking stupid. And a masochist."

(and a whore)

'Well, that's obvious.'

He takes a small step closer to her, with angry eyes that aren't quite focusing.

'That's always been fucking obvious.'

Her vision clouds over red--

(he doesn't know what he's saying he knows exactly what he's saying)

--and her hand swings up to slap him.

He barely even sees it coming and has no time to move, even if he'd been capable. The sound of her hand connecting rings through the room...to be followed by a roar of fury and without a second thought, he's swinging his fist right back at her.

He's too close and too fast and the blow catches her right in the temple.

Her vision fills with stars and she staggers.

Too long since he's hit something, he's too fucked up, it feels too good. She's staggering and looks weak and she's pissed him off and he could laugh, disconnected from events, as he aims another shot right at her nose.

This would be the second time he's broken her nose. It doesn't get any better with repetition.

She tries to regain her balance, swings an unsteady kick at his knee.

Breaking noses never gets boring but he never thought it would be hers again. Still, her kick reaches his knee and is enough to stop the third blow that he'd been gearing up for, for a moment anyway. His rhythm is broken and so he just drives into her, pushing her to the wall and leaning an arm across her throat.

'Masochist, you said so yourself. This what you want? Like it when it hurts don't you, you bitch.'

She tries to draw breath and it's so damn hard. There's blood running down the back of her throat, she's choking on it, she's choking--

(he will kill you will let him why do they always cut off your air)

--her fingernails dig into his forearm, trying to pull his arm away.

He knows he can't kill her so when she doesn't respond, he moves the arm (bleeding from her nails) and slaps her, enjoying the way the blood flies, in an abstract kind of way. It's all kind of abstract, if truth be told. None of this (except the rage, there's always that) seems truly real.

He shoves her away from him in disgust, blinking in slow motion. Valium and alcohol, not so good, shit.