song_tra_bong | (no subject)

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ramon

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After checking the directions on a scrap of paper, Mary Anne stops outside room 19 and knocks.

"Oy! Little birds tell me it's your birthday--you in there?

I brought tequila..."

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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.

He can't kill her, but he can sure as hell slow her down.

Without the arm holding her up--and with that shove--she drops to the floor, hunched on hands and knees, coughing blood between gasps for air.

For a moment...fuck, for a moment he nearly buries his boot in her ribs. The compulsion is there and it's only at the last second that he remembers that he shouldn't. He backs away instead, dropping down into the chair when the back of his legs hit it, watching her cough. Tired, is the sudden overriding sensation.

After a moment, she rolls into a sitting position and leans back against the wall.

Her breathing remains ragged as she scrubs blood from her face with the back of her hand; she'll worry about setting her nose in a minute.

He says nothing and doesn't move. It's suddenly too much of an effort to think of anything at all, so he doesn't.

She's not looking at him. She is very determinedly not looking at him.

snap

She flinches, rubbing her now reset nose.

'Finisshhed now? Ssaid all you came to ssay?'

He has no idea he's slurring, he just wants this over with. His head is a dead weight and her presence is irritating, like that itch you can't quite reach.

"Should throw your ass in the shower," she mutters, mostly to herself.

"Cold water might shock some sense into your fuckin' head. And yeah, I guess I'm done, 'cept for...Just don't goddamn die, alright?"

She refuses for them to go out like this.

In the mornins, he's probably going to have a few freaked out thoughts regarding alternate futures and the implictions of this little encounter. For now, he can hardly keep his eyes open.

'Won' die.'

He's sure about that. Well, fairly sure.

"Good."

She gets to her feet, awkwardly and cringing.

"And don' pass out in the chair. Gonna hit the floor and split your skull."

He'd make a comment on why the fuck that would bother her after this but hey, it's her. Also, too tired.

'Mmm.'

Which might be agreement. Probably is.

If anyone's going to split her skull, it had damn well better be her.

"See you," she mutters, shuffling toward the door.

'Mmm,' he says again, and drags himself up because the bed looks pretty damn good right now.

'Yeah. Bye.'

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