( for all the city offered during the season, it was something estranged to karen. to her, it was no different than any other part of the year, only the pain was worse. memories of the holidays back home, how they'd always start soft and end in someone slamming the door closed, no telling when they'd be back. christmases before her mom had gotten sick, when she hadn't convinced her brother into that car, when her dad didn't mind her around. she doesn't need to press a finger into the bruise to know it's there, to know it still hurts.
a nod at his reply, like a surface level graze. she can hear the wind outside, and the swig she takes of the bottle is hearty, needed. maybe she should've gotten more beer, for this.
she leans back against a slim wooden tableβa small, ceramic dish holding her keys, a case folder sat at its edge, a row of books tucked in no particular coordination against the wall. she appreciates that he makes an effort until he reaches his closing argument, and the scoffed, brittle thing that leaves her lips only resembles a snicker. )
Don't you? ( a raised brow, hops on her lips. ) Why weren't they great, Frank? You left. ( she shrugs, as if to say the usualβ ) That's what you do. ( it's sharp, the way the words leave her, and already she can feel her pulse start to kick up. the thing is, it's not about what she'd said, or tried to say before he left, it's that he leaves. he always leaves.
doesn't he know what he leaves behind? doesn't he know that she needs him, too? ) And I wait. Thinking every day... that's going to be the day I read something, orβor hear something. Because you didn't call.
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a nod at his reply, like a surface level graze. she can hear the wind outside, and the swig she takes of the bottle is hearty, needed. maybe she should've gotten more beer, for this.
she leans back against a slim wooden tableβa small, ceramic dish holding her keys, a case folder sat at its edge, a row of books tucked in no particular coordination against the wall. she appreciates that he makes an effort until he reaches his closing argument, and the scoffed, brittle thing that leaves her lips only resembles a snicker. )
Don't you? ( a raised brow, hops on her lips. ) Why weren't they great, Frank? You left. ( she shrugs, as if to say the usualβ ) That's what you do. ( it's sharp, the way the words leave her, and already she can feel her pulse start to kick up. the thing is, it's not about what she'd said, or tried to say before he left, it's that he leaves. he always leaves.
doesn't he know what he leaves behind? doesn't he know that she needs him, too? ) And I wait. Thinking every day... that's going to be the day I read something, orβor hear something. Because you didn't call.