[Frank leaves momentarily only to return with a couple sugar packets he'd likely swiped form his latest diner visit, setting them down on the coffee table. Then he sits, hoping she'll do the same and relax as much as she's able, because even if his door is knocked down in the next few minutes, he isn't letting anything happen to her. He should have been there.]
No one knows I'm here except you. [Not David. Not Curtis. He thinks he's protecting the few people in his life left to care about by keeping his distance, but Frank is also aware of how long that can't last. Something or someone will always draw him back into the life.
Sipping at his coffee, Frank sighs through his nose, leaning back against the flimsy couch cushions in an effort to seem relaxed as well. He's more concerned about Karen than any impending doom.]
I know the situation is shit but I'm glad you reached out to me, Karen.
( if he'd known just how bad it'd gotten, he would have been there, and karen knows that. it's why she hadn't called, even when she'd sat with trembling hands, teeth, bones in the dark cab of her car after hearing the stinging dismissal of her father. no matter what she's going through, what fresh paint she's lathered over that crimson target on her back, he doesn't deserve to be tugged into the middle of it.
in new york city, hells kitchen, there's no such thing as really 'getting out'. the city chews you up and spits out a version that's a little more apathetic, a little more numbed. sooner or later it'd draw you back, kindly or unforgivingly, one never knew.
she doesn't want him to be glad. you wouldn't be if you knew why i was here, she wants to say, but she bites her tongue instead, reaching down for the coffee after tearing a few of those pale pink packets to dissolve the sugar into its rich bed. she uses a tiny spoon that's sat beside it, mesmerized momentarily by it's tiny clinks and the scarves of espresso dancing up to greet her. )
I told myself not to. ( quietly, she makes to sit down beside him, kitty-cornered against the armrest. a small sip of her coffee is drawn, and then it's cradled between both palms, watching it's reflective surface. she isn't one to ask for help, and she's not even sure that's what she's doing here. maybe to some extent, but mostly she craves the sense of safety. of a place, someone with she can rest her head. )
Multiple times, actually. After what you went through... ( a swallow, because no words could really do it justice. ) Shit situations is what Hells Kitchen does best. This may not be paradise, but... ( a chew at her lip, thoughtfully. ) It's something else.
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No one knows I'm here except you. [Not David. Not Curtis. He thinks he's protecting the few people in his life left to care about by keeping his distance, but Frank is also aware of how long that can't last. Something or someone will always draw him back into the life.
Sipping at his coffee, Frank sighs through his nose, leaning back against the flimsy couch cushions in an effort to seem relaxed as well. He's more concerned about Karen than any impending doom.]
I know the situation is shit but I'm glad you reached out to me, Karen.
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in new york city, hells kitchen, there's no such thing as really 'getting out'. the city chews you up and spits out a version that's a little more apathetic, a little more numbed. sooner or later it'd draw you back, kindly or unforgivingly, one never knew.
she doesn't want him to be glad. you wouldn't be if you knew why i was here, she wants to say, but she bites her tongue instead, reaching down for the coffee after tearing a few of those pale pink packets to dissolve the sugar into its rich bed. she uses a tiny spoon that's sat beside it, mesmerized momentarily by it's tiny clinks and the scarves of espresso dancing up to greet her. )
I told myself not to. ( quietly, she makes to sit down beside him, kitty-cornered against the armrest. a small sip of her coffee is drawn, and then it's cradled between both palms, watching it's reflective surface. she isn't one to ask for help, and she's not even sure that's what she's doing here. maybe to some extent, but mostly she craves the sense of safety. of a place, someone with she can rest her head. )
Multiple times, actually. After what you went through... ( a swallow, because no words could really do it justice. ) Shit situations is what Hells Kitchen does best. This may not be paradise, but... ( a chew at her lip, thoughtfully. ) It's something else.