he looks up at her words as they hit him like a punch to the gut. air leaves his lungs and he looks shocked for the briefest of moments before the reality of it settles in. she was never going to change for him. she hasn’t in twenty years, why start now? he finishes off the glass in front of him and takes a long drag of his own cigarette.
“———i hoped…”
he doesn’t ask for advice because he knows he should leave her, but he also knows he CAN’T. he’s stuck here in this fucking tomb until she’s done with him. the thought alone is enough for his insides to twist in pain and his fingers twitch. he wants a junkie— there’s nothing like junkie blood and it’s what he wants to take his mind off HER. blue eyes turn up to the bartender in a silent plea for some kind of advice, anything. he doesn’t know what to do; he’s stuck in this place, this relationship, and while he wants to be with her more than anything, he isn’t sure it can continue— not like THIS.
WORDLESSLY, liz moves to refill donovan’s glass, & for a brief span of a few seconds, the moonshine spilling out of metal &into crystal is the only noise perforating the heavy atmosphere. compassion blooms as the other’s imploring gaze catches the attention of her own. it truly takes little to win her sympathy, & donovan’s expression, bordering puppy, successfully gains it –– for the time being.
she takes a moment to think before she speaks, in an effort to ward off the impending blunt edge to her tongue. ❝ you need a hobby. ❞ index, fitted with black, sharp ovals, lifts lazily to point at donovan, in classic lecture fashion, but her tone remains soft, & maybe even the slightest bit caring. ❝ –– something you can do without her. ❞
