Nigel Kane (
putrefaction) wrote in
abstracts2015-07-01 09:14 pm
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Entry tags:
life and its complications.
[It is a laundry day in someone else's mind.
He took extra steps to leave her alone to her task. She has quite a task ahead of her, and Nigel would only be in the way. Thus, he kept to cat naps, to shifting between waking and sleeping states.
Eventually, his throat demands a trip, and he emerges from his room with the intent to go to the kitchen. An intent that cuts short inches from his destination, when he catches sight of white-gold in the laundry room. Of skin he shouldn't be catching, a floral shape etched against the pale. White with a blue edge. Maybe. It's hard to tell with his sight.
Nigel halts, caught in an emotion unnamed. And as with all his awkward steps, he begins with words.]
A tattoo?
He took extra steps to leave her alone to her task. She has quite a task ahead of her, and Nigel would only be in the way. Thus, he kept to cat naps, to shifting between waking and sleeping states.
Eventually, his throat demands a trip, and he emerges from his room with the intent to go to the kitchen. An intent that cuts short inches from his destination, when he catches sight of white-gold in the laundry room. Of skin he shouldn't be catching, a floral shape etched against the pale. White with a blue edge. Maybe. It's hard to tell with his sight.
Nigel halts, caught in an emotion unnamed. And as with all his awkward steps, he begins with words.]
A tattoo?
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You didn't. Please don't apologize.
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Come home. We can talk there.
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Alright.
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Trying, Alan. [To regulate, he means.] Give me...a minute.
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...Okay.
[ He can take his minutes as they return back. ]
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His breaths become even, and the man now looks ahead.]
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Cocks her head to look at him. ]
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...Hi.
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...Hi.
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He swallows.]
Did you enjoy our purposeless walk?
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I enjoyed the time spent. What's wrong, Nigel?
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A hand settles against his right eye.]
There's nothing... I'm...trying to be fine.
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...But what happened? What changed?
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Don't worry about it. I just need... I just need to clear my head.
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It's me.
[ It's small, those words, and she hears it. She stands in front of him, wanting to touch his hair. Inside, inside the sweatshirt sleeves, her fists ball, fighting something she doesn't know. ]
Talk to me.
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His hand drops, and he looks at her.]
Are you... Do you like being here?
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Yes. I like being with you.
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Is it selfish of me that I...don't ever want you to leave?
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He's tired. She thinks he's tired. ]
You want me?
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I don't know, but I think--
[His voice cracks at the last word, and he coughs into his fist.]
I might be becoming too dependent on you.
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She moves to slip arms around his shoulders, to hug him to her. ]
...You're fine. I think it's fine like this.
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Nigel whimpers quietly.]
I can't... It can't be fair to you. I have nothing to offer.
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You told me....
[ She holds to him, dips her head down to lay her cheek against his head. ]
You told me you don't expect anything from me. That to you I am just myself. You offered me that. I'm not settling.
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Another whimper sits in his throat. Instead, he pushes it down and away.]
...Yeah, you said that. I'm sorry.
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