you've seen your face like a heart attack (don't you mind, don't you mind?) {private}

vinyl laughs without humor, shaking her head and returning to an upright sitting position. "gods, we're so dysfunctional," she mutters, wrapping her arms around her knees and pulling alexander's jacket around her tighter. damn this. damn it to hell and back.

she can't handle alexander being so nice, not right now when it's late and her defences are down. not right now, when she's so vulnerable, when she wants him to hold her and when she's so tempted to forgive him. vinyl shouldn't feel these things, she's never been the type to feel these things, but then there's alexander and his stupid face and just. gods, what an ass.

she fingers at the worn leather cord around her neck, rubbing her fingers across her camp beads, a bottle cap from a hot georgia summer day with rhythm, the ring she took from her mom's dresser before calling the police. if she left, they'd be the only things she'd have to bring with her, besides a couple of crumpled bills and a can of pepper spray. and isn't that just so poetic? she's got nothing to her name but a couple of reminders of a home that never felt like home and her hold life. and then, and then, one day she wanted more, right? one day she wanted love and kindness because of a boy and it all turned out so awful, and it's like something you'd read in a sad poem, not in someone's life.

"you're - " vinyl starts, but she cuts herself off. she inhales deeply, closes her eyes tight. exhale. "you're such an ass, you know?"

it's almost irritating, how alexander isn't playing into it and yelling at vinyl. it would be okay if he were a jerk, but he's not. sure, he cheated, but he's so, like, not-jerky right now it almost hurts.

"i wish i could hate you," she says into her knees. "why can't i just hate you?" there's something about the night, about the silence, that just makes her want to be heartbreakingly honest. she's never wanted to be this heartbreakingly honest. maybe it's just alexander.

vinyl laughs humorlessly. "that has got to be the most pretentious thing i've heard anyone say, ever," she says to him. gods, alexander is supposed to be a jerk, not nice. he's not supposed to be all sympathetic and sorry. he's supposed to be crude and mean and indifferent to how vinyl feels. who even gave him the right, honestly.

there's a struggle going on in her mind, over whether or not she should look at him. the thing is, she wants to, but her pride would be too wounded if she did. one look can't hurt, but - no, she won't. if she does she'll start to feel even more things, and she can't. that's a weakness. she can't get attached, because when she leaves - and she will leave - she'll, gods forbid, miss him. she's never missed anybody when she's left before, and she's not going to start now.

vinyl shrugs, pulls out another cigarette and lights it. "i don't even know," she says.  "making peace with my demons, or something."

and then she laughs because, gods, this is so ridiculous. alexander is ridiculous, and she's ridiculous, and everything is ridiculous. alexander is being pretentious and vinyl still hasn't looked at him, and the urge to do so is burning in a way nothing ever really has before; but she won't. she can't. all this is is making peace with her past so she can move on, and if she looks she won't be able to do that.

vinyl's silent for a long time. she's never thought herself particularly brave, or strong, or anything like that. hard, sure. cold, definitely. but she's always been a coward, always been weak. maybe she's gotten tired of it, maybe she's growing up. who even knows, vinyl sure as hell doesn't. maybe alexander's right.

"i don't feel very brave," she says, almost shrinking down on herself. "most of the time i just feel stupid, to be honest."

of course, trust alexander to go there. of course, he wouldn't have gone there if vinyl hadn't been an idiot and asked for a light. yet again something tied back to vinyl. 'good job, me,' she thinks sarcastically.

she hadn't expected him to be like this; she hadn't expected him to be sorry, and it hurts in a way vinyl never thought something could hurt. kind of this dull ache, almost like a longing. part of vinyl wishes she hadn't found out, that they could just carry on and vinyl could be oblivious.

she heaves out a sigh, says, "gods, you're such a d!ckhead."

alexander never did say that, but vinyl doesn't mention it and laughs humorlessly in response. she gets his point: it is obvious that alexander is a d!ckhead.

the thing is, vinyl's got no clue what to say now; whenever she'd planned out meeting alexander again, he wouldn't be so...resigned. he'd be firm in his defense that, no, he was perfectly normal. she doesn't know how to react to him being apologetic and kind and whatever the hell this is. it's unsettling.

"that makes two of us," vinyl retorts, but it doesn't come out quite as witty as it had in her head. it's probably a good idea for vinyl to leave before she starts telling the truth, before she makes a mistake, which is bound to happen. she's vinyl, of course she'll mess up; it always happens.