You Won't Be Mine


aman_icon.gif odessa4_icon.gif

Scene Title You Won't Be Mine
Synopsis Try to find if it was worth what you spent
Why you're guilty for the way you're feelin' now
Date April 2, 2021

Northern Roosevelt Island: Aman's Townhouse

Stepping out of the cab and onto the curb, Odessa stands across the street from Amanvir Binepal’s house staring as the car pulls away and leaves her on her own, with her anxiety. Their last parting was not a good one and her chest constricts at the thought of crossing this invisible boundary between the two of them. She hasn’t set foot in his home since their untethering. Their break-up.

Taking a deep breath, she casts a look left and right before taking that first step into the street to cross to the other side, and mount the curb before climbing the stairs and ringing the bell. Adjusting the lay of the handles of her purse on her shoulder, she frowns, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he’ll realize it’s her on his doorstep even though she won’t know where he is in his home. Surely he hasn’t forgotten the feel of her emotions after only three months.

Her hands fold in front of her, chin dipping down. Occasionally, her eyes lift to where she imagines they’ll meet Aman’s, then they cast down again.

She waits.

It takes a long time for an answer to come.

When it does, it comes in the form of Aman opening the door already in a long, tan jacket, a scarf hanging haphazardly round his neck. He's not in his shoes, but they look like the next step in wherever he was going. He looks breathless to see her, still and unmoving on the other side of the door once it's open. Like he wasn't sure just who he'd find on the other side.

His shoulders begin to settle once he sees her. "Oh," he finally breathes out. "I wasn't—"

He wasn't expecting to find her on the other side. The answer to the question of what he's been doing with her ability becomes apparent then, the shift in his eyes as it engages visible to her as he suddenly adorns her emotions like they're his own again.

It's not having to wonder how she feels that brings him to movement, finally, and he takes a step back from the door. "Des, I…" Aman's made space for her in the entryway, but it's not clear if he's willing to cede any ground beyond letting her in from the cold. "Listen," he asks of her.

But then after a long, heavy beat, he's still not figured out what to say.

Odessa knows that if she stands on the front step, she’ll lose her footing before she’s even found it, so she steps inside, taking what little ground has been granted to her. “Look. I… I know things are fucked up between us.” She looks up, her lips pursed. With how keenly he feels her emotions, she’s sure she could just as soon have opened up her chest to let him see her heart, to watch it break and attempt to stitch itself back together before coming apart again.

There’s so many fragments of sentences she half cooks in her mind. Everything she planned ahead may as well have never existed for how she can’t remember a single word of it. In the end, she casts her gaze down again. “I’m listening.”

Her surrender in that respect leads him only to sigh, shutting the door to keep any more of the house air from heading out into the 40-degree weather outside. "I'm worried about you," Aman admits, sounding frustrated by it. Whatever angle of frustration that is takes a moment to manifest, because he looks off, letting what he means to say percolate a moment longer. "All this— did you know what it was going to lead to?"

He turns back to her after posing the question, brow furrowed in an expression that tries to make itself harder than it actually is. "Did you go into all that knowing just how dangerous it was?"

The house is quiet. They're likely alone. From the front door, the glimpse of the house interior makes everything look significantly more lived-in since the last time she was here— signs of the same sort of mess his apartment was the first time they landed in it.

Odessa’s head lifts swiftly, shocked and confused at first. “No!” The expression softens by degrees as she shakes her head. “No. If I’d known that would happen, I would never have pursued it. I’d have destroyed or hidden the penny away somewhere.” He feels the profound sadness in her, the regret and the self-directed disappointment. Moreover, “I never would have put you in that kind of danger. Not ever.”

Now she looks as haunted as she feels. “It was just supposed to be a simple exchange of information. Cassie was just supposed to show us images. Nothing that could harm any of us, even if they might upset me.” And they did, certainly. “Nothing was supposed to go so— So sideways.” Odessa starts to reach for his hand but stops short, pulling back like she’s afraid the animal she’s reached out to comfort might bite instead. And she’s the one who bites, back on the words she wants to say, even if Aman can feel the swell of it inside of her.

Aman bites the inside of his cheek, looking away while he listens. He feels rather than sees her sincerity, and that's more than enough. He shakes his head to himself. It's only barely that he catches sight of her reaching for his hand, and it brings him to look back, brows lifting in surprise.

He lifts his hand from his side slightly, palm up.

"It happened, though," he tells her quietly. "It happened and we should have stopped sooner than we did. It— it shouldn't have taken…" His jaw tightens and he starts to shake his head again, forehead furrowing in time with a flash of something in the dark of his eyes. "And I'm scared. I left, and that was wrong, but I was scared to death it'd happen again. Worse." Aman's voice quiets by grades until he's barely audible. "That something would happen that can't unhappen, Des."

“We’ve done a lot that can’t unhappen,” she posits ruefully. What’s one more thing? goes unspoken.

That hand out is eyed warily, not seeing it as a trap, but seeing it as a concession he perhaps doesn’t truly want to make. She’s concerned he might be overcommitting himself to this, to her. Still, she won’t spurn him. Slowly, but without other indication of hesitation, she reaches out and takes the olive branch, firming her fingers around his hand.

Eyes up once more, she smiles with resignation, giving a little shrug. “You’re always scared where I’m concerned, aren’t you?” It’s a tease, but a self-deprecating one. Odessa is a cause for concern, alarm. Odessa is trouble. It’s why she can’t have nice things.

Like the sweet man in front of her, holding her hand, who wanted so badly to help her, but knew a hopeless cause when he saw one.

Aman begins to frown when called out on his worries, the accusation well-thrown. It takes him a good moment to figure out just what he can even say to that, and it comes primarily in the form of his grasp around her hand renewing in tandem with an exhale that lowers his shoulders as he imagines, finger by finger, letting go of his grasp on the ability he stole from her. He's careful to shut it down, not shift it.

Not yet. Maybe not at all. He doesn't know, though assumes that's clearly the only reason she's come here at all.

"Maybe if you stop giving me reasons," he replies back, his teasing half-hearted. He holds onto her hand a moment longer, thumb brushing the back of it before he tells himself to let go. "This, though— you can't get away with making light of this. I don't even want to think about what the fuck would have happened if I hadn't gotten in the way. Cassandra could have died. You could have—"

It's harder to say it when it pertains to her. Aman's throat works before he lets out a tone of discomfort. He looks away, looks down to his sneakers set by the door and begins to nose his toes into one of them, shoving his hands stubbornly into the pockets of his coat. "Tell me I'm wrong for being scared it could still happen."

“You’re not,” Odessa admits easily. “I’m scared it could still happen.” Her hand withdrawn after it’s been let go, the fingers of the opposite pass over the back of her hand where his thumb had brushed against her skin, as though she could commit the motion and the sensation to some sort of physical memory.

Her heart constricts. He means to leave, and she doesn’t want him to go, even though she understands there are obligations in this world that supersede her desires. “I’m sorry what happened happened. I like Cassie. In some strange way, she’s my friend, even if she doesn’t know it. It wasn’t putting a stranger in peril, Aman. I— I risked friends and I feel awful.”

The breath catches in her throat as it feels like it closes up, the tears well up in her eyes. “I risked you. I still love you and I could have gotten you killed.” Odessa shakes her head rapidly. “I can’t forgive myself for that. Moreover, if you keep my ability what nearly happened to me could happen to you instead.” She holds both her hands out now, pleading. “I can’t live with myself if that happens to you. I couldn’t. I would die.” The tears have gathered at the tip of her chin, forming a single fat droplet that falls and dampens her coat.

“That’s why you have to give it back to me.” Her hands thrust out further. “And they can still find me without it. There’s no sense in both of us being in that kind of danger.” The anguish radiates from her and washes over him. She is terrified for his safety, the same way he worries for hers. “I promise, I’ll never bother you again. Please, Amanvir.”

The tears catch him off guard when he looks back up. Aman pauses with only 1.5 shoes slid onto his feet, frozen in place by seeing her upset. Even disconnected from her emotional state, it's hard not to acutely understand the worry she has. He feels his will tested.

"I'm trying really fucking hard not to hold any of this against you, Des," he warns her. "Jesus Christ, I really am, but putting things back the way they were and leaving the opportunity for you to be hurt again?— you called yourself a looking glass, for god's sake." His agitation only grows as he fumbles to find the words that will somehow make his argument make just as much sense as hers does. "You— mirrored that thing and it came looking for you."

Somehow, he's certain of that. He shoves his left foot into the appropriate shoe and hooks his leg up to slip a hand loose from his jacket to tug it properly into place. It wasn't meant to be a slip-on. "I don't care if I lose my whole business for the rest of for-fucking-ever, okay? As long as it means you're…"

His foot falls back to the ground and his shoulders sag. Uncertain, he pats his pocket again, looking back into the house. Distractedly, he concedes, "I get it, okay? You've got big fucking feelings about this, you feel bad what happened happened, you're sorry, and—" The grin he wears is more of a grimace as he heads for the kitchen, to grab the keys he's forgotten on the counter by the sink. "You're not going to avoid danger if I give it back to you. You're not gonna do what I've been doing, which is keeping it the fuck off."

Scraping the keys off the counter, they're held in his hand as he holds up his arm in a helpless shrug, looking back to her. "You're just gonna reset the clock on catastrophe striking, and I'm not a part of your life anymore, so I won't be there to help again when it strikes."

The way his face falls speaks to his upset better than his words could. "And I'm supposed to, what, just let it happen?" His arms fall down to his sides limply, keyring jangling.

Odessa’s arms fall back to her sides with her frustration. “My ability protects me from my enemies,” she explains. “I feel unsafe without it.” An exhale, and then she forgets to breathe in again for several seconds while her gaze goes distant and she tries to decide how much to divulge.

The breath is pulled in as a gasp. “I tried to run away,” she explains, fingers slowly curling in toward her palms as though she could grasp hold of her resolve like some kind of tangible thing. “I thought I’d convinced him to leave the house.” Lower lip rolls under only to be caught between rows of teeth while she just breathes. In.




“He let me run up the stairs and pack my bag. He let me turn to leave the bedroom and I had no idea he was there until the door shut in front of me.” Odessa lifts her gaze back to Aman again to repeat, in case the significance is somehow lost on him. “I had no. idea. he was there.” She’s manipulating him, and she knows it. Her stomach churns over once, but her fear is real enough that if he were to have re-engaged her ability, she hopes it’d be indistinguishable from being part of that emotion.

But she can’t let it go at that and allow his imagination to run wild. “He didn’t even want to hurt me. He just wanted to know why. But imagine if he had. Imagine if someone else was—” Odessa squeezes her eyes shut, unable to will that concern from her mind, but at least capable of letting it take up a quiet and unobtrusive residence there.

The light in Aman's eyes shifts, dims. He wants to make an argument that she was supposed to be safe now with everything she'd gone through, but the words are ash in his mouth, dry and dead. Conflict churns inside him— one belonging to him alone— and he finds himself moving back toward the door with slow steps.

"Des," he pleads, but it sounds more like an apology. "I didn't— O, I didn't know you… that you were…"

He's disarmed entirely, bewildered by what she's admitted. His heart finds his throat, and he too, wants to know why— but does it matter? Odessa tried to leave Ace, and what he'd done in holding onto something that wasn't his to have cost her the chance. He stands there, visibly speechless, steps having brought him within arm's reach again.

This time, Odessa doesn’t reach, but steps closer. It may not be his to have, but it isn’t hers to take. He may have been able to tear it from her and leave her feeling vulnerable, exposed, but they have to mutually agree upon its return.

“You couldn’t have known,” she responds softly. Her heart breaks in her eyes as she watches him watch her. “I know we both wanted this to work. But you fell for a scared woman who needed shelter and protection.” One corner of her mouth quirks up, mirthless. “Once you knew the shape of the monsters I needed protecting from…” She can scarcely blame him for allowing his platitudes to become empty ones.

For a moment, the space between them is occupied only by the sounds of her struggling to make her breathing even once again. “I wish,” voice strained with emotion, she needs him to understand, “that I could go back and never pull back that curtain.” One hand finally comes up to paw at her face and swipe her sleeve under her nose less than discreetly. “I wish I could be the person you thought I was.” Her hands clench into small fists at her sides again to keep from reaching for him.

“You made me feel like I could be someone good.” Odessa closes her eyes, her head tips down, and when she opens her eyes again, they slant off and to the side, not seeing anything in front of her. “I’m trying to help people with my ability, like you said I could. And I like it. I feel… It feels right.” That blonde head gives a shake. “I wanted to be someone you could take home. Join family dinners. Be teased by your cousin, be fussed over by your mother. I wanted to hold your hand and feel reassured when I worried I didn’t fit in.”

When she calls him out for not having wanted to get between Odessa and Ace directly, Aman protests quietly, "Des, that's not…" His shoulders dip, not sure what he can say to disabuse her of the notion of things being that simple. The silence lingers between them until she speaks again.

"You can be someone good, damn it," he argues softly, interrupting her in the process. "You can be… whatever the fuck you want to be, if you work hard enough at it. You could—" His throat works, brow knitting.

"You can," Aman insists in a whisper. To keep himself from feeling torn apart as much to hold her together, he shrouds her shoulders in his arms, pulling her to him in a firm embrace.

"I'm sorry you didn't get the answers you wanted. But even if you go back… I don't think they're gonna be there. It'll always promise to be just around the corner— and then it won't be. You'll just end up deeper in a hole, with more questions than ever." He closes his eyes, hug tightening. "I'm sorry, I just… the more I think on it, the more that seems the likely case."

"Can you promise me you won't lose yourself down that rabbit hole?" he asks, hating himself for doing so.

Odessa doesn’t return the hug at first, even though she does fall into it. Melt into him. She cries against his chest quietly, her shoulders quaking. You can, he insists, and for once, she believes it. “I know, I know. I’m trying. I really am.” And she’s attempting to drag Ace with her, kicking and screaming though he may be. He could be good, too. If she can’t have Aman, perhaps she can form her partner in an image with softer edges.

More questions, he says, and she knows there’s always, always more questions. More and more and more. Down, down, down the rabbit hole that runs so deep that she can’t tell which way will lead out and which leads further down.

She’s already lost.

Take your head around the world

“I won’t lie to you, Aman.”

The truth rather than a comforting lie. He hates it— absolutely— but knows he'll appreciate it later. "As much as that tears me apart, I'm proud— I'm— glad. That you won't."

His hand brushes across her upper back in a reassuring ruffle, and he's glad that the burden of his complicated feelings is his alone to bear, at least for now. Head tipped down, he gives one last firming of his hug before slipping back to look down at her, hands coming to rest on her shoulders. "But just the same way you can be good— you can also be the person who won't die over going too far down this rabbit hole. You know?"

He dips his head, trying to catch her eyes more firmly, trying to stress to her that that ending isn't written— that outcome isn't determined.

Aman, at least, believes it's one she's capable of making her own destiny on.

And see what you get

"So long as you can promise me you'll try to do better…" He gives a slight shake of his head, eyes not leaving hers as he lifts one hand to cup her cheek. "That's all I can hope for, right?"

And it is hope that rests at his core. Melancholy, bittersweet as it might be. He chooses not to believe in the despair, and instead submits himself to an ever-rising energy. One where if he or she err— he ascribes to the opinion they can and will do better in the future.

It's a soft thing— a fragrant starlight the likes she's not seen or felt in months. The strength of that light shimmers when he lets his hand fall, the gloam of subtle heartache clouding sight of it. It persists past that initial re-emergence, but more quietly. Harder to see.

Still, for all his disappointment, anger, and worry— he believes in a better tomorrow for her.

From your mind

Odessa nods her head slowly, meeting Aman’s eyes after he’s pulled away. God, she wanted more in that moment, but knows she’s lucky to have this much. He could have shut the door in her face and she would have deserved it. “If it helps,” she tells him with a smile and a pinched expression that says she’s already braced for the notion that it won’t help at all, “I don’t want to die.” But maybe that’s some small comfort. That she’s not just staring down into the abyss and taking a running leap at it to swan dive into the fathomless dark.

“I want to live,” she further insists. “If I don’t… how can I become someone you can be proud of?” There’s hope blossoming in her chest. That she can and will do better. That he will take pride in the person she means to become.

It takes a moment to realize that isn’t hers.

Write your soul down word for word

Breath taken away, Odessa looks up into Aman’s eyes, truly laid bare, guileless and vulnerable in her astonishment. “Oh god,” she whispers. “I can see the stars again.”

He wants to smile as much as he wants to grimace in anguish, and in the end does neither. Instead, his hand finds her cheek again, and he looks deep into her eyes, one at a time. His resolve to step back wanes, finding himself glued to where he is.

For Aman, it's a long moment, one which he'd freeze to capture forever, if he could.

For Odessa, it's another moment too short, but a gift she can recognize all the same.

See who’s your friend

"Go on and live then," he encourages her in a murmur. "Be the girl we know you can be. I'll be cheering for you." His hands both fall to find hers both, lifting and holding them.

He brings the curl of her knuckles to his mouth and presses his lips to them. "I gotta go, Des," Aman whispers in apology. It's not just because the ring that's wrapped around her finger, either. He was on his way out before she even got here. The two of them are just on separate, different paths.

Sometimes they might cross. But it wouldn't be like before.

He lowers their hands.

And who is kind

When his hand finds her cheek and she sees that look in his eyes, feels that curl in her chest, she’s so sure… In the end, she takes what she receives and no more. She won’t muddy things by being the assertive one. By stepping into him and trying to give freely to him what he won’t take from her now. This will have to be enough.

Make me stay. Don’t let me walk out the door again. Don’t leave me now to my own cowardice. Don’t let me succumb to my own weakness.

Well, it’s almost like a disease

Odessa’s chest feels tight and heavy. She says none of these things as the moment where his lips grace her skin passes and becomes nothing more than that. She gave up her right to him as her guiding star the moment she accepted that ring.

Her wrist turns, grasping his fingers with her own and bringing his left hand up so she can press a kiss into his open palm, then fold his fingers around it. “That’s yours,” she tells him softly. “A symbol of my feelings, a piece of my heart… Whatever you want to call it. It’s yours to do with as you please now. Tuck it into your pocket to save, let it sit in the back of a drawer to be forgotten, or throw it away so it can’t be stumbled upon again.”

Giving her head a shake, she lets go of his hand, looking up to his eyes the way he looked at her. “It’s all up to you.” Odessa steps back toward the door and lays her hand on it to see herself out. Maybe for the last time. “Take care of yourself, okay? It’s easier knowing—” Her voice cuts off and her lips press together, a sad smile appearing only in the way one corner of her mouth tries to wrestle its way into an upward curl.

And I know soon you will be

Aman's been frozen since that return gesture of affection, eyes widened, heart arrested in surprise. The way she moves to go after, both lingering and already gone, leads him to reach for her wrist to pull her back.

"Nnn— what are you— Des, you…" And there goes his heart, trying to catch up on all the beats it's missed. It starts to cave painfully in. "You're engaged. You're gonna get married. You can't just…"

Over the lies

His grasp tightens around her wrist, but it's clear he doesn't know what to do. "You can't do that to me," Aman insists, nearly pleading.

The hand on her wrist and the tug come as a surprise. She doesn’t quite stumble, but her right foot comes forward another skipped half-step for stability. It’s not a drag, of course — he’s not Ace. There’s no fear or trepidation to mingle with the confusion and uncertainty in her eyes.

Her heart pounds in her chest, same as Aman’s. “I know.” How can she justify her actions? She isn’t sure there is a justification for it. It’s cruel. She is cruel.

“I can’t help it,” Odessa laments quietly. “I look at you and I picture something else. Something far different from the fork I took in this road.” Her smile is sad, and she’s on the verge of tears. “As usual, I made the wrong choice.”

You’ll be strong

She’ll feel differently when she’s home again with her fiancé. He always says just the right thing and she’s right back to besotted.

That knife hurts when it twists in his chest. It makes breathing a chore. Aman starts to shake his head, trying to resist mirroring her tears. "Maybe it's not the wrong one," he has to admit, a distinct lack of pride in it. "But it's the one you picked. I can't handle it if you're… I can't handle this."

You’ll be rich in love

The kiss to his palm. The piece of her she means to leave with him.

That's why he'd broken the bond in the first place, right? Even though that too had been a cruel trick of a moment that had left him likewise feeling gutted. He couldn't handle riding sidecar through her ups and downs and the crushed hopes and anxieties both, and he can't handle not moving on, either.

And you will carry on

"I need you to stick with what you…" He runs out of breath, that too a pained thing accompanied by an upward furrow of his brow. His shoulders shift with the heave of his chest as he breathes in again. She'd said she'd tried to leave Ace, though, hadn't she? Is he just forcing her with something she doesn't really want?

But no…
Oh, no

He can't assume that, though. He tells himself that much.

No, you won’t be mine

"Don't do this," he begs, his eyes falling from hers to look down, his grasp tightening. He should be letting go, but it's hard. "I can't keep doing this. I thought I'd put it all away, but you're just gonna drag it all back out, and I can't fucking do that, O." He tries to blink away the shine from his eyes when he looks back up without success.

"You made the right choice. Please, you've gotta believe that, or…" His voice stops rather than breaks, and he swallows away the rest of his words.

And take your straight line for a curve
Make it stretch, in the same old line

The shame of it, of what she’s doing to him, makes her hang her head. Odessa stands still for it, sniffing occasionally as quietly as she can without tears doing more than merely threatening to fall. He needs her to stick with her choice, and she knows she will. The alternative is to wait for Ace to find them, and then it’s only a matter of whether he makes her watch Aman die or vice versa.

“I made a choice.” Agreeing is easy. It’s a fact, and who is she to argue against fact? “But you made the right one. You’re making the right one.” Even if he holds her a little tighter and she wants to beg him not to let go. To offer him double whatever he stands to make tonight by going out and pursuing whatever his latest hustle might be. It’s not an ability grab, she knows that much. He wasn’t expecting her to show up to take hers back.

You have to believe that.” She’s plaintive in turn, lifting her head to look at him again with more than just the lift of her eyes from her penitent position. “You deserve better than a woman who’s going to go running off headlong into danger, chasing rabbits. You don’t need someone who’s going to gladly lose herself in dark holes of questions without answers.” Odessa’s hand finds Aman’s cheek. “You know this. And I’m sorry. For everything, for all of this. This moment. I’m sorry that the moments we had something beautiful, I turned into this.

Then try to find if it was worth what you spent
Why you’re guilty for the way you’re feelin’ now

Between her pain and his, it seems natural that she would be the first to break. Tears slide down pale cheeks when her eyes squeeze shut. “I hope you find someone who sees in you what I do. I really mean that. And I hope they see even more than that.”

Odessa withholds the three words she wants to say to him most now. She won’t dig this hole any deeper.

Maybe that’s what love is.

It’s almost like bein’ free
Well, I know soon you will be

Aman lifts one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, brow furrowing in an attempt to seal away the likewise overflowing emotion that wants to manifest itself physically on him. He takes in a breath while she tells him he's doing everything right, his grip on her withering.

Is he? Was he? Did he?

Over the lies
And you’ll be strong
You’ll be rich in love, and you will carry on

He certainly doesn't believe that.

"I'm sorry I said goodbye," he murmurs coarsely, arm swinging back to his side and his head shying from her touch. "I'm sorry I fucked up and wasn't there for you when you needed me to be." Sorry won't unwind the months away, though, and won't change the present. He knows even if they threw caution to the wind now, they'd both wake up in the morning and reconsider, each for their own reasons. "I'm sorry."

He lets go to take hold of the door first. "If something ever happens, you know I'd be there. You just have to call." Second, he manages to look her in the eye. "But otherwise, don't come back, Des. I can't do this again."

But, no…
Oh, no
No, you won’t be mine

Third, he pulls the door open, thumbing the handle's lock behind him and tries to maneuver his way out and down the steps first. It doesn't seem like he can stand to say a proper farewell, or watch her go, even though he's asked her to. He'd rather run away first to not see it happen.

Well, take yourself out to the curb
Sit and wait
A fool for life

Don’t come back.

The moment he had let go of and recoiled from her, she’d retracted. Now, she diverts her eyes and he — for the length of time he can stand to spend looking at her — can see her go very pale. Suddenly, it feels like she’s trying to breathe underwater, and that the water is boiling.

And it’s almost like a disease
Well, I know soon you will be

Head down, she pushes past him, murmuring on her way by: “You have to lock the house up, you foolish man.” There’s no car waiting for her. She’ll either have to call one, or take the rail or a bus. Chances are good he’s headed toward the transit himself, so Odessa turns and heads the opposite direction. They both need their privacy now.

Space for their grief to breathe, even if they cannot.

You’ll be over the lies
And you’ll be strong
And you’ll be rich in love, and you will carry on and on

Backs turned on each other, it doesn't take long before they can't hear the sound of each other's footsteps anymore. Aman's ears ring in the silence after the cutting words spoken, an echo that builds and builds the farther he walks.

Oh, but no…

He's not entirely out of earshot by the time it boils over, screaming "Fuck!" into the spring air of the mostly empty block.


And she stops, turning her head to the right like she might look over her shoulder.

Oh, no…

His breathing is ragged after that, wiping his eyes and putting himself back together one footstep at a time. "Fuck," he laments more quietly, under his breath. He wraps his scarf around his neck properly, not bothering with buttoning his coat.

She retches, spilling her stomach into someone’s azaleas. “Fuck.” She spits twice, doesn’t even wipe her mouth with her sleeve.

Oh, no, you won’t…

And he keeps moving forward, one heavy step after another.

One trembling step at a time, she carries herself away from him, too.

Won’t be mine

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