Once, she would have reached out to run her hand along the angle of his jaw when he looked up at her like that. There would have been a smile in his eyes, lightness in him.
Now, all she does is nod.
"We were friends once, Tommy. You can't be that surprised that I'd want to make sure you stay alive and at least a little comfortable. This place doesn't have to be torture."
There have been several women in his life who treated him like that: like he was precious to them, like he could be the man he is and they would still love him, his love would redeem him.
And then Tatiana had dug her nails in, had pushed him down and choked him, and given him something much closer to what he deserved. Death, and ecstasy.
He swallows thickly and goes to take another cigarette out of a silver case. "There's always something expected in return, Rey."
"And what is it you think I expect you to be able to give me?" She asks him before she can stop herself, because the arrogance in that is just too much to ignore.
Some of that does surprise her, but it doesn't show on her face.
"Maybe we should be very clear about that, get it settled once and for all." She says, looking right at him, gaze unflinching. "I don't think for a second that we'll go back to the way we were because you aren't that man anymore. I'm not blind and I'm not naive enough to think that if I just hope hard enough you'll wake up tomorrow and remember that you loved me."
"I remember that I loved you," he tells her, and pushes himself up-- he doesn't want to have this conversation, even if he suspects he got himself into it.
"No," she says, and she she puts her hand in the middle of his chest and pushes him back down, unwilling to just let him walk away from this.
"You've been walking right over everyone in your life, haven't you?"
It's all she can think of that would make brushing people aside this easy for him. He's lost the part of him that had compassion, replaced it with something selfish. She wonders if his family even gets a say now.
A part of her hopes, desperately, that Polly still stands up to him.
"If you start conversations like this, you'll finish them. No just walking away."
He falls back with a soft huff of breath, and he looks up at her with actual annoyance now-- he might have had a few drinks, drinks that hit him more heavily these days, and it's made him unbalanced.
"Fuck off, Rey. What do you want me to tell you, hey?"
"I don't want you to tell me anything," she says, hand still on his chest like she expects he's going to try to get up again. "You opened this door, Tommy, and we're having this out once and for all so that it's not hanging between us anymore. You don't get to choose when you're finished and expect people to be satisfied with that."
He looks up at her with tired, annoyed eyes, and wraps a strong hand around
her wrist- he doesn't appreciate that, being held down. And she's wrong:
that's what he does, all the time.
"You think it takes one good talk? To get rid of it all?"
She doesn't try to break out of his hold, not when it doesn't feel threatening or dangerous, but there is a small shift in her. She's a little more alert now, ready for whatever might be coming.
"I think it'll be a start," she corrects him. "I'd like to be able to talk to you without it turning into an argument at some point every time we talk."
"So talk," he tells her, firmly. He'd like to get out of this
as soon as he can, and if he can he'll avoid a real fight. He doesn't think
it'll work, but he can try. It's more bother than he feels like right now.
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Now, all she does is nod.
"We were friends once, Tommy. You can't be that surprised that I'd want to make sure you stay alive and at least a little comfortable. This place doesn't have to be torture."
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And then Tatiana had dug her nails in, had pushed him down and choked him, and given him something much closer to what he deserved. Death, and ecstasy.
He swallows thickly and goes to take another cigarette out of a silver case. "There's always something expected in return, Rey."
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"Maybe we should be very clear about that, get it settled once and for all." She says, looking right at him, gaze unflinching. "I don't think for a second that we'll go back to the way we were because you aren't that man anymore. I'm not blind and I'm not naive enough to think that if I just hope hard enough you'll wake up tomorrow and remember that you loved me."
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"I remember that."
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"No," she says, and she she puts her hand in the middle of his chest and pushes him back down, unwilling to just let him walk away from this.
"You've been walking right over everyone in your life, haven't you?"
It's all she can think of that would make brushing people aside this easy for him. He's lost the part of him that had compassion, replaced it with something selfish. She wonders if his family even gets a say now.
A part of her hopes, desperately, that Polly still stands up to him.
"If you start conversations like this, you'll finish them. No just walking away."
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"Fuck off, Rey. What do you want me to tell you, hey?"
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He looks up at her with tired, annoyed eyes, and wraps a strong hand around her wrist- he doesn't appreciate that, being held down. And she's wrong: that's what he does, all the time.
"You think it takes one good talk? To get rid of it all?"
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"I think it'll be a start," she corrects him. "I'd like to be able to talk to you without it turning into an argument at some point every time we talk."
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"So talk," he tells her, firmly. He'd like to get out of this as soon as he can, and if he can he'll avoid a real fight. He doesn't think it'll work, but he can try. It's more bother than he feels like right now.