Spinelli hated them both so much. She hated even looking at Flynn, she hated even thinking about Gretchen being all over him. Touching his arms, his face, everywhere… Spinelli had to step back before she slapped him. She turned away from him as she covered her face. “I can’t believe you are even arguing with me about this!” Spinelli growled as she clenched her teeth together.
“Just like I can’t pretend that you have hurt me so badly Flynn. You and that fucking skanky ass bitch.” Spinelli grabbed Vito a second time as she walked towards the door. She pulled it open and just walked out. She couldn’t deal with any of it. So she just stormed towards her apartment.
He watched her go, her words still burning in his ears, and he let her leave. He turned back into his apartment and sighed, his head pounding and his chest tight. He couldn’t really believe any of this was happening, but what he could believe the least was that it took this long to happen. He’d gotten so used to her being around, to being in his apartment and his life, he knew it was too good to last and he’d fuck up eventually.
He stormed to the kitchen, opened the bottle of rum and took a good drink before spitting it out and spluttering across the kitchen. It tasted like acid. He returned feeling defeated and sat on the couch, his inner voice doing a number on him. I should have seen this coming. She’s better off without me. I fuck everything up. Surprise Surprise Flynnigan did it again! As he sank down into the couch he heard a crack that didn’t come from his ribs.
He’d sat on and broke on of Spinelli’s brushes. He stared at it’s thin spine, snapped and cracking, the dried paint on it peeling away from the wood below and the little hairs at the top splayed out in all directions. It was a tiny brush and he’d broken that too. She’d left him. She’s walked out on him. Just like Max.
Whatever it was in him, maybe the bit of rum that had made it to his stomach or the memory of his brother or the fact that he couldn’t let angry words be the last thing she heard from him, he jumped up from his seat, rushed to a drawer and pulled out a pencil and paper, scribbled a note and roughly tapped the broken brush to it, trying to tape it back together first. He doubted that she’d speak to him, but he needed, no, he wanted to do something.
He rushed down the hall to her apartment “Spin! SPIN! SPINELLI!” he thudded on her door, not caring who heard him “SPINELLI I’M . . .” he sighed, his head pressed against the door “SPIN I’M SORRY. I FUCKED UP, I KNOW I DID, EVERYONE EXPECTS THAT FROM ME . . . AND THEY’RE USUALLY RIGHT. I KNOW YOU CAN’T FORGIVE ME, BUT I . . . i . . .i just wanted you to be happy. . . ” his voice was course and thick, barely above a whisper “and i was foolish to think you could be with me.” he backed up and cleared his throat, speaking at a normal pitch again, so she could hear “You left this, i’m just going to leave it here for you” he placed the brush and the note at her door, waited a moment to see if she’d come out but when she didn’t he turned to leave.
the note sate there, waiting for her, the sad broken brush taped to a note that read:
I know it doesn’t make it better, but i’m so sorry, Spaghetti. I hope you can forgive me one day - Flynn