Heavy lidded hypnotic blue eyes thoughtfully stared across the table at the blond woman seated across from her in the dimly lit bar. Elizabeth scrutinized Diane’s anxious body language with quiet observation. Her misery was so palpable the dark haired woman could practically smell it. An audible sigh whistled past her full red lips in a puff of husky frustration. Elizabeth couldn’t even begin to understand why Diane still gave Andrew Ryan the time of day.
Elizabeth’s long slender fingers dipped down into a hidden pocket inside her black pencil skirt and retrieved a lighter. With a casual flick of her thumb she lit Diane’s cigarette for her. The blond woman took a grateful and calming drag off the addictive little object giving Elizabeth herself mild nicotine cravings. Reaching into the same pocket she procured a smoke for herself. She lit her own cigarette and took a hit before she said anything in response to Diane’s despondent troubles.
The dark red polish on Elizabeth’s fingernails made them glitter in the light like bright garnets as she absent mindedly stroked the stem of her wine glass. “I know Andrew Ryan is the mover and shaker of Rapture, but being his ‘queen’ is not worth the heart ache or the sleepless nights. No man is worth getting this worked up over.” Elizabeth stated bluntly as she took a dainty sip of her wine. The pink blush colored liquid wetted her palate with cloying sweetness that slowly trickled down the back of her throat. “You wanted my advice, I’m giving it. Leave him.”
The dark haired woman languidly exhaled smoke, and the look in her eyes was as ruthless as a lioness ripping the throat out of her prey with sharp cruel teeth. ”Crush his fragile ego beneath your heel, and never look back.”
Diane didn't even have to look at her to gauge her reaction. She could practically feel the woman's disapproval just sitting beside her. It wasn't unexpected. She and Andrew had become something of a sick joke, even to herself. Part of her knew he could care less about whatever happened between them -- whether she ever got the courage to confront him or not, and the end it could possibly bring. He had someone he could turn to when she was gone. She wasn't as blind as everyone seemed to want to believe she was. She was tormenting herself at this point -- and, clearly, her company knew this as well as she, herself, did.
The corners of her lips perked up in something of a forced smile; something to show appreciation for the flame that was flicked to life for the sake of lighting her cigarette. She leaned into it, inhaling greedily so that the smoke filled her lungs. There was a lightness that went to her head in that split second she could not breathe and it was oddly comforting. Possibly because, for that split second, she simply did not have the ability to think.
Just as quickly, though, the smoke was exhaled between lips bruised from constant nursing of a wine glass.
"It's so easy to say, isn't it? Wish it were easier to
make myself believe that. At first, I thought I refused
to leave him because I loved him. But I... I'm not so
sure'a that anymore. Fightin' for love is worth all the
heartache in the world, but that's 'cause ya want to
fight for it -- or so I've heard. This, though? I feel like
I'm forcin' myself. Still, I..."
She didn't want to end up alone. The fear of that was much more prominent in her than the hurt and dwindling affection she felt for Andrew Ryan. There was something strikingly admirable about the strength in Elizabeth's eyes, and she felt jealous of her in that moment. She wished she were strong enough to take Andrew's ego and shove it up his ass, where it belonged.
"'N then what? I... wouldn't know what to do with myself
if I let go of him."
Shameful and hard to admit as it was, it was true.
