mariano-torres:
“And I’m saying it wasn’t a fucking choice! I’m not going to sit here and entertain whatever mental gymnastics you can come up with for not being able to face the consequences of your actions.” He hisses and slurs, jutting forward again. “Watch. Your. Tone. You’re lucky I’m warning you. Twice.”
There’s a pang in his chest seeing her so upset. Ever since they were younger it’s the thing he hated most, seeing his family upset. The only thing he ever felt was really lucky about their mother being able to have as many pups as she did was that they’d always have each other. Or so he thought before that illusion quickly came crashing down all at once. Deep down there’s a part of him that thinks it might be easier if she hated him. He’d be able to handle that a lot better than this. “You haven’t been my responsibility for a long time, Mickey. I’m well aware of that. It’s just that the sound of your voice is getting on my nerves, especially when you insist on doing that.” He gestures and snarls at her tears, unable to stop himself from making things worse. Or wanting to at this point. The self destructive nature of his ways manifesting itself all too well in his current state.
When she side steps him, he doesn’t even think before he’s jutting a foot out to trip her. It’s such a juvenile thing to do. Exactly the kind of thing they’d do to each other when they were younger and messing around with each other. It’s the most random and in this scenario, awful reflex memory to be reliving. It makes him sadder and angrier, even watching her crumple to the ground in her dress and heels. But he’s far too stubborn and drunk at this point to show any of that emotion. Instead he squats, staring down at her and maybe there’s something just behind all the pent up frustration in his eyes. Remorse. Actual empathy, because it is there. It’s just buried so deep now that most times he feels like he wouldn’t know how to pull it out of himself anymore if he tried. At least when it came to situations like this. “If you want to tell your angel, you know where I work.” He growls before standing again and turning to walk away.
.
She wants to scream at him that it was a choice. How can he not understand that? The consequences of her actions were already being worn around her neck, her freedom gone - why did it have to be her family gone too? But she doesn’t.
Mickey should have had the reflexes to dodge his foot but she doesn’t expect it. It’s from an age before this one – not just missing from the last ten years but further back than that. Once upon a time she never missed a trick. He caught her once and after that she was savvy, always leaping over his foot and playfully teasing him.
But that doesn’t happen this time, unable to catch herself, ankles wobbling – wrist jolting painfully as she catches herself and making her gasp. She turns slightly, adjusting so she’s in a seated position and cradles her aching wrist. He squats and unable to help herself, she flinches backwards slightly – staring at him with sad eyes, more than fear at least. A part of her wants to hate him, wishes she could. But mostly she just hates his choices and misses him. Maybe he even felt the same about her.
She waits until he stands up, until he turns away from her to say softly, “I’m not going to do that to you. I love you, Mariano.”