Once the world manages to stop spinningâand man is he glad that even if the Universe isnât on his side, at least the World could hand him over some mercyâJosh leans his back up against the wall, using it to support himself as he puts himself back into the chair heâd been punched out of. Samâs words are still kind of a jumbled mess in his head, taking several seconds longer than they should to process, but once they do he just kind of looks up at her with deeply routed confusion. âSince when do you use big kid language?â
âŠmaybe heâs looking to get a swift kick to the nuts as well.
Heâs glad for the small respite heâs given, watching her pace a bit as he continues to rub at his jaw. Thereâs going to be some massive bruising that makes him glad his spot on set is strictly behind the camera. Heâll have to set up a dentist appointment before they start shooting, which is meant to be in just a few days. And if this ringing in his head didnât stop, they may be out of a cinematographer anywaysâ
And she is talking again. Based on how angry it sounds, he should probably start listening.
âI live in New York now, Samantha. Enough people tell you that the place will be drowning in a few years thanks to global warming and you really start to care about the big stuff.â Honestly, Joshua, why are you even bothering to talk? While his jaw wasnât dislocatedâhe knew the feeling well enough from when heâd fallen from a treehouse when he was a kidâit definitely wasnât pleasant to be running his mouth when heâd quite possibly have a concussion to deal with. Maybe.
Fuck. Sorry, Daniela. None of that sexy rope stuff tonight. Heâd likely have to be flirting it up with the nurses. At least he may not have to cut drugs out of his nightly plans.
There are people starting to look over at them, trying to get a feel for what exactly had just happened. Josh realizes with a start that he may have just cost Sam her job. Heâll have to talk to her boss about that, make sure he tells them that heâs only going to press charges if they decide to fire Sam. Heâs not going to let her take the fall for giving him something he probably really deserves.
âIâm here to make money to pay for my apartment and food and ever-growing bad habits. Despite your clever hypothesis, I have to say itâs a no. If I had that kind of psychic power, Iâd be dealing out tarot cards on the streets.â
âI donât know, Josh, maybe I picked it up during the five years since you up and left everyone behind.â She tries, really tries to keep the hard, angry force behind her voice, but she knows it falters just slightly towards the end of her sentence, and her voice sounds just the tiniest bit smaller, the tiniest bit more pathetic. She hates it. âDoes that sound like a long enough time for me to have grown into a rotten vocabulary while you werenât looking?â
She huffs, a forceful and infuriated puff of air, and rocks back onto her heels, flexing the hand that had connected with his jaw moments ago once again as she does. Shit, that's actually really, really starting to hurt. Fuck Josh and his unnecessarily, painfully solid face, honestly.
She levels him with a hard, almost incredulous stare, and to be fair to him---which isnât something sheâs really in the mood to do, to be honest---there probably isnât anything he could say at this point that wouldnât piss her off more, but he seems to be doing his level best to find exactly the right ways to push all of her buttons and make her exponentially more angry.
âYou think youâre so damn hilarious, donât you? You just have to have a snarky retort to everything, because God forbid you stop acting like an ass for just five minutes.â
She turns away, trying to force down the urge to find something to throw at him and pull herself together instead. Planting her hands firmly on her hips, she hangs her head, letting her hair fall to block his view of her expression while she takes a deep breath, and tries to count to ten as if that might rein in some of her anger. Itâs juvenile, elementary even, but maybe thatâs fitting because she hasnât felt this much pure, concentrated righteous fury boiling her blood since she had been only eight years old and Billy Bristol had told her she couldnât play with him because she was a girl. Eight year old Sam didnât know how easy she had it, if those had been the worst of her problems.
Sam resists the urge to swear out loud as she feels her eyes stinging from the overwhelming cocktail of rage and hurt and pain that are all clawing for her attention, because she is not going to let Josh Washington make her cry again, sheâs done enough of that in the last five years. Itâs then that she realizes, with no small amount of horror, that people have seen this exchange, that some of them are starting to stare. She straightens, trying to disguise the way she wipes at her eyes as just part of her pushing her hair back from her face, and then she turns to shoot Josh a baleful look.
âWell, psychic power or not, I didnât need this, Josh. This is, in fact, the last thing I needed.â