Quick to the defense of those who mattered to her, even if they were gone (most without goodbyes, and one without ... she didn't even know what to call all she'd taken from Ray right at the end). She'd had Ray. She'd had Vernetta and Jill, Deano and Owen. Even Miles, if he chaffed the most noticeably under how easily she gave her opinion or contradicted his without any apology to her rebuttals, once she could speak again.
She could tone down a lot, to survive, tried when and where she could, but she's earned all of her stripes in her childhood talking back to a pack of tall boys she did her damnedest to outrun, outlearn, outmaneuver, and if she couldn't "outdo" One or Two, she was damned well going to be at least as good as them if it killed her. Which was before Hollywood.
Needless to say she still didn't take well to anyone trying to put her in her place. But so many different things had kept trying through those years.
"Don't." This time her hand does land on his briefly, as apologies and words tumble confessionally fast suddenly in the dark from Luther's lips. The one that didn't mean you shouldn't have been alone but I should've been there. Letting her into the tumble of thoughts that have probably circled his mind since he looked up and his first word was 'shit' while his eyes went wide as saucer plates.
"I could say the same--" Had several screaming times in her head since seeing him in that BBQ stop. "That I shouldn't have stopped coming back to the alley six months in." At Christmas. The first Christmas. "Tried for the whole next year and beyond. Known. Somehow." There's a shake of her head, her hair making a slithering noise against the cover under it, as she pulled her hand back, weaving it back into her other fingers on her stomach.
"We can't change that." The time. Both of them stopping. Her marriage. Luther thinking --
Allison turned her head to look toward him for the first time in a bit. "But, next time, you better remember I'm a little harder to kill than all that."
Said the only way she can,
trite and cocky, like the world could try, but never win. (Not like ... it hurts to consider, Luther under that weight, too. Luther making decisions where she didn't exist. None of them did. He was stuck forever.
But selfishly, and most of all. Without her. Anywhere at all. In his present, future.
no subject
Quick to the defense of those who mattered to her, even if they were gone (most without goodbyes, and one without ... she didn't even know what to call all she'd taken from Ray right at the end). She'd had Ray. She'd had Vernetta and Jill, Deano and Owen. Even Miles, if he chaffed the most noticeably under how easily she gave her opinion or contradicted his without any apology to her rebuttals, once she could speak again.
She could tone down a lot, to survive, tried when and where she could, but she's earned all of her stripes in her childhood talking back to a pack of tall boys she did her damnedest to outrun, outlearn, outmaneuver, and if she couldn't "outdo" One or Two, she was damned well going to be at least as good as them if it killed her. Which was before Hollywood.
Needless to say she still didn't take well to anyone trying to put her in her place.
But so many different things had kept trying through those years.
"Don't." This time her hand does land on his briefly, as apologies and words tumble confessionally fast suddenly in the dark from Luther's lips. The one that didn't mean you shouldn't have been alone but I should've been there. Letting her into the tumble of thoughts that have probably circled his mind since he looked up and his first word was 'shit' while his eyes went wide as saucer plates.
"I could say the same--" Had several screaming times in her head since seeing him in that BBQ stop. "That I shouldn't have stopped coming back to the alley six months in." At Christmas. The first Christmas. "Tried for the whole next year and beyond. Known. Somehow." There's a shake of her head, her hair making a slithering noise against the cover under it, as she pulled her hand back, weaving it back into her other fingers on her stomach.
"We can't change that." The time. Both of them stopping.
Her marriage. Luther thinking --
Allison turned her head to look toward him for the first time in a bit.
"But, next time, you better remember I'm a little harder to kill than all that."
Said the only way she can,
trite and cocky, like the world could try, but never win.
(Not like ... it hurts to consider, Luther under that weight, too.
Luther making decisions where she didn't exist.
None of them did. He was stuck forever.
But selfishly, and most of all.
Without her. Anywhere at all.
In his present, future.
Erased entirely.)