There's the catch and follow of silence as they walk away, and Allison's a little sad that they've lost the rest of their ice cream and left the small mess of it on the table now abandoned, but there's no time now to turn around and rumor someone to clear it away. Someone will, anyway eventually. Plus, there's more in the freezer at home if she has to have it. They both know this part too well. You can't fold everything into the box and pretend to be normal after deciding to be anything but normal.
(And many ways does that fit Luther.
She tries not to glance to the side.)
The silence lingers, as does the cloud that's tugged itself around her shoulders, recriminating in her stupidity, ashamed for the way she almost wishes she could slip back into those moments. Into not thinking. In the girl who knew once where she belonged without question or doubt. Into the girl who had someone who was always there, a partner perfectly in step with her every move, every waking hour. It's weak, and she hates that a part of her burns more painfully to slip into forgetting, and having it back, than to stop herself for being overwhelming, idiotically swept up in what shattered all of that to begin with.
It makes her relieved when Luther breaks the spell of their silence.
"Just Bea," Allison said with a slight nod. "Jennifer was only there a few weeks. We'll probably have someone else in there in the next few months, whether passing through or sticking it out a few months or years." Or eventually, they'd find someone else who'd move in and stay. "And the place is--" She scrunched her nose up thinking finally, "--not exactly the best version of itself at this second."
Bea was probably a bit annoyed about that. Distracting her from so many truths she can't ignore.
"I might have left a few things between the door and heading for my bed before I found the note about having to be here on my door. There wasn't really time to clean everything up while getting into all this and running right back out the door." Bea might've, or it could all be still left where it had fallen as a message to pick up her mess.
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(And many ways does that fit Luther.
She tries not to glance to the side.)
The silence lingers, as does the cloud that's tugged itself around her shoulders, recriminating in her stupidity, ashamed for the way she almost wishes she could slip back into those moments. Into not thinking. In the girl who knew once where she belonged without question or doubt. Into the girl who had someone who was always there, a partner perfectly in step with her every move, every waking hour. It's weak, and she hates that a part of her burns more painfully to slip into forgetting, and having it back, than to stop herself for being overwhelming, idiotically swept up in what shattered all of that to begin with.
It makes her relieved when Luther breaks the spell of their silence.
"Just Bea," Allison said with a slight nod. "Jennifer was only there a few weeks. We'll probably have someone else in there in the next few months, whether passing through or sticking it out a few months or years." Or eventually, they'd find someone else who'd move in and stay. "And the place is--" She scrunched her nose up thinking finally, "--not exactly the best version of itself at this second."
Bea was probably a bit annoyed about that.
Distracting her from so many truths she can't ignore.
"I might have left a few things between the door and heading for my bed before I found the note about having to be here on my door. There wasn't really time to clean everything up while getting into all this and running right back out the door." Bea might've, or it could all be still left where it had fallen as a message to pick up her mess.