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[semprvirens]

she can feel her face flush with embarrassment, looking ashamed. ‟ i didn't hate you, s'little strong of a word. ” foot in mouth, harley! ‟ i was more intimidated than anything. ”

  〝 you totally hated me! come on, you were probably the president of the "we hate mj" club. 〞  @semprvirens

[semprvirens]

she did, of course, have a plate saved for joel ─ meticulously presented & covered in saran wrap, waiting to be devoured ; but resentment coiled in the pit of her stomach, and she wasn't quite ready to resume her role as doting girlfriend just yet. ‟ no. ” she avoids eye-contact, suddenly finding the cracks in the vinyl flooring to be of better interest. ‟ you could have at least called. let me know whether or not you were coming home. i can't keep leaving the door unlocked all night. ”

no matter what he does, and doesn't, harley will never act upon this wedge between them. each break - up, however fleeting, instigated by joel himself, and even then she almost never plays her part convincingly. arrogant, he resents her for it. and like a cue followed, affections trail behind her growing discontent. come morning, he will regret this hostility, and the way he all but rebuffs her advances. he always does. just another part of the cycle impossible to break out of.

  〝 made it in one piece, didn't i. 〞  reclaiming the space stolen, he meanders into their home.  〝 you save me any? 〞

[semprvirens]

his mother . . . the audacity of the comparison is enough to make her scoff as she pushed her chair back from the table; a sharp, grating noise echoing through the quiet room following her movement. ‟ right, ” she began, depositing a dish in the sink before turning towards joel. ‟ and miss the rare opportunity of seeing you in your prime ? ” there's no missing the sarcasm in her words, back now resting against the counter.

there's a pause, lips parting with a sigh before taking a few short strides toward the elder, thumb &. forefinger gently grasp his chin, angling his head slightly; inspecting for damage. ‟ were you at least on your best behavior ? ” the question is in jest, the padding of her thumb grazing his lower lip before a small kiss is placed upon the same flesh.

unsteady, a shoulder bumps the door frame, and he stays at its threshold. his wavering, see: stalling, letting in that cool midnight air, still thick with rain. he's drunk, but not plastered. and to his credit, he'd walked home. a solitary half hour which helped him sober up, and as a bonus, delay the scolding the awaited.

  〝 who are you, my mother? 〞  now there's an image. he winces, a last drag of his cigarette and he flicks it onto the gravel road outside.  〝 could've just gone to bed, harls. 〞

[semprvirens]

' you're late . . . ' again. although her commentary is laden with agitation, an undertone of relief manages to slip between the lines. ultimately, joel showing up late was better than him not showing up at all seeing as how the latter could have resulted in injury or infidelity. she turns her head then, not yet having the will to look him directly in the eyes. ' what's the excuse this time ? ' / @cotiere