Foreman took a breath as Amber rose to her feet. His attempt to get away from anything serious hadn't worked, he could tell. Amber stood up determinedly, like she was getting away from him. All the stupid memories kept creeping up on him, and he didn't know what the hell to do with them. He'd never shared. As if he couldn't handle himself, as if his past was too much to deal with. Foreman simply took the time to keep everything before he'd left for medical school in its own compartment. Having it overlap with how he lived now would take too much from him. He could deal, he just had to do it on his own, where there was no one to judge him or misunderstand, or get pissed off just because Foreman knew better than to think his family or his past was some sort of happy-ending story time.
The more he thought about it, the more he resented Amber's silent rebuff. The way she'd looked away, walked away, showed that she wasn't happy. And he knew, again, that it was his own damn fault. He'd changed the subject. She'd run with it, but not because she accepted what he'd hoped to show her. She hadn't heard or seen that he couldn't go any further in telling her things right then. She trusted him, but not enough to trust him that now wasn't the right time to talk about it.
Foreman didn't know how to get out of whatever dead-end he'd just gotten them into, so he nodded at Amber's suggestion, even though the bumper cars were exactly the sort of too-much-enthusiasm-required rides that he'd hoped to avoid. "Sure," he said, and headed for the ride. Now that it was getting a little later, the younger kids were mostly being rounded up and taken home, and the line ahead of them for the bumper cars was filled with teenagers, all of them promising to destroy each other as soon as they were in the cars. Perfect. Just what Foreman didn't want.
He handed over two tickets to the ride attendant, and walked over to one of the cars on the edge of the melee. He climbed in, grimacing at how his knees stuck up, and tightened the lap belt before he could be told to. He just hoped he could avoid getting jarred too badly, maybe by driving around the periphery instead of getting involved with the general chaos of the ride.
no subject
The more he thought about it, the more he resented Amber's silent rebuff. The way she'd looked away, walked away, showed that she wasn't happy. And he knew, again, that it was his own damn fault. He'd changed the subject. She'd run with it, but not because she accepted what he'd hoped to show her. She hadn't heard or seen that he couldn't go any further in telling her things right then. She trusted him, but not enough to trust him that now wasn't the right time to talk about it.
Foreman didn't know how to get out of whatever dead-end he'd just gotten them into, so he nodded at Amber's suggestion, even though the bumper cars were exactly the sort of too-much-enthusiasm-required rides that he'd hoped to avoid. "Sure," he said, and headed for the ride. Now that it was getting a little later, the younger kids were mostly being rounded up and taken home, and the line ahead of them for the bumper cars was filled with teenagers, all of them promising to destroy each other as soon as they were in the cars. Perfect. Just what Foreman didn't want.
He handed over two tickets to the ride attendant, and walked over to one of the cars on the edge of the melee. He climbed in, grimacing at how his knees stuck up, and tightened the lap belt before he could be told to. He just hoped he could avoid getting jarred too badly, maybe by driving around the periphery instead of getting involved with the general chaos of the ride.