Amber nodded; wrapped her hand around Eric's waist. "Let's go." She had no other words.
With her head bent, she led them back to the parking lot, walking slowly. The fun of the fair had worn off; now it was just loud and obnoxious and her stomach hurt, complaining of a poor meal. She'd asked for this. Dragged it out of him. Insisted until she'd gotten what she wanted, and now she had it, and it was so damn heavy. Like she'd swallowed lead and walked along the floor of a lake until the water was in over her head.
It was just so confusing. Up until now, Eric had been—impeccable. When he'd admitted that he worked for House, and that he'd been lying to her so that he could keep on fucking her, regardless of what she'd want, at that moment, yes, Amber had summed him up to be a class-a asshole, to rival House. But she'd come to understand that as a forgivable mistake; found it hard to keep on hating him for wanting to be with her when she wanted just as badly to be with him. Other than that-- Eric's problem had been was that he was too good and, at the same time, not as good as he thought. He was arrogant and proud and smug and Amber would bite back if he ever gloated too much about being her boss. But he was good-- competent, intelligent, accomplished, handsome, and-- and sweet. And tomorrow he’d be an even better, for he was cut from the same cloth as her: never satisfied, always striving for more.
But this bit of family history, it was a failure. Not as direct as if he'd gotten a series of Fs, or been fired, or himself landed in jail. But it was a failure. To not take have taken care of his brother right, to-- oh, god, what if Brian had committed a crime, something to get him in for life. Amber would've never forgiven herself. Wouldn't forgive herself, if tomorrow he were charged with a sentence. He’d get annoyed if knew that his sister was putting the responsibility on herself for his actions, but he was her charge; she’d sung to him when he was a baby because it was sometimes the only damn thing that’d shut him the fuck up. (And those stories Eric had told, about kicking his brother's ass at golf, and the bet with the motorcycle. She'd done the same kinds of things with hers.) Again Amber gripped Eric harder, not sure why, just needing to ground herself to him: take in the scent of his faded cologne, remember the width of his waist. To remind herself that he was dear and that she couldn't bear to lose him. They'd reached the gravel lot, anyway, and even if she could've crossed it by herself, Amber didn't mind the support. The clamor of the fair was dying down and the gravel crunched loudly in her ears.
Prison. You couldn't fix that. You could call a painter to cover a chipped wall, get a plumber to stop the faucet from leaking. You could home in on your every flaw and work at eliminating them; you could overcome your own weaknesses. But being in jail, that was beyond improvement. You couldn't get better. You served your time, and that was it. But what kind of a life could Eric's brother hope to have when he left, if he went in as a teen and was now an adult? She shouldn't ask, it'd push Eric too far, but she had to know. "How long is it?" Amber asked, voice subdued. "His sentence, I mean."
no subject
With her head bent, she led them back to the parking lot, walking slowly. The fun of the fair had worn off; now it was just loud and obnoxious and her stomach hurt, complaining of a poor meal. She'd asked for this. Dragged it out of him. Insisted until she'd gotten what she wanted, and now she had it, and it was so damn heavy. Like she'd swallowed lead and walked along the floor of a lake until the water was in over her head.
It was just so confusing. Up until now, Eric had been—impeccable. When he'd admitted that he worked for House, and that he'd been lying to her so that he could keep on fucking her, regardless of what she'd want, at that moment, yes, Amber had summed him up to be a class-a asshole, to rival House. But she'd come to understand that as a forgivable mistake; found it hard to keep on hating him for wanting to be with her when she wanted just as badly to be with him. Other than that-- Eric's problem had been was that he was too good and, at the same time, not as good as he thought. He was arrogant and proud and smug and Amber would bite back if he ever gloated too much about being her boss. But he was good-- competent, intelligent, accomplished, handsome, and-- and sweet. And tomorrow he’d be an even better, for he was cut from the same cloth as her: never satisfied, always striving for more.
But this bit of family history, it was a failure. Not as direct as if he'd gotten a series of Fs, or been fired, or himself landed in jail. But it was a failure. To not take have taken care of his brother right, to-- oh, god, what if Brian had committed a crime, something to get him in for life. Amber would've never forgiven herself. Wouldn't forgive herself, if tomorrow he were charged with a sentence. He’d get annoyed if knew that his sister was putting the responsibility on herself for his actions, but he was her charge; she’d sung to him when he was a baby because it was sometimes the only damn thing that’d shut him the fuck up. (And those stories Eric had told, about kicking his brother's ass at golf, and the bet with the motorcycle. She'd done the same kinds of things with hers.) Again Amber gripped Eric harder, not sure why, just needing to ground herself to him: take in the scent of his faded cologne, remember the width of his waist. To remind herself that he was dear and that she couldn't bear to lose him. They'd reached the gravel lot, anyway, and even if she could've crossed it by herself, Amber didn't mind the support. The clamor of the fair was dying down and the gravel crunched loudly in her ears.
Prison. You couldn't fix that. You could call a painter to cover a chipped wall, get a plumber to stop the faucet from leaking. You could home in on your every flaw and work at eliminating them; you could overcome your own weaknesses. But being in jail, that was beyond improvement. You couldn't get better. You served your time, and that was it. But what kind of a life could Eric's brother hope to have when he left, if he went in as a teen and was now an adult? She shouldn't ask, it'd push Eric too far, but she had to know. "How long is it?" Amber asked, voice subdued. "His sentence, I mean."