There it was again, him patting her and treating her like some wild animal too stupid to understand that he meant well, that he wanted to feed her and mend her broken leg. Amber wasn't lost, she wasn't weak, she didn't need mending. Hadn't needed it before him and his stupid umbrella-- she could've walked in that rain just fine, she hadn't needed his protection, he'd just been convenient and she'd taken advantage of him-- and she didn't need it now. Or ever. She was only crying because he was unpredictable and fucking up and she was so angry at him, for failing her. Amber wasn't weak. "It's not okay!" she blew up, and now she did shove him away, hard, pushing at his shoulders until she'd stumbled out of his grasp. She turned her back to him, crossing her arms over her chest. Shit, why did she still have to be naked.
"It's not okay," Amber repeated, furious at that thought, because how could it be, now. He must think she was a basket case, crying over nothing, then thrusting him away. It couldn't be okay because she was making everything worse. Even without the lights Amber knew the room well enough to know exactly how many steps to her dresser, and which drawer to yank open to her storage of sweaters, the oversized grey ones she wore when lazing around at home. She grabbed the topmost sweater and started to jerk it over herself, jamming her head through the collar, her arms through the sleeves.
This was stupid. The whole bet had been stupid. She'd never been in control, not really. Not of herself, and especially not of Eric. All the bet had done was deceive her, giving her false security. Amber lay her hands on the top of the drawer, trying so hard to keep back the sobs, breathing shallowly and quickly, lungs hurting from the effort of holding in her tremors. It'd be hard to go back to before, knowing that the terms had only been a lie, highlighting what she could never have. So what if for a few hours she could decide when to tell him to take off her shirt, and when she to suck him. So what. At the end they'd still be who they were, he a doctor with a career hitting a brick wall and a brother behind bars, and she no better than a game contestant working under the whim of judgmental bosses blind to her value. Amber rubbed at her nose with her arm, the snot threatening to fall before she could reach a tissue box or toilet paper or anything remotely dignified.
The truth was, she didn't want it to be a game. She wanted those rules-- I decide-- every night, always. Never wanted to give them up. Didn't know what she'd do after tonight, when the carriage turned back to a pumpkin and all the magic meant no more than a brief illusion of splendor. It meant nothing if she had to go back to not being in control, when morning came. Cinderella got her happy ending, but Amber couldn't be so stupid to think *she* had the glass slipper invitation to a lifetime of absolute power.
And Eric. This was assuming she hadn't scared him off, set him running for his car so that he could drive far and fast away from her crazy. "I'm sorry," she said, covering her face again, and she tried to speak again, but the tears got in the way. Her head hurt. "I'm so sorry, Eric, I don't know what I'm doing." She wanted so badly to run to him, to catch him, to gather him up in his arms, to keep him from taking to heart how she'd pushed him away, because she hadn't meant it, at least, she didn't mean it now, but she'd done it, and she didn't know how he wouldn't not think her fucked up. Amber hated this so much, how she was crying, the embarrassment. This was worse than a train-wreck, and why couldn't she stop.
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"It's not okay," Amber repeated, furious at that thought, because how could it be, now. He must think she was a basket case, crying over nothing, then thrusting him away. It couldn't be okay because she was making everything worse. Even without the lights Amber knew the room well enough to know exactly how many steps to her dresser, and which drawer to yank open to her storage of sweaters, the oversized grey ones she wore when lazing around at home. She grabbed the topmost sweater and started to jerk it over herself, jamming her head through the collar, her arms through the sleeves.
This was stupid. The whole bet had been stupid. She'd never been in control, not really. Not of herself, and especially not of Eric. All the bet had done was deceive her, giving her false security. Amber lay her hands on the top of the drawer, trying so hard to keep back the sobs, breathing shallowly and quickly, lungs hurting from the effort of holding in her tremors. It'd be hard to go back to before, knowing that the terms had only been a lie, highlighting what she could never have. So what if for a few hours she could decide when to tell him to take off her shirt, and when she to suck him. So what. At the end they'd still be who they were, he a doctor with a career hitting a brick wall and a brother behind bars, and she no better than a game contestant working under the whim of judgmental bosses blind to her value. Amber rubbed at her nose with her arm, the snot threatening to fall before she could reach a tissue box or toilet paper or anything remotely dignified.
The truth was, she didn't want it to be a game. She wanted those rules-- I decide-- every night, always. Never wanted to give them up. Didn't know what she'd do after tonight, when the carriage turned back to a pumpkin and all the magic meant no more than a brief illusion of splendor. It meant nothing if she had to go back to not being in control, when morning came. Cinderella got her happy ending, but Amber couldn't be so stupid to think *she* had the glass slipper invitation to a lifetime of absolute power.
And Eric. This was assuming she hadn't scared him off, set him running for his car so that he could drive far and fast away from her crazy. "I'm sorry," she said, covering her face again, and she tried to speak again, but the tears got in the way. Her head hurt. "I'm so sorry, Eric, I don't know what I'm doing." She wanted so badly to run to him, to catch him, to gather him up in his arms, to keep him from taking to heart how she'd pushed him away, because she hadn't meant it, at least, she didn't mean it now, but she'd done it, and she didn't know how he wouldn't not think her fucked up. Amber hated this so much, how she was crying, the embarrassment. This was worse than a train-wreck, and why couldn't she stop.