Foreman hated not being able to do anything. Jesus, if there was one thing that he couldn't handle, it was feeling helpless. He'd thought he could help Amber, even if it was only something as simple as holding her while she cried. Assuring her that it'd get better. He'd nearly gotten his head bitten off for his trouble, and now he didn't know how to approach her. She was still standing across the room, wiping her eyes miserably, and not answering his question. The less Foreman could do, the less active he could be, the more uncomfortable he got, waiting for some kind of condemnation or else an order to get out of Amber's apartment, because whatever it was, he was making it worse instead of fixing it.
As Amber approached him, Foreman braced himself to hear any of that. He could hear the tears in her voice when she asked if they could talk later, even though she'd mostly stopped crying. Half of him wanted to insist: What did I do? What's so wrong about what I said that it made you cry? What's really going on?
She'd confused him enough already. Clinging to him and then pushing him away, crying and then yelling and now touching him softly and telling him she wanted to be held. Foreman wasn't going to run himself in circles trying to figure out what parts of her anger had been directed at him, and what was Amber's own feelings. Last night he'd got caught up imagining that she'd once had some asshole of a boyfriend. Gotten fucking delusional about it. Amber had laughed as she dismissed the idea, and he could only believe her. And yet he'd felt absolutely furious, at this figment. For all he knew, Amber was going through something like that; nothing to do with him, or, maybe more likely, tied to something he'd done or said but not directly his fault. If that was the case, it was pointless to ask her to explain. Foreman hadn't wanted to tell her every detail of what he'd imagined. He wouldn't ask her to get into it the same way. Later. He could deal with later, since Amber was sitting next to him now, telling him that there was something he could do. A way for him to make it better.
"All right," he said. It was a bit awkward, but he tugged the comforter and sheets down, and then pulled her with him as he lay down on his side. He let her settle herself, and then pulled the covers up, lastly throwing an arm over her and inching closer until their bodies were aligned. "Tell me something else," he murmured. He wasn't ready to sleep, and in the darkness, his silence and slow breathing might seem like he'd fallen asleep instead of caring enough to comfort her. "Something good."
no subject
As Amber approached him, Foreman braced himself to hear any of that. He could hear the tears in her voice when she asked if they could talk later, even though she'd mostly stopped crying. Half of him wanted to insist: What did I do? What's so wrong about what I said that it made you cry? What's really going on?
She'd confused him enough already. Clinging to him and then pushing him away, crying and then yelling and now touching him softly and telling him she wanted to be held. Foreman wasn't going to run himself in circles trying to figure out what parts of her anger had been directed at him, and what was Amber's own feelings. Last night he'd got caught up imagining that she'd once had some asshole of a boyfriend. Gotten fucking delusional about it. Amber had laughed as she dismissed the idea, and he could only believe her. And yet he'd felt absolutely furious, at this figment. For all he knew, Amber was going through something like that; nothing to do with him, or, maybe more likely, tied to something he'd done or said but not directly his fault. If that was the case, it was pointless to ask her to explain. Foreman hadn't wanted to tell her every detail of what he'd imagined. He wouldn't ask her to get into it the same way. Later. He could deal with later, since Amber was sitting next to him now, telling him that there was something he could do. A way for him to make it better.
"All right," he said. It was a bit awkward, but he tugged the comforter and sheets down, and then pulled her with him as he lay down on his side. He let her settle herself, and then pulled the covers up, lastly throwing an arm over her and inching closer until their bodies were aligned. "Tell me something else," he murmured. He wasn't ready to sleep, and in the darkness, his silence and slow breathing might seem like he'd fallen asleep instead of caring enough to comfort her. "Something good."