No. His vehemence was a shock, and Amber felt her face drain with the surprise. Did he always turn his back on his family? His brother, he’d given up on; Amber could understand that, sometimes you had to cut your losses, even (especially) if they were related to you. But his mom, too? Next thing she knew, his dad too would be a drug-addict or a pimp, just as estranged from Eric as the rest.
If seeing her wouldn't help, perhaps she was in a coma, or brain dead, or suffering some other mental condition that kept her from recognizing her son. Amber could understand staying away on those grounds, but, again, what about his dad? Or had everyone left her? It was so callous. So cruelly callous, not at all like the sweet, gentle Eric she'd been coming to know. What good did his relentless courtesy do when he just ran away from the first sight of unpleasantness?
When he pulled back, Amber stumbled a couple of steps, not insisting on the hold. She fiddled with the hem of the Colombia hoodie, the one she'd been so happy to appropriate, proud to wear as the symbol of being his. What if she got sick one day? Eric wouldn't stick around. He could put up with the knotted hair and her crying, but if she ever really needed help--
How sobering. Amber didn't mean to get sick. Ever. But she was a doctor. She'd seen enough people at the height of health deteriorate overnight to know better than to think herself immune; she was a winner, not immortal. It could happen. And when it did, Eric would "deal" with it. Without her.
The odor of stale sweat was suddenly overpowering.
Eric ranted on, oblivious to Amber's dejection. He still wanted to go to the stupid gym and play. Fine. Let him have his way, they could enjoy their games and fun, pretending that nothing was wrong now and that their future was crystal-clear. They’d live up the moment and screw the rest; one night of sex was all Amber had wanted from him, she shouldn't be bitter he couldn't give her more. "I'm going," she replied sharply. "If you can wait two seconds, I'll get ready." First step: change. Amber pulled his hoodie over her head.
no subject
If seeing her wouldn't help, perhaps she was in a coma, or brain dead, or suffering some other mental condition that kept her from recognizing her son. Amber could understand staying away on those grounds, but, again, what about his dad? Or had everyone left her? It was so callous. So cruelly callous, not at all like the sweet, gentle Eric she'd been coming to know. What good did his relentless courtesy do when he just ran away from the first sight of unpleasantness?
When he pulled back, Amber stumbled a couple of steps, not insisting on the hold. She fiddled with the hem of the Colombia hoodie, the one she'd been so happy to appropriate, proud to wear as the symbol of being his. What if she got sick one day? Eric wouldn't stick around. He could put up with the knotted hair and her crying, but if she ever really needed help--
How sobering. Amber didn't mean to get sick. Ever. But she was a doctor. She'd seen enough people at the height of health deteriorate overnight to know better than to think herself immune; she was a winner, not immortal. It could happen. And when it did, Eric would "deal" with it. Without her.
The odor of stale sweat was suddenly overpowering.
Eric ranted on, oblivious to Amber's dejection. He still wanted to go to the stupid gym and play. Fine. Let him have his way, they could enjoy their games and fun, pretending that nothing was wrong now and that their future was crystal-clear. They’d live up the moment and screw the rest; one night of sex was all Amber had wanted from him, she shouldn't be bitter he couldn't give her more. "I'm going," she replied sharply. "If you can wait two seconds, I'll get ready." First step: change. Amber pulled his hoodie over her head.