Amber wasn't convinced he'd wait; nothing to keep him from bolting, with or without having intended to do so. It was his track record with his family, after all. But as she took off her shirt and got on a bra, all the sounds he made came from the kitchen.
What was she doing? The minute she was ready, she'd have to leave this room. See him. Rummaging for what she needed, pulling on her sneakers and tying the laces, Amber's thoughts lingered over the implications of what she knew about Eric and his strange relationship to his family. Moving became harder and harder, as if her oxygen supply were being slowly drained away, limiting her energy. How was she supposed to face him, wondering how long before he ran from her, too?
Dressed casually for the outside world, her hair down, and holding a bag with her workout clothes, Amber swung by the bathroom for the last few preparations. No makeup, not if they were going to spend an hour or two running and jumping. No, what she couldn't forget was the second dosage of levonorgestrel; Amber grabbed the package, popped out the pill, and quickly dry-swallowed it. There, done. No more room for regrets. There wouldn't be any Volakis-Foreman lovechildren. Now all she had to do was make sure they never forgot protection again.
Her sneakers scuffed against the ceramic tiles and wood panels, walking back to the kitchen. It'd been a few minutes since the last sound from here, but since she hadn't heard the front door slam or screams from the window, Amber assumed Eric hadn't made a hasty exit. Probably just sitting quietly for her.
She found Eric shell-shocked in the kitchen. The sight gave her pause. At least he felt like crap over being a selfish son of a bitch. …Huh. And she was the cutthroat bitch. What a pair they made. "Let's go," Amber said simply, shouldering her sports bag. If they were going to drown their woes in sweat, let them start soon, to get rid of this heaviness. (She wasn't avoiding the truth, like Eric; she just-- it should be fun, however long they lasted. She’d mope after things had gone disastrously wrong.) "I've still got to kick your ass."
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What was she doing? The minute she was ready, she'd have to leave this room. See him. Rummaging for what she needed, pulling on her sneakers and tying the laces, Amber's thoughts lingered over the implications of what she knew about Eric and his strange relationship to his family. Moving became harder and harder, as if her oxygen supply were being slowly drained away, limiting her energy. How was she supposed to face him, wondering how long before he ran from her, too?
Dressed casually for the outside world, her hair down, and holding a bag with her workout clothes, Amber swung by the bathroom for the last few preparations. No makeup, not if they were going to spend an hour or two running and jumping. No, what she couldn't forget was the second dosage of levonorgestrel; Amber grabbed the package, popped out the pill, and quickly dry-swallowed it. There, done. No more room for regrets. There wouldn't be any Volakis-Foreman lovechildren. Now all she had to do was make sure they never forgot protection again.
Her sneakers scuffed against the ceramic tiles and wood panels, walking back to the kitchen. It'd been a few minutes since the last sound from here, but since she hadn't heard the front door slam or screams from the window, Amber assumed Eric hadn't made a hasty exit. Probably just sitting quietly for her.
She found Eric shell-shocked in the kitchen. The sight gave her pause. At least he felt like crap over being a selfish son of a bitch. …Huh. And she was the cutthroat bitch. What a pair they made. "Let's go," Amber said simply, shouldering her sports bag. If they were going to drown their woes in sweat, let them start soon, to get rid of this heaviness. (She wasn't avoiding the truth, like Eric; she just-- it should be fun, however long they lasted. She’d mope after things had gone disastrously wrong.) "I've still got to kick your ass."