(Mess, mess, mess. Maybe, just maybe, she should have shut up, just maybe, because this is not going well for her at all. Maybe she should not have pulled him out of simp mode. That was probably the best option she had. But noooooo, she wanted to argue.
This grilling feels horrible, no one other than Esme really grills her, so the anger morphs into a whole blurb of confusion, indignation, feeling misheard and misunderstood, and then into immediate regret. This is unusual, never seen before, never experienced before, unexpected, and she feels...
Upset. Of course they've never been together, she never wanted to, will never want to. That's not what she is saying, but if he refuses to see how fucking weird the whole thing is, and she doesn't even know the fucked up part of it, then she's done.
Now she's the one that feels resigned, tired. Alone. Tired, resigned, alone. Alone, dealing with this shit alone. Never seen before. Her brain searches, searches, searches, bounces by his, not the one she wants, bounces through everyone in this building, and nothing. She has never wanted Esme in her brain so badly.
Esme is a bitch. If she had damn Esme, she'd definitely have won this.
Sophie is not Esme. Sophie is... Trying. Trying so hard. So, instead of yelling back, she's just taking the champagne bottle and her own glass back to the couch to breathe.)
no subject
This grilling feels horrible, no one other than Esme really grills her, so the anger morphs into a whole blurb of confusion, indignation, feeling misheard and misunderstood, and then into immediate regret. This is unusual, never seen before, never experienced before, unexpected, and she feels...
Upset. Of course they've never been together, she never wanted to, will never want to. That's not what she is saying, but if he refuses to see how fucking weird the whole thing is, and she doesn't even know the fucked up part of it, then she's done.
Now she's the one that feels resigned, tired. Alone. Tired, resigned, alone. Alone, dealing with this shit alone. Never seen before. Her brain searches, searches, searches, bounces by his, not the one she wants, bounces through everyone in this building, and nothing. She has never wanted Esme in her brain so badly.
Esme is a bitch. If she had damn Esme, she'd definitely have won this.
Sophie is not Esme. Sophie is... Trying. Trying so hard. So, instead of yelling back, she's just taking the champagne bottle and her own glass back to the couch to breathe.)
You win. Happy? Fine. You win.