Silently, she raises both hands to her ears, pointing her index fingers upward in the shape of the cowl, brow sharply arched. She doesn't spend much time watching films, but she'd run off that summer, run to Italy, tried to live like girls her age were meant to. Flirted, danced, went to the theater, watched the same movies as everyone else. The last shred of normalcy she'd known, really.
"Yeah." And no matter how ridiculous it sounds, there isn't a shred of her doubt when she asks her question in turn. "He's your father?"
Her gaze shifts to the side, fleeting, buried in thought. "He's kind of fucked, isn't he?" The ring of a shot. The sound of a bus hitting— the sound— hollow. Subconsciously, her shoulders raise as she wraps her arms around herself. How do you fix that? How do you erase it? She tries for a smile, all for him, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, too resigned to travel far. "Real wanker."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2011-12-01 08:10 pm (UTC)"Yeah." And no matter how ridiculous it sounds, there isn't a shred of her doubt when she asks her question in turn. "He's your father?"
Her gaze shifts to the side, fleeting, buried in thought. "He's kind of fucked, isn't he?" The ring of a shot. The sound of a bus hitting— the sound— hollow. Subconsciously, her shoulders raise as she wraps her arms around herself. How do you fix that? How do you erase it? She tries for a smile, all for him, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, too resigned to travel far. "Real wanker."