outcast at last.

his complete lack of response leaves her seething, having come with the intent of looking for a fight. searching for anything to distract her from her own pitiful reality. “you don’t get to judge my feelings right now.” and though misha’s voice wavers with their close proximity, her gaze remains still, staring up at him with as much defiance as she can muster. “oh, goody, you’re dating. well, just make sure she doesn’t have any babies because we all know how big of a dealbreaker that is for you!” hands drunkenly smack at his, glaring up at him with equal fire —- and while all she wants to do is cry, all that comes out is a laugh, bitter, hurt, and livid. “why didn’t you call me? you just pretended like i didn’t exist while you were dating and attempting to kill my dad.”

his frustration toward her seems to find new heightened levels with every day that passes by. his hatred boils his blood to the point he could probably produce steam at this point. and he glares at her like she is the sole reason for everything that’s going wrong in his life. “you do not get to barge in here and demand things from me. ever. do you hear me? you’re the one who left. that is the decision that you made and that decision comes with consequences that you’re, frankly, gonna have to deal with your god damn self.” everything he says lacks substance, all liquored up and barked out of anger. “now get the fuck out of my sight.”

misha doesn’t know how else to feel other than angry and hurt, anger just happens to be on override in this moment. staring at mike in this situation only heightened the anger, if this was a cartoon her face would be red and smoke would be blowing out of her ears while train whistles blew. in fact, misha is so angry tears are stinging at eyes and hands are fisted. “it’s fine.” it’s not your fault is what she wants to say, but not much truth was in that. misha knows mike isn’t fully to blame in all of this, there isn’t much he did wrong. but in this moment he just happened to catch her teetering on the edge of sanity and a full on mental breakdown. she is harbouring so much regret and guilt that it’s eating her alive, and that is just scratching the surface of her hurricane of emotions raging within her. “do you love her?”

he plays numb and clueless to the qualms that may be racing through her headspace now —- as if similar thoughts aren’t plaguing his own. he does not want the weight of emotions she brings, prefers to leave things as they are rather than address what they could be. this interaction is one jared would easily describe as trivial, half of his mind is present while the other remains wrapped up in the workload he must finish by the end of the day. eyebrows furrowed now raise upon a predictable question, gaze shifting towards her once again. “why are you so concerned? she’s not your daughter.”

though she doesn’t want to hear what he has to say, his words process into her cognisance regardless, loud and clear, but only leave her even more puzzled than before. she doesn’t have much experience in the social aspect of things, endless failed relationships and of course her father —- who endlessly warned her about men just like himself. but she has to wonder if she’s being unfair by assuming that persona upon mike. she spends a few seconds deep in contemplation until the last words leave his mouth; reminding her how out of the loop he’s been. and although she wanted to keep it that way, the liquor in her system won’t allow it. “my baby’s dead, mike.” —- “am i finally desirable enough for you again now that i’m no longer a mother? or is too late? because it seems i’ve been replaced already.”

he doesn’t budge from his current perched position, though it might’ve been a kinder gesture to stand in acknowledgement of her arrival, but he’s just so tired, instead he leans forward on his desk and rests his chin upon his palm. “well, that makes two of us,” he says nonchalantly, flashing a toothy grin in her direction. “so, how’ve you been doing?” small talk, taking the place of an apology he might owe her, or perhaps to avoid any misha talk he’d clearly been avoiding ever since the incident. “you shouldn’t be here,” is muttered suddenly, stale and stoic. do note the way adam’s apple rises and falls as he gulps down a certain anxiety. 

distraction mixed up with a new-found clumsiness was never a good brew but it was exactly what landed alyx in the position of picking up a knocked over stand of jewellery that she had somehow managed to almost demolish. it was embarrassing enough that it had happened in the first place but once she hears the little bell of her shop door opening, cheeks only heat further as she stands to absentmindedly greet the stranger (or so she thought it was). “hey! hi! welcome. sorry about the mess, is there something i can help you with?”

she suppresses the urge to force her palm against his cheek at the sight of him with a different woman earlier on, and instead she’ll fold her svelte limbs over her chest to refrain from imposing any physical harm upon him as she was finally able to approach him. “is it true?” disheartened, her eyes are scanning his countenance as if she could possibly piece together the answers she seeks just by looking at him. “tell me! all this time, were you just using me to get intel?” eyes bore holes into his (despite the fact that looking into them after such a long time had her heart beating faster than it had in a while) physical and mental exhaustion expelling from her chest cavity.

slaving away at his desk, piles of paperwork scattered along the surface and his old run down laptop sits on top of it all. he’s been up for... forty-eight hours? and the dark circles surrounding his eyes serve as evidence of that. he takes another sip of cold coffee, smacks his lips at the bitter taste and in his peripheral vision, he notices a silhouette who he assumes is one of his men’s old lady. “what is it, sherri?” he murmurs, and when he receives no response, he all but slams his laptop shut in frustration, gaze lifting from the screen only to be startled as the figure starts to resemble a person of his past. “well, well, well, i’ll be damned.”