marty gilford.

gum-chewing continues and she stares him dead in the eye for a minute ; full pout put on as the teenager just sits there. his reply is expected and doe eyes bear a kind of uncertainty, maybe even sadness. she’s not WANTED, she understands —- but it’s hard for someone who seeks attention so badly. hands find each other on the counter and the brunette corrects her posture: she wants to look CONFIDENT and willful. and she is, at least to an extent.  ❝ no, nothing like that. she just thinks i should be with my . . FAMILY.  ❞ the last bit doesn’t come out easily. her family’s back in new york, people who’ve seen the petite brunette break in her very first shoes.  ❝ like, like you’re my dad and stuff. and i really wanna stay. can’t afford a house on my own, either.  ❞

“ I’m NINETEEN! Twenty in April. If I hadn’t graduated high school yet, I’d be fucking retarded. Like, Emilio Estevez in Breakfast Club level stupid. I’m shocked he wasn’t a super senior. I like to consider myself more of a Judd Nelson as Bender kinda chick — sexy badass type. The amount of times I had detention, I spent more time in school than out. ” The annoyance in her expression was quickly replaced with a smile half smug. Though her words were only recited ( and carefully phrased ) to garner the types of reactions and perceptions she wanted, they weren’t lies. And though activities in detention weren’t exactly ending with pop songs and a fist pump on the field, she had to be a little bit proud of her REBELLIOUS activities, even though they hadn’t made her particularly popular. 

Pulling away from the other was an act deemed turtorous, but teeth found bottom lip and anticipation was painted across bronze features. She’s compliant and ardent: rushed motions to relieve her of clothing. An ancient t-shirt was the first to hit hardwood floor, remaining cotton underwear soon to follow. Skin exposed to the crisp air around them, frame seeking out the warmth of Marty Gilford. Charcoal gaze finding his, expression remaining amourous.  ❛  Yeah.  ❜  The younger breathes in response.   

Brows knit together as the older refrains from accepting ACTUAL CURRENCY– but he doesn’t dwell on it. Quick to repocket his belongings, a bottom lip pouts in consideration. He had money back home, anyway.  ❛  Deal.  ❜  He speaks in agreement, an arm stretched over the counter in an attempt of a confirmative handshake. 

Mickey’s never viewed the hospital as a place to take advantage of its patients, a fact that he decides to keep to himself. Rather than entering a disagreement, he takes another swig of burning liquid.  ❛  So… Self-proclaimed best bartender in town, then? S’not really the same, is it?  ❜  The younger challenges, his tone lacking any form of gravity. 

   lips part, green eyes roving features as if there’s some kind of revelation hidden there — a CODE to be deciphered only by the keenest of interpreters. ❛  yeah —   ❜  she says finally, when she can see nothing in them. it’s not surprise that registers in her face — no, not anything so strong to be resembling interest, but a kind of pleasant and accepting incomprehension. ❛  yeah i guess she would be, to you. that’s good.  ❜  her movements are slower now, grabbing the needful and stepping out with him, head tilted in introspection. ❛  do what well exactly?   ❜

       Every last penny of his allowance went towards comic books & raiding the Eclipse’s concession stand. But, he’d humour the older by raiding his pockets– emptying its contents on the bar. Gum, a couple cents, & gravel; a souvenir from when he got his ass kicked down by Holt’s. Last time he shopped for groceries directly after school. He shrugs, pushing the coins in Marty’s direction.  ❛  You got tabs?  ❜  

     A small sigh makes its way past full lips, brows knitting together - in the slightest.  ❛  I’m just a nurse. Gender restrictions are, kinda… a thing of the 50′s. ❜  The younger shrugged, not having entered the bar to defend his occupation.  ❛  Really? Guess I’d have to ask the old man ‘bout that. Think he’d vouch for you?  ❜  Mickey finished, not really having had an interest in his father’s opinions lately. 

@mrtglfrd ;

at first, there’s no movement and petite figure stands still, FROZEN in position. there’s obnoxious gum chewing and it’s debatable if she does it to be annoying or if it’s a nervous habit. one bag’s in her hand, stuffed to the very limit, the other placed next to her feet and she shoves it back, just a little. the last thing pauline wanted to, was to look DESPERATE. the bigger bag finally falls out of her grip and it meets the bar’s floor with a thud. pauline’s placed herself onto a barstool, with fingertips tapping on wodden counter and it’s LOUD ENOUGH to have everyone notice her.   ❝ hey, pa.  ❞  her tone is softer than usual and for once, she just acts like every other kid her age.  ❝  so, we like oli, right? and oli thinks that —- well, that you should make some room for me. so, yeah. think we could do that?  ❞

❛ Circles ARE infinity. Isn’t that, like, what pi is about? I might have failed algebra, but I got a D plus in geometry.  ❜

They’ll never make it farther than Hartford. If they’ll ever get out of Sheffield, she doubts. But it doesn’t matter. Her only concern is his presence and he’s there and she loves him. It’s a small demand but it’s enough to keep a beaming expression shine through. Legs wrap around the older and lips refuse the disconnect that comes with speaking. Though she accepts it – the small space created by empty promises; because whether empty or not, he’s got her eating out of the palm of his hand. And they both know it. Kisses are reciprocated and she wonders if elation has ever come this easy sober before.  ❛  Going soft on me, Gilford?  ❜  Her words breathing nostalgia & infatuation. 

       Thoughts of disapproving relatives & friends have been pushed aside: instead, arms are quick to wrap around his neck and her lips hurry to lock with Marty’s. Motions are rushed, but she doesn’t mind. Because a heart is beating and stomach is fluttering, the brunette letting a full frame be brought closer to his own.  ❛  Mhm,  ❜  She refuses to put further space between them, murmuring into a newly sought out kiss. She allows herself to sink down onto the mattress, the older’s weight pushing her further into the soft material.  ❛  You, a tux–  ❜  Unrefined sentence punctuated as teeth graze his fuller lip.

       Of things expected by the older, two words weren’t among ones predicted. They force silence to fall between them, her touch settling against his midriff: digits curling with thin fabric. It isn’t a question of  YES OR NO:  it’s whether sincerity was to be found in ageing features. The bold statement had done more than put the brunette on the spot. Ribcage endured hurried beats, Oliver Halonen experiencing her first  high  since  toxins had been flushed out of her system. And down the bathroom sink drain. Tears threaten stygian tints and ample lips manage to form something akin to a smile.  ❛  Okay.  ❜  She breathes out: lungs on fire & heart in her throat.

       She wants to yell. She wants to kick & scream & tell him jack-shit is okay. But the most dominant emotion remains love. A fucked up desire to be closer to him, despite everything he’d put her through. Despite everything that she’d put him through. So, she nods: breathing out, thighs parting. Head against the bedframe, eyes return to being closed. Every shard of attention given to his touch: forced, and she tries. But every attempt to derail apprehensive & noxious thoughts fails. Because her mind can’t be turned off and she can’t give herself into the act. Dark brows crease, words leaving the brunette ones she’d once prayed for to be unspoken.  ❛  I love you.  ❜  The phrase would be thrown back in her face. She’d be ridiculed, wounded beyond repair, regretful of the moment she allowed it. And she didn’t care. It was to be expected, and it was what she’d get. And maybe, just maybe, words would be enough to drive him further away– maybe a declaration of emotions unpromised would be enough to end the pair for good. 

❛   but  that  kind  of  SPECIFICITY  means  they  must  stand  out  to  you  —  right?   that  means  they  deviate  in  your  eyes,  from  blondes  and  redheads …   something  you  ascribe  a  different  behaviour  or  —  meaning.  inspires  your   artistry.    deviant.  ❜  she  is  already  paying  for  what  she’s  come  there  for  —  efficiency  is  when  you  have  three children  all  by  yourself,  it’s  become  something  of  second  nature  to  her.  the  difference  is  she’s  handing  over  the  items,  but  LOOKING  at  marty.  level-up?  maybe.   ❛  i’m  not.  not  refined…  or  mysterious…  or… better.   what  if   i  told  you  i’m  just  —  a  normal,  self-serving  woman  trying  her  best?  ❜  the  serene  expression  on  her  face  serves  as  a  thick  DAM  against  what  she  may  or  may  not  be  thinking.  is  she  serious?  is  she  joking?   does  she  mean  it?

       Any other day, his touch would be welcomed; neck strained to give him room, erasing any space left between them. Any other day. Initially, he’s not forced away. But neither is he encouraged: eyes closed and brows furrowed, she fights the growing ache in her chest. Past acts claw at her mind and she thinks, if she focuses, that she can still feel the presence of another. Senses are flooded; a mind scattered and skin burning. Emotions acting as a whirlwind in her head, and finally, eventually, she allows herself to move against the older. But palms press against his shoulders and he’s pushed away from a trembling frame. Knees are brought up to her chest, back pressed against the headboard. Her gaze is avoidant of his and she intends for it to stay that way.  ❛  You should go.  ❜ 

       Everything had its limit. Oli had hers, one that had been crossed by the older. And the amount of time she was prepared to wait, it’d expired only days prior. It’d resurface; hell, it did right away, but acts made in the window of time where it didn’t– those were ones too final. Words tug at her heartstrings, chest feeling heavier by each & every word spoken. Though, the last were what shattered an illusion of possible innocence.  ❛  I don’t either.  ❜  A statement soon to appear to lack any depth & meaning. But she doesn’t. And she’s PAINFULLY aware of the fact. Despite the wounds they inflict upon one another, Oliver Halonen lacked the desire to end it. Truly, end it. Even then, she wasn’t built for forgiveness: and despite Marty bringing it out, he also brought out treacherously destructive behaviour. Break-ups might be impulsive & fleeting, and the need to reunite is quick to strike. But intents to hurt the other is far more prominent and it overshadows any love she carries for the male.