@glyceren.
marla cleans up to come visit. she doesn’t swipe on eyeshadow with her thumbs before leaving the house, she doesn’t do her hair up into horns. it’s not out of deference to him and what he thinks and what he likes, it’s a precaution. the first time she marched in, floor length snakeskin print trench coat dripping onto the linoleum, the orderlies spared no evil eye. they’re just underpaid enough that lurching at guests in the off chance they might secure a fat finder’s fee for admittance is a real possibility. eccentricity is a thin but viable cause. god forbid they find the time to actually administer her a neuropsychological evaluation. even now, in slacks that’ve only been worn once to a job interview, she swears someone in scrubs was just frothing at the mouth. their wages have probably dropped below minimum. budget cuts or some shit.
‘ i brought you a brand new pack of cigarettes but they found it in my waistband and threw the whole thing in the trash. ’ she moves her hands from the table to her lap and back again. it’s still hard to know what to do with him, the only easy approach is to stop thinking. ‘ you look bad. better than before, but still bad. ’
