shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

Shelley opens the door quietly when she gets home. She's tired. Not sleeping well - it's catching up with her, slowly - and then a busy day running around at work takes it out of you rather. And now a stretch of evening watching her back, trying to avoid Elan in her own house. Not much to look forward to.

He's there again, sitting on the coach and reading.

The living room smells like cleaning fluid.

She rolls her eyes to herself and shuts the door behind her.

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She sips her own studiously as she sits down - not on the couch, but in an armchair a little way away.

Oh, coffee. For when tea just isn't quite kicky enough.

Elan took another sip, and glanced over at her. His voice was mild and ever so slightly curious.

"Do you know that you never meet my gaze?"

Shelley pauses, cup half to her lips.

She does. She has done.

"...Maybe I don't want to," she says after that brief hesitation, voice cold.

Elan thought for a moment, and then challenged her softly. This ought to be interesting, at least.

"Can you though?"

"I have before," she says quickly, before taking another sip of coffee, head still down.

"And I said. Maybe I don't want to."

Stop looking at me.

Elan nodded calmly, and replied softly. A compliment never hurt.

"I was simply curious, because I think your eyes are beautiful and I so seldom see them directly."

Shelley grits her teeth, and reaches up compulsively to adjust her glasses.

Shut up shut up shut up-

"Tough."

She was tense. This was a difficult subject for her, and one he could play to his advantage.

"Why can you not now, though? You could before."

"I-" she glances up automatically, and finds her gaze sliding away nervously at the clutch of panic she feels when their eyes meet.

She closes hers instead.

"I don't like it."

Tilting his head, he inquired softly. His power over her was very great indeed. Not bent enough, yet, but soon, and soon.

(Eyes I dare not meet in dreams)

"That may be why you do not, but why can you not?"

Shelley shakes her head and puts her cup down on the table clumsily, for something to do, swallowing hard.

(Stand. I want to get a good look at you.)

"No. I don't know, and I don't want-"

She crosses her arms over her chest in subconscious defence. She doesn't like it.

Ah. There was a powerful tool. This behavior was rooted in trauma, a significant insight lay in her covering her chest with her arms.

Excellent.

"...My apologies for bringing the matter up."

A sip of his coffee.

Angrily, but still looking firmly down, Shelley removes her glasses, and rubs at the lenses with her sleeve before replacing them in silence.

Not fair.

As if anything ever is anymore.

Saying nothing, Elan sipped his coffee and adjusted to sit cross-legged on the couch. There was little to say. This conversation had produced more than he could have hoped for--Almost anything he could have hoped for.

A few minutes pass slowly, Shelley staring sightlessly in front of her as her coffee cools forgotten on the table.

Then she gets to her feet, in one quick motion, and makes for the stairs. A bath won't solve a thing... but maybe she'll feel a little better.

Maybe.

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