herjunior:

when ur talkin business ( please take my editing sh it away ….. pygrny )

connie.

    connie was quiet, slowly trying to calm her breathing. her hands
    still shook like a damn earthquake and one went to lay upon one
    side of her face. her features felt warm, slowly heating up with 
    anxiety. she was actually going to look at him; there was only a
    little bit of red residue left. 

    upon finally turning around, the shaking seemed to increase. her
    hair still pasted itself over he face and she shied away almost. she
    was getting ready to be scolded, to be seen as a monster and lose
    yet another person she had lost. 

    but it was just paint, and if it was just paint and he wanted her to look
    at him, then it was just paint. “ please, sam. “ connie didn’t know why
    she had said that, but the anxiety was twisted at her insides, making 
    everything hurt and feel uneasy. throat became dry and so did tongue;
    she was scared….again.

      regret lingers in his psyche, clawing at him while wondering why
      did you do this to her? he knows what connie has gone through
      ( not entirely, beyond his awareness ) & feels as if he’s centered
      in the wrong for disregarding it. disregarding her needs for
      SOLACE. just over something that sam assumed was blood? 

       even if doubt played like an adamant opponent in a western
       stand-off, waiting to draw out his gun & shoot, his SENSIBILITIES
       kicked in, & decided to turn its back away from it. 

       he just doesn’t like seeing her this way, so shaken & on the
       verge of shattering. 

       a hand gently reaches out to tuck back the strands of her hair,
       exposing more of the remaining stains on her face. it’s not as
       red as before, but it seems a hint darker than the usual red
       paint he’s seen. he looks at it for a while, fingers grazing lightly
       on her cheek, before withdrawing. “i’m sorry,” he apologizes
       again, frowning at the fear he deciphers within her eyes, “i
       believe you. i just got worried..”

connie.

    “ SAM!! “ she had shouted, but had then silenced herself. 
    yelling at him would hurt herself and obviously won’t fix
    anything. though, his the constant questions that were
    being thrown at her were making her even more nervous.
    now with just a little bit of red residue on her face, she 
    remained lingering over the sink trying to grab her own
    thoughts, shaky hands holding her up.

    “ sam, sometimes children don’t have a really good aim. 
    maybe he intended it to be my whole body, but he only
    caught this part of my face. “ she still didn’t look at him
    and remained hiding behind her hair. 

     he doesn’t realize just how close he is to the line separating
     what’s okay & what’s not, or how his foot is just a step away
     from unhinging the normalcy connie tethered herself to. she
     looks so different now: the shakiness, the lack of wanting to
     make eye-contact, even with the curtain of hair she hides
     herself behind.

     maybe he did go overboard. he’s just worried. & with
     connie’s attempt to paint an answer, it looked more
     forged than anything.

      he walks closer, though not close enough to make her
      uneasier than she already was. “if it’s just paint, then
      why won’t you look at me? i want to see,” but she won’t
      allow him.

connie.

    connie’s breath had quickened as she rushed around the 
    bathroom, trying to hide her face behind a curtain of hair. 
    she was doing fine with hiding it as she got a wash cloth
    from the tub and began scrubbing at her face. the loss of
    breath sort of made it harder to respond to his words. “ he,
    uh, he’s always had paint in his, uh room—-he just—-, “
    she began to rub hard at her face as she leaned over the
    sink to the mirror.

    “ he threw his paint at me, alright sam? he just…he threw it. “

      she stuttered, he hears, while she was wiping off the blotch of
      red away. he stepped inside, but not entirely; merely halfway
      through between the issue & dropping it, just to believe what
      she said. deep down he feels like something is off, & not just
      from the stuttering laced in her reply, too.

     ‘ why would he throw PAINT? ‘ he pauses, looking at her
       reflection, ‘ why’s it only on your FACE then? ‘

gyllenhaals:

Well…that’s how I feel tonight.

connie.

    “ n-no, no, it’s some of—it’s some of harrison’s paint. “
    though, her actions said otherwise as she wasn’t really
     standing in front of sam to answer his question, but
     rushing to the bathroom.

    “connie!” before he could continue, she was on her way to clean up.
     he follows her. though upon reaching the bathroom, he’s only met
     with the nearly-shut door. a hand cuts in to stop it from shutting
     completely – it didn’t offer enough space to peek in, for he could
     only make out a part of her head. normally sam wouldn’t do this, but
     CONCERN played a big factor for his actions. “i didn’t know harrison
     even HAD paint out to use.” which is synonymous to: i don’t think
     that’s paint.

connie.

open

   “ don’t look at me. “

     he’s still, eyes fix on the crimson paint
     splattered on one half of her face. if only
     it were paint–
       ‘ h-hang on– what is that? is that.. BLOOD? ‘

connie.

    connie noticed. she noticed how some things she did, managed
    to make the common, chiseled indention parts within his features
    go to a more subtle and neutral shape. connie has that power
    sometimes; she can change the way a person looks without using
    words to criticize, but she unknowingly did shift their emotions and
    when she realizes, she REALIZES. connie pushed the bowl a little
    closer to him, indicating that she wanted him to begin eating. she
    knew he had to be hungry.

    another soft smile grazes her intricate lips. just as she remembered
    how he was when they were somewhat younger; so worrisome. it’s
    amazing how some traits managed to permanently stick around. she
    knew some of hers did too. “ no but’s, “ a slight chuckle. “ sam, if i 
    weren’t sure, then i wouldn’t be bothering, right? “

     he picks up the fork, starts to swirl it around the bowl of cooked
     pasta. it coils around the prongs. his gaze dips to watch it for a
     second before starting to eat. last time he’s actually had nice
     home-cooked food were the holidays he spent at his parents’
     place – the last time being several months ago – so this was a
     nice change of pace. & even better to distract himself from the
     turmoil he finds himself stuck in. he slurps the last string of pasta,
     then swallows after he’s done with his bite. eyes flicker up to see
     her: connie. content fans across her face with that smile of hers,
     it’s contagious, causing sam to smile, too. 

    “yeah, that’s true,” he considers. even if he’ll allow connie to do
     this, it doesn’t mean he’ll have a restful sleep at the thought of
     her possibly MEETING his tormentor. “just .. promise me you’ll
     be okay, okay? if skylar comes, just run upstairs & i’ll handle it;
     i should’ve handled it before, but.. i don’t know, i just panicked,”
     the fear molded into a newfound shape of guilt. he tossed too
     much to connie, who already was fighting in HER own battle.

connie.

    “ we both had it tough. “ connie grinned a little more, eyes
    finally meeting his features. they both did have it rough and
    connie didn’t see hers any more worse than his since suffering
    wasn’t a competition. “ thank god you’re around to assure me. “

     edges of his lips keep up; it’s practically impossible to frown
     with connie around, sam finds. a hand lightly presses on her
     shoulder, squeezes it as an act to assure, then lets his hand
     fall back to his lap with hopes a second longer of lingering
     wouldn’t seem awkward. “no problem, connie. i should be
     thanking you, honestly.” he laughs, short, but genuine.