You had a life in Manhattan...
x
Derek just couldn't help but feel that the breath he'd hastily been about to take upon the almost quite literal run in with his *wife* of eleven years had been robbed from him at the reigns of her all too familiar purr, the arrangement of seemingly saccharine words undoubtedly laced with meticulously planned attacks between their exterior meaning. Left with an uncertain jumble of disscontempt, shock, and...nostalgia, he quietly admits, in spite of himself, he can't seem to suppress a woeful chuckle. The Addison effect. She'd been doing this to him for as long as he could remember. Careful to keep his demeanor hidden-more importantly, hidden from Addison- his eyes take interest in the rather oddly, now that he thinks of it, patterned floor.
The hair, though. You know I've always had a thing for Russell Crowe.
x
And with that, Addison had reassembled her arsenal, armed and prepared for any other battle to come. Her intricately done up curls had bounced away along with the rest of her aura, the daggers on her impeccably pedicured feet taking step after jolting step away from her *husband* of eleven years, appearing unscathed, the one with the upper hand.
Maybe neither of us meant to hurt each other, but we've been stepping to this tarantella since before we even knew it was a dance.
Well, what remained of an upper hand, anyways, considering...recent events- or affairs, to put in better context. She pushes the thought- or rather, thoughts, out of her mind. They can get through this. They're Addison and Derek. Maybe if she says it enough, she'll be able to believe it. For a fraction of a second- just one moment- her armor ceases to protect the vulnerability that she'd fought so hard to conceal, and she considers turning back. Turning back to face the captivating blue eyes that had found their way to the-very oddly, now that she thinks of it- patterned floor, and conveying her remorse in every way she knew to be possible.
I messed up, Derek. People mess up.
But then she'd have to admit that she wasn't ok, and that making every borderline seductive comment she could think of about Derek's-hair- wouldn't change the fact that two months ago, the love of her life had walked out on her. That the night before he walked out, she'd screwed his best friend. Their best friend. That in the months and years prior to such, she'd spent more days, nights, afternoons, and many other periods of time left in solace, with the notable absence of the man who was supposed to be her other half. Slowly, he'd begun to unknowingly destroy her. Destroy them.
We didn't even bother to fight anymore.
2800 miles apart, and *they* were still as connected as they'd ever been. She'd ruined her life. Their life. He was just there. He was just theirs.
