This wouldn't work at all- so I would appreciate any feedback you could give me. Its the same thing but from Michelle. oh and i don't have a clue what formatting is, so sorry if its screwed up.
She felt sick, really sick. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, not even close. She'd never been into fairytales, preferring to believe that life would offer a more interesting story, but right now, she'd give anything to be in a fairytale. The princess marries her prince and they ride off into the sunset to live happily ever after. She'd give anything for that.
Instead, here she was, hiding in the bathroom of a federal prison, waiting to see her husband. Her body was pressed against the sink; she was unsure if she would be able to support herself without it. She'd waited so long for this, and at the same time had dreaded it.
Having to face him, getting to see him again, but having to look him in the eyes, knowing that it was her fault that he was there. She should never have gone into the hotel, she knew it was against protocol, but somehow it had seemed important. Ridiculous really, they didn't stop the virus being released and all those people had still died.
Better yet, she should have made him stay at the hospital, he had a bloody hole in his neck for God's sake. Or even better, she should never have married him in the first place.
She didn't mean that, not really, and yet on some level she did. If she had never married him, if they had never become close, he wouldn't have given a damn if she was captured at all. If she had been able to control herself back on the day of the bomb, she wouldn't have to go home to a house filled with memories, and yet empty of everything, of anything, of him.
Catching her reflection in the mirror, she started to frantically redo her hair. Not for any reason, just because it was something to do. Her fingers worked across her hair, pulling it back but leaving the single curl loose for him. Which was stupid, really. She was going to see him through a glass wall, she wasn't going to be able to touch him. But it didn't matter. The idea of his finger wrapping itself in her curl was enough.
Looking in the mirror again, she sighed. The make up she usually buried herself in to cover up the nights of sleeplessness was gone. She couldn't bear him to see her like that. Instead, her face was pale and her eyes were hollow. She hated that he would see her like this, but it was who she had become, and she needed his reaction to her
Finally, she pulled herself up, her breath heavy with the tears that she refused to let escape, had refused to let escape since he had been taken away.
Glancing back one last time, she forced that same smile onto her face that she had been wearing for the last couple of months. She was still Michelle Dessler. He had done this for her, it was the least she could do to go in there and face him.
Walking back out, she sat herself down, waiting for them to bring him to her, her fingers finding the divorce papers hidden in the bottom of her bag, the happy smile frozen onto her face as silent tears poured inside of her.