Her voice dripped with an icy disdain as she turned to face him, her emerald eyes flashing with thinly veiled hostility. "Really, what exactly is it that we need to talk about?" she inquired, her tone laced with biting sarcasm.
Michael sat back down in the chair, his patience wearing thin. "Valerie," he began, his voice laced with exasperation.
She cut him off abruptly, her jaw clenching tightly, "Michael," she spat, her voice laced with venom.
"Please don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," he pleaded, his frustration evident in his tone.
She scoffed, her eyes narrowing into slits, "It's because I don't," she retorted.
Michael fell silent, his gaze fixed upon her, his annoyance mounting with each passing moment.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice laced with annoyance, "Alright fine, I do remember but If I'm being honest your brother is the last person I ever want to talk about," she declared, her tone firm, her movements brisk as she adjusted her attire.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat, "Yeah, I know, but I thought we agreed to talk about him," he acknowledged, his voice laced with resignation.
"Yes and no. It was more like I only agreed because you said the FBI's been on your ass about him, and my interest was piqued, and normally I never drink, but since we were going to be talking about him, I figured maybe I could do it easily with you if I was drunk, but look where that led you and me," she retorted, her voice laced with regret and frustration.
She turned her back to him, her silence a testament to her unresolved anger and simmering resentment.
Despair clouded Valerie's eyes as she attempted to brush off Michael's persistent concern. Her voice, once a soothing melody, now strained under the weight of pent-up emotions. "Look, Michael," she began, her tone laced with a hint of exasperation, "I get it, I really do.
Do you get it Valerie this situation with Frank... you just can't keep running from it forever."
Valerie stiffened, her body language mirroring the resistance within her. "I don't need to face anything," she retorted, her voice rising an octave
Michael's heart sank as he witnessed the inner turmoil etched on Valerie's face. He got up and reached out to gently place a hand on her shoulder, his touch a silent plea for understanding. "I know it's not easy, Val," he said softly, his voice resonating with empathy. "But you can't bury this issue; it'll only fester and bubble up until it finally burst.
"I don't have time for this, Michael. I have to get to work." She snatched her shoes off the floor, her movements quick and agitated.
As Valerie turned to leave, Michael's heart ached for her. He knew she was running from more than just Frank; she was running from her own fears and insecurities. But he also knew that he couldn't force her to confront them.
He sighed, conceding to her wishes. After all, pushing the matter further would only prolong the inevitable. "At least let me drive you to work," he offered, reaching for his jacket hanging on the coat rack. "I live near 21st anyway."
A smile spread across her face, a welcome sight after the tense exchange. "Gladly," she replied, then the smile quickly dropped. She gathered her belongings and made sure her badge was clipped securely to her uniform. With that, they exited the apartment, locking the door behind them.
As she settled into the passenger seat, he stole a glance at her profile. The soft morning light streaming through the windshield cast a warm glow on her skin, accentuating the delicate lines of her features.
Her lips, usually pursed in a determined set, were now relaxed in a gentle smile, a testament to her relief at the resolution of their earlier disagreement.
He started the car, the engine humming to life. As they pulled out of the parking lot, he couldn't help but notice the subtle tension in her shoulders, a lingering reminder of the conflict they had just navigated.
His hand, like a tender caress, reached out and found hers, a silent symphony of reassurance. Her head, a delicate pivot, turned towards him, eyes meeting his, a kaleidoscope of gratitude swirling within a pool of vulnerability.
The touch, a mere whisper of contact, ignited a surge of comfort that washed over her, gently kneading away the last vestiges of tension.
Yet, despite the soothing balm of his touch, she instinctively withdrew her hand, a gesture as fleeting as a butterfly's wingbeat.
As the car glided along the road, an awkward yet peaceful silence enveloped them. Her gaze sought refuge in the window, her eyes painting a blurred panorama of the world outside, while her mind sketched the contours of their unspoken conversation.
The silence, though heavy with unvoiced emotions, was a sanctuary, a shared space where hearts dared to speak without words.