No, it wasn't okay, but--hey--hang on--Darcy! [ he bites, and he doesn't like the teeth of it, but-- ] You don't think I want to go home too? This is... I have left my wife behind twice, and now I'm waking up every day in a bedroom that isn't mine next to a woman who isn't her.
[ Tired is the easy word for it. Tired is the summary. There's a lot of things that have come to weigh in his stomach, and one of them is a feeling so familiar that he wears like an old, heavy, ill-fitting coat. He's so terribly homesick. He spent all day dicking around with fucking dixie cups and plastic straws, making third-grade contraptions just to grasp at a semblance of habit and home.
Phil is doing a good job at combating it. He knows he's going to get used to it. He'll settle. It's his third go-around. He's still fucking miserable.
One day, he'll learn.
He doesn't know what else to say without getting angry, and he doesn't want to be angry at her. He also doesn't want to leave. So instead Phil shakes his head and sighs out, like all the fight goes out of him with it, and instead of looking at Darcy he picks up the clipboard and flips idly through the pages of unchanging data with the hand that wears his wedding band. Clicks his pen and marks down another row. He doesn't double check the numbers. He doesn't need to. ]
... You can think whatever you want. I never get a choice.
no subject
[ Tired is the easy word for it. Tired is the summary. There's a lot of things that have come to weigh in his stomach, and one of them is a feeling so familiar that he wears like an old, heavy, ill-fitting coat. He's so terribly homesick. He spent all day dicking around with fucking dixie cups and plastic straws, making third-grade contraptions just to grasp at a semblance of habit and home.
Phil is doing a good job at combating it. He knows he's going to get used to it. He'll settle. It's his third go-around. He's still fucking miserable.
One day, he'll learn.
He doesn't know what else to say without getting angry, and he doesn't want to be angry at her. He also doesn't want to leave. So instead Phil shakes his head and sighs out, like all the fight goes out of him with it, and instead of looking at Darcy he picks up the clipboard and flips idly through the pages of unchanging data with the hand that wears his wedding band. Clicks his pen and marks down another row. He doesn't double check the numbers. He doesn't need to. ]
... You can think whatever you want. I never get a choice.