Maija | Locked inside… [Marcus]

He then made his way up to the second floor to the message board, and then his old room to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind.*

She’d worked all day – pulling a couple extra overtime hours to boot, and is beat. She had gotten to the room (She refuses to call it ‘hers’, as everything that she has come to appreciate the past couple of months has been ripped away form her in the past two weeks..) peeled out of her ‘uniform’ and tossed it into the chair, pulling on a pair of sweats that are too big, and a tanktop that fits just right.

Then, she went to digging through the boxes of books for something to read, trying to come up with something to keep her mind occupied, or to bore it enough that she can sleep.

A minute later, the lock clicks open, and she opens the door just barely, to confirm it’s him, before opening it the rest of the way. “Hey.”

“Sorta.” He may think that’s all she will say on the matter, but after a moment or two. “He disappeared a week ago. Landlady gave me less then 12 hours when she found out – I saved as much of his books n shit as I could.” There’s three boxes marked ‘books’, there’s a 4th box that says ‘office’ and the last box is unmarked. This she used to stash some of his clothing, things she could and would use (like the sweatpants, and socks). The rest she had to leave behind.

She unfolds to stand and grab her clothes off the chair and toss it on the top of the dresser so he has a place to sit. “Ain’t noticed anything ya missed, but feel free t’look.”

She looks at the wall, then back to him, to the books. “Ain’t know nuthin bout buildin.” She doesn’t say that she hopes not to have to live here that long, because chances are, she’s stuck here a while, until she decides to move on for good. She simply leaves it at that.

“He had lots more- jus’ took his favorites an’ mine. Th’best I could do.” She sighs, softly, and then as she looks up at the wall, then him again, agrees. “Yeah, alright.”

The room gets smaller, all of the sudden, and that tension slides up along her spine, around her shoulders, settling in as an iron band of wariness and worry. She knows it’s not the same, that it’s different, that he’s different, but that doesn’t stop the instant reaction. She has to force herself to breathe. Slow, even. Nothing is wrong here.

[everythingiswrongalwayswrongeverything]

She takes a slow breath, and then, with a slight nod, as she lifts a hand (…no, they tremble like that all the time, honest…) to run it back through her hair. “Whatever yeh think is best, easiest.”

That….

(it’s stuck..)

…doesn’t help. Her breath catches, her frame tenses, and she lets go of her knees so that her feet can hit the floor. There is no where to run, though, and the last time someone said the door was ‘stuck’… then he clicks the lock to check it.

she knows what comes next.
(nonononononono)

She takes a breath, and then another. “Yeah, it sticks sometimes.” deceptively bland, even. “I usually kick it.”

Ryan was different – Marcus is different than any she’s met before. She’s a fish out of water – so resorts to a soft. “Thanks.”

Even if she’s currently locked in a room with him.

When he finishes, and demonstrates that it all works as it should now, and smiles, she nods, slightly, the barest flicker of amusement across her face, before disappearing. “Thanks. Yeh a regular boyscout.”

It seems that’s her standard reply for just about anything, really. She just nods, and lifts slender fingers to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Later.”

And when she got over to the message board, it was a definite sort of relief that came in knowing that she was, in fact, much smaller than she sounded. It didn’t make the rage go away though. Her phone was in her back pocketm her jeans riding low, and her shirt was a little dirty.

Other then that, she was on her A game.