Re: Cars: [Dominique]
Posted: 05 Feb 2015, 12:56
He hadn't asked, or even wondered, about her cold hand.
He knew people with hands like ice. And they weren't all dead -- though, the majority of them were. He'd been told, by a therapist, on a particularly cold day in November, one afternoon, in America, that he had a cold hand. He'd been asked, afterward, if he knew what cold hands meant. He'd said, 'No, what do they mean?' And the therapist had said something like, 'They mean you have a very warm heart.'
And, so, his mind immediately replayed the memory to define and explain the coolness of her skin. A warm heart.
It's funny, what people base their assumptions of other people on. Like how Courtney assumed the girl had a warm heart, because she had a cold hand, because some therapist had said something similar to him, when he was young and susceptible.
And it was funny how Dominique stumbled to regain herself, how she searched for herself, how her actions didn't quite fit what she was saying, how she offered up an explanation, before he needed one.
Yeah, Courtney was an intuitive one, and despite the 'warm heart' he could sense that something was wrong.
He didn't know she was leaving, because of the jacket. He knew she was leaving, because he'd heard the light click off, before she headed up front. The jacket was only minimally processed -- something that didn't really occur to him, as much as her demeanor had. She had it written on her. He sensed it with his empathy, even though he wasn't aware that he was an Empath, yet, wasn't completely in control of himself.
Her nervous agitation wore at his sternum.
Her hunger gnawed inside him.
His eyebrows furrowed.
"Well," he muttered, entrapped by her awkward social gait -- as awkward as his -- which begged some type of continuation, "All right. I'm going to go ahead and walk to the station. I have a few things I have to work on, myself. I'm starved. Have a good night, uh... Dominique."
He knew people with hands like ice. And they weren't all dead -- though, the majority of them were. He'd been told, by a therapist, on a particularly cold day in November, one afternoon, in America, that he had a cold hand. He'd been asked, afterward, if he knew what cold hands meant. He'd said, 'No, what do they mean?' And the therapist had said something like, 'They mean you have a very warm heart.'
And, so, his mind immediately replayed the memory to define and explain the coolness of her skin. A warm heart.
It's funny, what people base their assumptions of other people on. Like how Courtney assumed the girl had a warm heart, because she had a cold hand, because some therapist had said something similar to him, when he was young and susceptible.
And it was funny how Dominique stumbled to regain herself, how she searched for herself, how her actions didn't quite fit what she was saying, how she offered up an explanation, before he needed one.
Yeah, Courtney was an intuitive one, and despite the 'warm heart' he could sense that something was wrong.
He didn't know she was leaving, because of the jacket. He knew she was leaving, because he'd heard the light click off, before she headed up front. The jacket was only minimally processed -- something that didn't really occur to him, as much as her demeanor had. She had it written on her. He sensed it with his empathy, even though he wasn't aware that he was an Empath, yet, wasn't completely in control of himself.
Her nervous agitation wore at his sternum.
Her hunger gnawed inside him.
His eyebrows furrowed.
"Well," he muttered, entrapped by her awkward social gait -- as awkward as his -- which begged some type of continuation, "All right. I'm going to go ahead and walk to the station. I have a few things I have to work on, myself. I'm starved. Have a good night, uh... Dominique."