hunger ; detroit: become human

fourteen

Cynthia

Night of November 9th, 2038 - 11:30 PM

Cynthia had locked herself in their bedroom for most of the day. She'd changed out of her bathing suit and Elijah's button down into a baggy shirt and a pair of workout shorts that had her alma mater's mascot on the thigh. Her necklace was still resting comfortably against her skin, and she played with it gently. Hot tears rolled down her red and already tear stained cheeks, and she couldn't stop them. She'd been crying on and off all day, with Chloe coming to check on her once an hour. Whether it was at Elijah's request or not, she didn't know. She wasn't even sure if she cared.

She rolled over onto her other side, peering at the clock on her nightstand. 11:30 PM shone in bright blue light, and she forced herself to sit up. She wanted wine, and she'd earned a glass, she felt. Getting up out of bed, she walked to the door and cracked it open, peering around to make sure Elijah was nowhere to be seen. She didn't have the energy to deal with him, and she was sure he was furious with her for having pushed him into the pool. When she didn't see him, she opened the door a bit wider and left the room, making her way to the kitchen as quietly as she could. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of white wine from the other night and got a glass from the cabinet. She pulled the rubber stopper from the neck of the bottle and poured what was left in the bottle into her glass, using her free hand to wipe at her face. She set the empty bottle on the counter with the other items that would go for recycling and tucked the stopper away in its drawer before bringing the glass to her lips. As she took a slow sip, she could hear heavy footsteps nearby, and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Cynthia?" Elijah asked, coming into the kitchen. He was dressed normally, she guessed, in clothes from the spare bedroom where he used to sleep when she had long working nights.

"No, I-I don't wanna talk to you right now," she said, gripping her wine glass tightly as she walked out of the kitchen. She heard him behind her, prompting her to walk faster, but his legs were longer than hers, which made his stride longer by default. She entered the bedroom but wasn't fast enough to close the door all the way, because by the time she turned around and tried to shut it, his hand was flat against it on the other side.

"Cynthia, please," he said, his voice soft, almost begging.

"Fine, fine," she relented, moving away from the door and over to the bed so she could set her glass down on her nightstand. "What do you want? Come to trivialize my feelings some more?"

"No. I came to apologize," he said, watching as she sat down on the edge of her side of the bed.

"Oh yeah? Apologize for what?" she asked, crossing her arms and her legs as she looked up at him, one of her brows arched slightly.

"For a lot of things. I'm sorry I had a gun in the house without talking it over with you first. I didn't stop to think, and that was stupid of me," he said, slowly walking over to her.

"Mhm, it sure was. And what else?" she asked, eyeing him.

"And I'm sorry for... for making you feel lesser than. For making you feel like all I cared about was beauty and youth, when that's never been the case. While I do think you're the most beautiful woman in the world, I also think that you're the most intelligent, kind, patient, and considerate woman I've ever met," he said, slowly dropping to his knees in front of her. He reached forward and gently uncrossed her legs, setting one of them over his shoulder so he could press light kisses to her calf.

"And what else are you sorry for?" she whispered, unfolding her arms so she could run her fingernails over his scalp, listening to him hum against her skin.