His eyes follow the movement. The thin press of Eduardo's lips, and the hand that goes to the table, fingers gripping tight. That's when all of this feels too familiar, and suddenly he needs nothing more than to get out of there, to leave, to see anything other than the fucking cycle he's been run through time and time again in the past few years. He can't take it anymore. He can't, and the stress has him feeling very much like elastic stretched too far, some part of him snapping, the rest of him liable to follow. It's not even the fact that Wardo's suddenly loving someone Mark doesn't even know that bothers him— he's been prepared to face a different Eduardo for months now leading up to the deposition. It's that Eduardo expects the worst from Mark. He thinks Mark's an asshole now. Maybe he is. But it isn't fair.
It isn't fair, that Eduardo should accuse Mark of planting the story about the chicken. It isn't fair, that Erica should think an offer of networking some kind of personal slight against herself. He's not being purposely malicious; if anything, he just wants to bolster Eduardo's confidence in the matter, thinking that Christy is, to this version of Wardo, a recent memory. Mark just wants to reassure Eduardo that not all girls are like Christy, and that Eduardo doesn't need to stoop to the level of the desperate and insane, not with all that he has under his belt, all the accomplishments that at least can play that initial role of pulling others to him. But suddenly he's being blamed for that too, even if it's just a fact that girls do flock around them for that reason. Suddenly, the fact that he tried to impress Erica with that very same website, it curdles in his stomach, sours everything.
If Eduardo doesn't plan on ever forgiving him, and if he's already made his judgments here on the island, then there's no point, and Mark's chasing a star even more distant than a billion dollars. It's nearly impossible to swallow the bite of burger he has in his mouth, but he manages, before reaching for the ketchup and dropping a large dollop of it onto his plate. Because he'll be hungry later. He's learned to hoard food from living at Kirkland; the dining hall's pretty small, often crowded. There's no sense in wasting a perfectly good burger.
"Maybe you should tell her that," he says tersely. He drags himself up from his seat, as though they're just at Kirkland and all he needs to do is carry that plate back to his room, turning around to face the exit with a slight misstep, alcohol leaving him off-balance.
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Date: 2011-05-21 03:16 am (UTC)It isn't fair, that Eduardo should accuse Mark of planting the story about the chicken. It isn't fair, that Erica should think an offer of networking some kind of personal slight against herself. He's not being purposely malicious; if anything, he just wants to bolster Eduardo's confidence in the matter, thinking that Christy is, to this version of Wardo, a recent memory. Mark just wants to reassure Eduardo that not all girls are like Christy, and that Eduardo doesn't need to stoop to the level of the desperate and insane, not with all that he has under his belt, all the accomplishments that at least can play that initial role of pulling others to him. But suddenly he's being blamed for that too, even if it's just a fact that girls do flock around them for that reason. Suddenly, the fact that he tried to impress Erica with that very same website, it curdles in his stomach, sours everything.
If Eduardo doesn't plan on ever forgiving him, and if he's already made his judgments here on the island, then there's no point, and Mark's chasing a star even more distant than a billion dollars. It's nearly impossible to swallow the bite of burger he has in his mouth, but he manages, before reaching for the ketchup and dropping a large dollop of it onto his plate. Because he'll be hungry later. He's learned to hoard food from living at Kirkland; the dining hall's pretty small, often crowded. There's no sense in wasting a perfectly good burger.
"Maybe you should tell her that," he says tersely. He drags himself up from his seat, as though they're just at Kirkland and all he needs to do is carry that plate back to his room, turning around to face the exit with a slight misstep, alcohol leaving him off-balance.