_{THERE’S A FAINT burn in the back of her throat : she blows a plume of smoke directly above peter’s head. it circles, GREY AND CLOYING, like some funny crown. the corner of her mouth twists, that burning quickly turning into a rising bitterness. isn’t he aware of the times SHE’S CRIED ?? curled up against her pillow and sobbed into the fabric until she turned ragged with exhaustion ??}    ❝  AND WHEN _{she isn’t crying she’s going off on me instead for one thing or another.}  ❞

     ❝ SO PERHAPS,  ❞   _{her cigarette gets flicked to the ground, a tiny arc of ash landing upon the toe of his shoe. she reaches out GRACIOUSLY to brush it off with the sole of her own, it only ends up smudging the worn leather.}    ❝   YOU SHOULD _{be talking to her instead. she’s always been dramatic, but she’s not a child anymore. it’s no longer sweet.}   ❞