thecherrybell
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"I think there's something wrong with me." It's a whisper dragged from Samira's lips, from the very depth of her.
"I think I might be a bad person." Chokes on it, on the pain, on the terrible truth, the indictment of her soul, of her morality, of her humanity. The evidence - plain and simple - that Samira Mohan was rotten to the core.
***
or, The Evolution of Samira Mohan in three acts. -
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She looked over at him, startled, but Abbot wasn’t looking at her face, he was looking at her hands where they rested on the table, or maybe at something past her hands that she couldn’t see. “I thought— I mean, you wear a wedding ring,” she said hesitantly.
He looked up at Mohan, keen-eyed and sharp. “Well, I wear dog tags, too,” he said.
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Abbot and Mohan's unspoken situationship gets out of hand at work, and Mohan suggests a private conversation.
Whether or not any actual talking gets done is another question, though.