[Martin is a punk ass freeloader. James lets her, though he doesn't entirely need the guidance: he's a very good drunk. He walks without weaving, without forcing her to keep careful track. He pulls her hand from around his waist just to hold it, more careful than usual in a combination of drink and the flood.
In the other room, he sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed, and drops both hands to her waist. He tips his head forward, resting somewhere between breasts and belly, and just closes his eyes.]
I'm sorry. I know it wasn't us, but I am. Sorry. I just want to forget.
Spam
In the other room, he sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed, and drops both hands to her waist. He tips his head forward, resting somewhere between breasts and belly, and just closes his eyes.]
I'm sorry. I know it wasn't us, but I am. Sorry. I just want to forget.