<in a room that has seen much of the same in the few short years it's been decorated in this fashion>
characters:
one man [robert] - brown hair - skittish eyes - voice trembling under the weight of frustrations he never succeeds in holding back, but none-the-less keeps attempting to
one woman [elia] - blonde - crying - open tube of mascara in one hand with its wand in the other
elia: I don't even understand why you're screaming at me right now. Why are you shaking? Are you going to hit me?
robert: When have I ever hit you, El? Did I hit you when you ruined my interview with the bank because you spilled coffee all over my suit? Did I?
elia: [calmly] No.
robert: Did I hit you when you insisted on bringing Brian over to meet my parents because it was more important to you to make a statement than to enjoy a nice holiday with my family?
elia: [still calm] It's not okay that your parents are racist.
robert: Did I hit you?!
elia: [still calm] No.
robert: And what about when you quit your job to pursue some childhood dream that lasted for a week and left me picking up overtime for a year? What about then?
elia: [starting to raise her voice in fear] Why are you bringing all this up?
robert: [yelling] Did I hit you?!
elia: No!
[a beat of silence between them]
elia: Did you want to?
[heavy breathing and from robert with set jaw]
[elia begins applying mascara to her right eye]
robert: Why the hell are you doing that?
elia: It's waterproof.
robert: What?
elia: It's waterproof. It won't run when I cry. Which I am.
robert: I know that, Elia. I can see you. But why are you putting on mascara right now?
elia: I want to look pretty.
robert: What does that have to do with anything?
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