[ her words strike true. she nearly feels them strike him - feels the visceral sensation of flesh parting beneath her anger, the sudden violence of a strike and the weeping gore left behind. but it doesn't bring any satisfaction. it brings anxiety, and regret, and when she hears the words coming out of his mouth it brings an overwhelming pain.
she didn't hold herself back, for one stupid second, and look where it got her.
she doesn't leave. she doesn't even turn away. she looks at the floor, and at the ceiling, and anywhere but akira, trying to force that tiny gap in her vision to grow and grow until she doesn't have to look at it - the devil holding someone dear to him, someone who would have cut her if she'd gotten any closer. but she doesn't turn away again. she's already made one mistake. she owes him that much. ]
There's a first-aid kit under the counter. And showers in the bedrooms. [ her voice, strident and shaky just seconds ago, has dwindled away. the anger always does - it makes her do something stupid, agree to something she should never have agreed to, and then just vanishes to leave her with the consequences. ] You should be able to- wash his hands in there. Get the glass out.
[ it's funny. he's given her permission to leave, and suddenly she feels like she can't. she absolutely, positively, 100% cannot leave. if she does, she'll lose the first person she's found on the station who understands. if she does, she's doing what god would want her to do - abandon the demons, live in sanctimonious solitude.
he doesn't deserve you passes through her mind like a flash. but she is vigilant, now, and she stomps it underfoot - taking out the entire afternoon's events on the thought, and a little on herself for even thinking it. and instead, she says: ]
You're a good friend.
[ she can't see the other boy. good - he needs time to relax without looking at her.
and as selfish as it is, she's a little grateful too. ]
no subject
she didn't hold herself back, for one stupid second, and look where it got her.
she doesn't leave. she doesn't even turn away. she looks at the floor, and at the ceiling, and anywhere but akira, trying to force that tiny gap in her vision to grow and grow until she doesn't have to look at it - the devil holding someone dear to him, someone who would have cut her if she'd gotten any closer. but she doesn't turn away again. she's already made one mistake. she owes him that much. ]
There's a first-aid kit under the counter. And showers in the bedrooms. [ her voice, strident and shaky just seconds ago, has dwindled away. the anger always does - it makes her do something stupid, agree to something she should never have agreed to, and then just vanishes to leave her with the consequences. ] You should be able to- wash his hands in there. Get the glass out.
[ it's funny. he's given her permission to leave, and suddenly she feels like she can't. she absolutely, positively, 100% cannot leave. if she does, she'll lose the first person she's found on the station who understands. if she does, she's doing what god would want her to do - abandon the demons, live in sanctimonious solitude.
he doesn't deserve you passes through her mind like a flash. but she is vigilant, now, and she stomps it underfoot - taking out the entire afternoon's events on the thought, and a little on herself for even thinking it. and instead, she says: ]
You're a good friend.
[ she can't see the other boy. good - he needs time to relax without looking at her.
and as selfish as it is, she's a little grateful too. ]