One thing to be thankful for is that he doesn't try the hug- that would definitely elicit an uncomfortable and annoyed complaint, as well as a quick rewind. As it is, his words already draw a bitter huff from her, like a cynical laugh.
"Y-you don't know what- what you're talking about," she throws at him, her voice shaky and low. And as she speaks her self-control dissolves more and more, until she's fighting to hold down sobs and pace her breathing.
She could break down. She could sit on the ground here, wrap her arms around her legs, huddle together and cry, her whole body wracked in ugly, coarse sobs. Even if she's tired of crying, physically tired, drained. Even if he's standing right there watching her. Because she could just rewind it all away, anyway.
Or you could go. You could leave him here, go down to the nearest empty room and cry your eyes out. You don't have to-
Fuck it. Fuck what the voice in her head thinks, fuck what Tim sees, fuck holding back from the rewinds because of some- some godddamn moral dilemma that won't even matter in the long run. Who the hell cares- who the fuck will remember all this bullshit anyway?
Her defenses crash down as she sits heavily, hiding her face- but there's nothing she can do to hide the shake of her shoulders, the ragged unevenness of her sobbing breaths as she reaches for air, as she stains her sleeves with tears. She grips the fabric of her jeans, painfully, as though for support, as though in anger- her knuckles white with the forcefulness of the gesture. Strained, low moans from behind clenched teeth punctuate her crying, a desperate and furious sound.
Hey, it's... it's okay, a soft voice gently whispers from somewhere.
She doubts she'd even have made it to the stairs, anyway. She can't even bring herself to worry about Tim all that much- her thoughts are too caught up in an image of Chloe lying dead on a bathroom floor, in memories of their short-lived time in Wonderland and all the things neither of them will remember, in the promises they made to never leave each other. In the loneliness that followed. In the words your fault.
no subject
"Y-you don't know what- what you're talking about," she throws at him, her voice shaky and low. And as she speaks her self-control dissolves more and more, until she's fighting to hold down sobs and pace her breathing.
She could break down. She could sit on the ground here, wrap her arms around her legs, huddle together and cry, her whole body wracked in ugly, coarse sobs. Even if she's tired of crying, physically tired, drained. Even if he's standing right there watching her. Because she could just rewind it all away, anyway.
Or you could go. You could leave him here, go down to the nearest empty room and cry your eyes out. You don't have to-
Fuck it. Fuck what the voice in her head thinks, fuck what Tim sees, fuck holding back from the rewinds because of some- some godddamn moral dilemma that won't even matter in the long run. Who the hell cares- who the fuck will remember all this bullshit anyway?
Her defenses crash down as she sits heavily, hiding her face- but there's nothing she can do to hide the shake of her shoulders, the ragged unevenness of her sobbing breaths as she reaches for air, as she stains her sleeves with tears. She grips the fabric of her jeans, painfully, as though for support, as though in anger- her knuckles white with the forcefulness of the gesture. Strained, low moans from behind clenched teeth punctuate her crying, a desperate and furious sound.
Hey, it's... it's okay, a soft voice gently whispers from somewhere.
She doubts she'd even have made it to the stairs, anyway. She can't even bring herself to worry about Tim all that much- her thoughts are too caught up in an image of Chloe lying dead on a bathroom floor, in memories of their short-lived time in Wonderland and all the things neither of them will remember, in the promises they made to never leave each other. In the loneliness that followed. In the words your fault.