[ Khaji doesn't care bout that, but that kind of mollification doesn't work. She shakes her head, a slight gesture, the force of her feelings still restrained in her trembling arms. ]
I know that. Maybe he wouldn't on his own, but Jaime did. Because of that, neither of them would have wanted me to—
[ To hurt, to suffer, to live with the guilt of any of it, to carry any more hurt on her shoulders and in her heart, to deal with any of it alone. She doesn't say any of it. Instead she takes another gulp of too-cold air, wishes she had her eye or her rings or her bracelet to center on, and shakes her head. Anger without heat, and remorse without regret. Her arms cross; how she wishes she could rip this whole day to pieces so neither of them would have to remember this.
If she can't destroy it, she can bury it. Right? She shouldn't have said anything at all; it hurts too much to speak. She shouldn't speak any more to it.
Her attention drifts to the window, and the bright spring day outside, the festive atmosphere so far removed from them it feels like looking at a photograph of a foreign landscape. ]
... Of course I wanted to see my friend again. I'm not stupid enough to deny that. That doesn't mean it's why. I'd already lost everyone else, after all.
[ It would take honesty — true, full, sincere — to buy forgiveness. The price only seems to climb with every passing moment. And if she can't pay it, she'll certainly lose what little friendship this Jaime is willing to ascribe her. ]
no subject
I know that. Maybe he wouldn't on his own, but Jaime did. Because of that, neither of them would have wanted me to—
[ To hurt, to suffer, to live with the guilt of any of it, to carry any more hurt on her shoulders and in her heart, to deal with any of it alone. She doesn't say any of it. Instead she takes another gulp of too-cold air, wishes she had her eye or her rings or her bracelet to center on, and shakes her head. Anger without heat, and remorse without regret. Her arms cross; how she wishes she could rip this whole day to pieces so neither of them would have to remember this.
If she can't destroy it, she can bury it. Right? She shouldn't have said anything at all; it hurts too much to speak. She shouldn't speak any more to it.
Her attention drifts to the window, and the bright spring day outside, the festive atmosphere so far removed from them it feels like looking at a photograph of a foreign landscape. ]
... Of course I wanted to see my friend again. I'm not stupid enough to deny that. That doesn't mean it's why. I'd already lost everyone else, after all.
[ It would take honesty — true, full, sincere — to buy forgiveness. The price only seems to climb with every passing moment. And if she can't pay it, she'll certainly lose what little friendship this Jaime is willing to ascribe her. ]
What's one more?