(no subject)
Ushas is not in the habit of asking anyone for help, but if she's here now, she may as well put the opportunity to good use; she is nothing if not practical, after all. Shifting uncomfortably on one of the sofas, she mumbles, "Alright. I'm not keen on this. But..."
It takes her a moment to continue; she rubs the back of her neck, fiddles with a stray strand of hair. "Say for example you were entirely too busy for romance and in fact rather disgusted by the idea. You've got a very satisfying life ahead of you which will be filled with all sorts of excitement and discovery and glory. You're a little bit horrified by the idea of ever actually engaging in sex and somewhat bewildered by why anyone would want to, although you've done all the necessary reading and things like that. You think romanticism is pointless and slightly nauseating and the last person to tell you they loved you was your father. And yet there's...someone who is oddly...captivating. A friend. A very good friend who is uniquely irritating, but very clever and very...unusual. An equal, in some ways. And you realise maybe that you like them more than what friendship entails, but...you have no idea, because it's not a feeling of wanting to send them roses or write poetry about them or something revolting like that, it's a feeling of wanting to be around them a lot and talk to them for hours and hours on end. And perhaps sometimes you consider that he's rather good-looking and that you can't seem to help smiling when he's around. He's funny, you see. And...I keep constantly wondering what he thinks of me. It's not a matter of self-esteem. This body is adequately attractive and my intelligence is second to none. I'm more intelligent and more logical than he is. I'm just...I hope he knows it, that's all. I want him to admire me. Yes, that's more like it. I want him to think of me as impressive."
She settles back, looking grim and pale, as if waiting for a doctor's diagnosis, and says rather snappishly, "So what is it and what should I do?"
It takes her a moment to continue; she rubs the back of her neck, fiddles with a stray strand of hair. "Say for example you were entirely too busy for romance and in fact rather disgusted by the idea. You've got a very satisfying life ahead of you which will be filled with all sorts of excitement and discovery and glory. You're a little bit horrified by the idea of ever actually engaging in sex and somewhat bewildered by why anyone would want to, although you've done all the necessary reading and things like that. You think romanticism is pointless and slightly nauseating and the last person to tell you they loved you was your father. And yet there's...someone who is oddly...captivating. A friend. A very good friend who is uniquely irritating, but very clever and very...unusual. An equal, in some ways. And you realise maybe that you like them more than what friendship entails, but...you have no idea, because it's not a feeling of wanting to send them roses or write poetry about them or something revolting like that, it's a feeling of wanting to be around them a lot and talk to them for hours and hours on end. And perhaps sometimes you consider that he's rather good-looking and that you can't seem to help smiling when he's around. He's funny, you see. And...I keep constantly wondering what he thinks of me. It's not a matter of self-esteem. This body is adequately attractive and my intelligence is second to none. I'm more intelligent and more logical than he is. I'm just...I hope he knows it, that's all. I want him to admire me. Yes, that's more like it. I want him to think of me as impressive."
She settles back, looking grim and pale, as if waiting for a doctor's diagnosis, and says rather snappishly, "So what is it and what should I do?"