[ She slips back into reality, feeling the world close back around her even before she opens her eyes. That numb, comforting feeling of nothing is all but gone, instead making room for panic (no, no, this is wrong, this isn't supposed to happen) -- panic, and then the pain. She knows this feeling, she knows it all too well, but it's so much stronger now, the pain so much greater than anything she's ever felt before. She's never seen this ceiling, she's never seen this room, why is she here, why isn't she dead and it hurts, it hurts it hurts --
[he had been sleeping fitfully nearby, propped up against one wall, but there was no way he could sleep through that. it takes him a couple moments to shake sleep off enough that he can get over to her]
Wha- what's wrong-?!
[stupid question, stupid question, but there's nothing else he can do for her.]
[ Seeing him, her face contorts even further, and not from pain; she tries to sit up, but the pain is far too much, and she collapses back onto the blanket pile within an instant. Through grit teeth, she manages to sputter-- ] What did you do?
Liar! I hate you! I-- [ Her words are interrupted by a loud, throaty cough, and she brings a hand up to her mouth, only to end up spitting blood on it. ]
What gives you the right? You're not any better than--
[ She stops, and thinks about all of them -- her parents, running from one shrink to another, a dozen different kinds of pills; her classmates, her teachers, the worried looks, the calls to the counselor's office. "You haven't been getting into fights, have you?" No, of course not, no one that small and mousy could possibly be getting into fights. "Are you being bullied? Are your parents hurting you?" No, no, no. It's all right, really -- she's on medication, you see, there's nothing to worry about. The twentieth talk with the school counselor, the twelfth new brand of pills; they all gave up, eventually. They all learned to leave her alone.
Except for him.
He was always there, even when every other person in her life had faded into a blurry smudge of monochrome -- he would watch her from the top of the hill, and every time she woke up and found herself in the hospital, she knew it was because of him. She never asked for any of it. But he was always, "Are you done?", "Isn't
( ... )
[he wants to make her stop crying. he wants to hold her, comfort her, something, anything- but that's a mistake he shouldn't make, a lesson he's already learned...
he reaches out to her anyway.]
...I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied. But I... people have died because of me. I didn't want you to die, too, not if I could do anything to stop it.
[ She remains perfectly still -- not moving away from him, but not towards him, either. And her tears have yet to stop. ] Why do you care? Why do you care if I die? You don't know me. I'm not-- [ -- And this is where she cuts herself off, and drops her gaze down to her hands. ]
[he swallows, and finishes the movement by bringing his hand up to her face and wiping at her tears with as much gentleness as he can muster. he doesn't take his eyes off of that hand, and he doesn't blink.]
...There was a girl, and she had the same face you do. That was why, at first. But you're not her, you're nothing like her, and... even if I don't know you much, I know you enough for that.
She opens her mouth, and screams. ]
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Wha- what's wrong-?!
[stupid question, stupid question, but there's nothing else he can do for her.]
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...I couldn't let her kill you.
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I fixed it.
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If you want to hate me, then hate me- I'd rather you hated me than see you dead! Please-
[t-trying to get her to lie back down without actually touching her]
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[ She stops, and thinks about all of them -- her parents, running from one shrink to another, a dozen different kinds of pills; her classmates, her teachers, the worried looks, the calls to the counselor's office. "You haven't been getting into fights, have you?" No, of course not, no one that small and mousy could possibly be getting into fights. "Are you being bullied? Are your parents hurting you?" No, no, no. It's all right, really -- she's on medication, you see, there's nothing to worry about. The twentieth talk with the school counselor, the twelfth new brand of pills; they all gave up, eventually. They all learned to leave her alone.
Except for him.
He was always there, even when every other person in her life had faded into a blurry smudge of monochrome -- he would watch her from the top of the hill, and every time she woke up and found herself in the hospital, she knew it was because of him. She never asked for any of it. But he was always, "Are you done?", "Isn't ( ... )
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he reaches out to her anyway.]
...I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied. But I... people have died because of me. I didn't want you to die, too, not if I could do anything to stop it.
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...There was a girl, and she had the same face you do. That was why, at first. But you're not her, you're nothing like her, and... even if I don't know you much, I know you enough for that.
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