"Well, it's not that easy to tell the difference between 'actually dying' and 'just about dying' when you've felt like the second one for ages without letting anyone know there was a problem!" Sunshine shouts back, hands fisted at her sides. Yes, fine, she'd known something was wrong, and she's not done beating herself up about it. But she's not frigging psychic, either. He'd felt a little bit worse than he'd always felt, which could have been attributed to anything because she didn't know the baseline reading was so goddamn dire. "You lied to me - repeatedly - and now you're mad that I trusted you? Fuck off!"
And if she can't trust him, and she can't trust herself, where does that leave them?
She doesn't bother pointing out that it takes two to pull off mutual avoidance. He's never gonna get that carthaginian memo. "That is not what I said!" she bellows instead, even as she starts to wonder what she's trying to accomplish, here, presuming she can hold it together long enough to accomplish anything. Which she can't. She knows she can't.
What is she even doing here?
She crosses to the door in a few brisk strides, giving both the apartment's other occupants a wide berth. And she knows she shouldn't say anything, because what's the point of a parting shot? Maybe she just wants to leave him with something, if she's going to have to deal with that fucking inscription. It doesn't matter why; the words tear themselves out of her the moment her hand grips the doorknob: "I never stopped. That's the ENTIRE FUCKING POINT."
Right. Great. Very helpful, Sunshine. She can't look at either of them, so she wrenches the door open and leaves, slamming it behind her.
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And if she can't trust him, and she can't trust herself, where does that leave them?
She doesn't bother pointing out that it takes two to pull off mutual avoidance. He's never gonna get that carthaginian memo. "That is not what I said!" she bellows instead, even as she starts to wonder what she's trying to accomplish, here, presuming she can hold it together long enough to accomplish anything. Which she can't. She knows she can't.
What is she even doing here?
She crosses to the door in a few brisk strides, giving both the apartment's other occupants a wide berth. And she knows she shouldn't say anything, because what's the point of a parting shot? Maybe she just wants to leave him with something, if she's going to have to deal with that fucking inscription. It doesn't matter why; the words tear themselves out of her the moment her hand grips the doorknob: "I never stopped. That's the ENTIRE FUCKING POINT."
Right. Great. Very helpful, Sunshine. She can't look at either of them, so she wrenches the door open and leaves, slamming it behind her.