"It's easier not to, since they're not here," she admits. "Dad's a politician. Mom is a politician's wife." She makes a face, like that should explain her parents in a nutshell. "But they're actually pretty great? Dad's a little . . . protective."
She looks at him, steadily, seriously. Then she turns her face away so he has to see her profile, and she stares, unfocused, at the coffee menu on the wall when she adds, "I really fucked up, one day? I was really sick, and medicine wasn't working, and I sort of . . . Not 'sort of', I did, um." She starts to rub her forearm, the scar along it. Like she can scrub it off.
"I stabbed my mom. Really bad. I don't— I can't remember if I wanted to hurt her? Or it I just wanted everyone to stop yelling. Or if I thought she was something, someone else." Her fingers are fluttering a little when she lifts her hand to cover her mouth.
"When I realized what'd happened, I, um. I was in the basement, alone. I saw what happened, and I couldn't— I couldn't deal. So I tried to make the problem go away."
She turns her wrist towards him, so he can see them both, the scar lacing up either forearm.
"I tried to make . . . me go away." She turns her head the other way, to show him the scar on her throat, and she resolutely doesn't look at Paul's face.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-04-18 11:53 am (UTC)She looks at him, steadily, seriously. Then she turns her face away so he has to see her profile, and she stares, unfocused, at the coffee menu on the wall when she adds, "I really fucked up, one day? I was really sick, and medicine wasn't working, and I sort of . . . Not 'sort of', I did, um." She starts to rub her forearm, the scar along it. Like she can scrub it off.
"I stabbed my mom. Really bad. I don't— I can't remember if I wanted to hurt her? Or it I just wanted everyone to stop yelling. Or if I thought she was something, someone else." Her fingers are fluttering a little when she lifts her hand to cover her mouth.
"When I realized what'd happened, I, um. I was in the basement, alone. I saw what happened, and I couldn't— I couldn't deal. So I tried to make the problem go away."
She turns her wrist towards him, so he can see them both, the scar lacing up either forearm.
"I tried to make . . . me go away." She turns her head the other way, to show him the scar on her throat, and she resolutely doesn't look at Paul's face.