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Her grip tightens until her knuckles hurt, but she continues to hold his gaze. Silas is losing points fast.
"And why were you so angry that your miscalculation - which caused you to be in a coma for days - is still enough for you to feel 'much better' now?" The words grate their way past her throat, voice cracking with the emphasis.
There are many reasons she is keeping her distance.
Har arms cross again at his words, then uncross. They start to cross again as she tries to process she's actually right about this and now feels horrible, and ends up running one of her hands through her hair as she closes her eyes with a deep breath.
She knew. She wouldn't mind being wrong, but she knew.
"You need to stop, Silas." Her arms drop again, but this time she's pacing behind the chair instead of just using it for protection or a barrier. "I'm not yours. I'm not an object, and I'm not a stray. I'm not a stupid nobody, and I'm not a nameless somebody." Strike that, she's using the chair for protection again, hands placed on it as if she's not sure she wants to push it forward or use it to break out an emergency escape.
"Besides, this is all beneath you, right?" She looks at the floor in front of the bed at the end, feeling her lips twist as the words come out. This was definitely not a healthy form of expression. She should walk away now. Her stuff is right in front of her. It's quick and easy. Simple. Pick it up, walk out the door, and tell him to get over it.
Her head throbs just thinking about the vague admission.
He stares blankly again for a while, perhaps to process her words or maybe to let her own mood simmer. After a moment he scoots over, patting the bed next to him.
She looks up at him in surprise, waiting for the joke to end, but it doesn't. She shakes her head, voice barely a whisper.
"Yes." Her grip tightens on the chair, leaving indentations around her fingers. Be careful. Freya's warning. This was new to him. Turned out, probably both of them.
Everyone needs love, Fiona had said. There was no answer to whom she had mean, if anyone in particular at all. That didn't help her, either.
The logical, smart side of her brain was screaming at her to walk away. Hence she was still standing there. If she didn't belong with either of them, so be it. Why stay with either of them if all they do is cause you so much frustration? Eric's question, ringing loud and clear as she wondered the same thing sometimes. Her sugar-coated answer, then the real one. Her inability to pin down the why of it, herself.
Her own reaction, ingrained into her after so many years. It didn't matter if he was young; the personality displays were there. Things she was used to obeying for the sake of staying safe from the threat of those who were supposed to love and support you. The lies.
She was so sick of it.
Then again, she can't slap him from this distance. It just means that she's in his reach. She shouldn't be. Why give him that much more leverage over her?
He'd also be in her vicinity, however. If this was...she wisehd it wasn't. She wanted to believe that she hadn't just wasted her time. But he also attacked Mike because he 'knew he could handle it.' That closeness meant she could rot him if he did anything she didn't like. It's not like the infirmary wasn't already used to her weekly sessions with Mathew.
Finally, after what seems like forever, she goes over and sits at the very edge of the bed.
Somewhere between the sarcasm and disbelieving laugh, she manages an answer.
"No kidding." She takes a deep breath, shoulders squaring as she tries to calm herself. The next time she speaks, her voice is more even.
"It needs to stop, Silas. I shouldn't even be here." Let's try to ignore the fact that she is, and still talking. She finally turns to look at him with the familiar frown.
"You tried to blow up a friend because you were jealous. That's more than not healthy. What happens if someone else just looks my way? Would what I do or think matter? What if I decide to try another date because they're interested and the best we can come up with is 'maybe' before slamming the door in each other's face again?""
Again that damned smile. She can feel the fainest lift of her lips, then shakes her head, her expression falling away. She should have left instead of talking. Next time, don't delude yourself, Becca. Not for anyone.
"That's fortunate, considering I almost punched you in the face instead." She turns and gathers her materials. Visiting hours are almost over, anyway. She turns her attention back to Silas with a frown.
"Your jealousy could have killed him - and yet he made to sure to shield you from the blast. You counted on it. You knew it would happen.
"If that's how you're going to respond to things not going the way you want, then I think you need to work on yourself before anything else. One date isn't worth what you did. At all."
His lack of focus proves her point, and she shakes her head. Not to mention, she remembers last time he let her hit him.
"That's not the point." Had he woken a day or so before, the anger she felt would have lead the conversation. It's still there, but the time she's had with friends and to herself while visiting sparked a realization she's finally beginning to grasp. It almost makes her laugh. No wonder everyone had such a headache talking to her these days!
"So it's what, a chance to tell him 'don't touch what's not mine?'" She spins on her heel to look at him, the fury that she thought she was too tired to act on suddenly rekindled.
"You have missed the point this entire conversation several times, and I'm still talking to you!" She waves the hand not holding onto her things in the air. "You did this after I told you it was one date. It went nowhere." She pauses, eyes narrowing as the sound of the staff calling for lights out can be heard a couple of rooms over. Her voice returns to a calm, even level.
"Or is it the fact that you don't like that he saved you after that, after you miscalculated?"