[ It's not something she's particularly keen to recount out loud. Not because she's the type to flinch away from this kind of thing — the rotting gods know she's seen enough horror for a hundred lifetimes by now — but because what she saw that day didn't seem like it was meant for her to know. And she might have preferred to pretend it never happened at all. To go on as if nothing between them had changed, and she hadn't witnessed some terrible piece of his past.
That's always been her way. Pretending. Never asking questions. But here they are now, and confrontation has become unavoidable. ]
What do you want me to say? [ It's quiet but tense. ] That I saw you get treated like a fucking dog? Tortured and beaten? You want me to tell you how it felt to see your fucking fear?
[ His stare is frigid; cold and black. Yes. That is what he wanted her to say, to acknowledge. He stares at her darkly for a moment longer, narrow and angry. He pretends too, every day that he acts as though he is a person, as though he can function. It does not stop it hurting him, always. All the time.
Then he leaves her with the unconscious loud mouth, the door shuts firmly behind him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
That's always been her way. Pretending. Never asking questions. But here they are now, and confrontation has become unavoidable. ]
What do you want me to say? [ It's quiet but tense. ] That I saw you get treated like a fucking dog? Tortured and beaten? You want me to tell you how it felt to see your fucking fear?
no subject
Then he leaves her with the unconscious loud mouth, the door shuts firmly behind him. ]