SANTA EVITA!

   ❝ oh — get off my goddamn back, will you? ❞ words leave her mouth through gritted teeth as she leans her back against the chair, eyes closed ; a hand resting on her forehead, waiting for that awful feeling to go away. a kind soul she is ; but her temper is dreadful — especially when people start fussing over her. she absolutely hates it. ❝ i have a lot of things in my head, i don't need your shitty useless lecture on top of it.  ❞ 

          “ well, you can only help once you’ve gotten better. ”  in times like this, it is easiest to turn to PRACTICALITY. reason and common sense never let her down  —  unlike people, unlike the fragilty of human life, and the knowledge that you may soon be left alone.   “ you must recover. and for that, you must REST, follow the doctors’ orders, and not worry about helping others. this is the time to be selfish. no man or god will judge you for it. ”

  ❝ that's like asking me to sit down & paint my goddamn nails when there's so many people... suffering, and waiting for my aid. i can't do that. ❞ rest is out of the question for eva. it's not something she enjoys doing ; she wasn't built for it. she was built to move around, work & help. 24/7. still , pain seems to shoot through her even now ; almost as if to remind her of her condition. a hand presses against her stomach, tightly — nails almost digging into her skin as she holds onto herself, hoping to soothe it ; or, better, make it go away completely. she hopes to not upset the other, but there's no hiding the way her features twist into a grimace, or the wince that leaves her lips.