you can be mad at me, i can take it. i'd rather you be angry than shut me out.
she doesn't want to hear this, she decides then, moving away from him like she can move from his words, like she can deflect them off of her as if she has a shield holding up in front of her, protecting her and warding him from being able to get through her steely resolve. the man that she knew when she was little, the man that she adored sitting at the head of the table during dinners; he felt like a shadow now in comparison to who stands before her now, and selfishly, she hates it. hates whatever it is that possessed him, that changed him, that took him away from her and made her think that he was gone forever. her mother's words when she was a teenager sudden struck her in that moment: fine, you wanna know, joanna beth? (in that motherly tone of hers, a hand on the hip, the other on the bar counter with that same stern expression that she always wore on her features, that of a mother) we never had a hunter's funeral for your father because there was no body to burn. it always stuck out to jo as odd, even then; why not confirm?
she feels the warming presence of her father take up the space in the room she tried to escape to, though moving down the hallway to her small apartment living room felt like miles in comparison to the scene that unfolded when she opened her door, and found him standing there. "there's-there's nothing to be angry about!" she says, loud like it's the only way to be heard, and not because the merit doesn't ring true in her voice; even she hears the lie. she is angry; and dammit, she wishes that her father wasn't around to bear the onslaught of the washing grief that runs over her now. "how can i be angry at you, dad?" the name slips through faster than she could catch it, and she continues without missing a beat; maybe not even realizing she said it at all. "you weren't here!" as if she can hear her older brother now, his rough around the timbre (sounds very similar to their father, jo is now realizing), urging for her to take it easy on the man. to spare him; but she doesn't want to. she's hurt, she's angry; but deep within the storm of those feelings, she's relieved, and she feels so much damning guilt. her mother is still dead, william sold his soul for her, and she feels like she's spilling apart at the seams with each ticking reminder of her time in hell. "you weren't there when i died, you weren't there when will sold his soul to bring me back, you weren't here when i dropped out of college because the girls were picking on me behind my back calling me names like the freak with a knife collection, you weren't here!"
